#and by neat i mean extremely hot

[angel-bruises]

My favourite genre of woman, hope this can be me someday <3

Ginger Snaps (2000), Brand New Cherry Flavor (2021), Hannibal (2016), Twixt (2011), Pearl (2022), Carrie (1973), Jennifer's Body (2009), American Horror Story: Hotel (2015), The Vvitch (2016), Gone Girl (2014), Being Human (2008), Being Human (2008)

[areyouwell]

Sciophobia

Noun: An extreme fear of shadows. An adult or child with Sciophobia may experience extreme stress and anxiety in everyday life due to the nature of light and shadow.

Ch.2

Ch.1 <---

Pairing: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader

Warnings: the most DISGUSTING, tooth-achingly sweet fluff, like candyfloss-style shit. i vomited twice writing it and once again proofreading it. they make pasta together for TWO THOUSAND WORDS so if that ain't yer thing im sorry the good stuff will start soon. and by that i mean body horror. i threw up writing that for a completely different reason...

Word count: 11k (strap in and strap on folks)

A/N: as mentioned in the warnings, this is almost pure fluff. sure there's MC rage so strong my timbers were shivered but other than that it's mostly fluff. i want you guys to know, i am setting us all up for failure, because this WILL get sad. but it'll get hot first, then downright filthy, the a little disgusting before it gets sad, we got a while to go so booties ch.2 LFG

Taglist: @badbishsblog @reidsworld @idioticstar @toogaytofunctiondangit

“Maybe just try… concentrating harder?” 

It took all of your willpower not to cross the few steps it would take to punch Scott’s lights out. Why the Professor assigned him to help with your training, you’d never know. Sure, it wasn’t like you were constantly at each other’s throats like he and Logan seemed to be, but you never exactly saw eye to eye either. Scott was too… neat, for you. He liked rules too much, always following what his head told him he should do, rather than following his heart or gut. It was infuriating on missions, and you’d had plenty of arguments about the correct course of action before he became the de facto leader whether you liked it or not. 

That was shortly before you went away, so you didn’t really have much time to experience the dictatorship of Scott Summers, and now you were back, you weren’t entirely sure you wanted to. 

“Ya know what Scott? I’d never thought of doing that, thanks!” you bit sarcastically, sweat beading along your brow. You’d been at this for well over an hour now, hour two fast approaching with no progress. You’d successfully shadow-walked, though Cyclops noted your hesitation to do so. But could he blame you? The idea of shadow-walking and then suddenly not having the strength to pull yourself back together, or whatever it was you did, was quite frankly, terrifying. 

Scott sighed, placing a hand on his hip and running the other through his hair. “Alright, take ten, I’ll talk to the Professor.” He said, already making his way towards the iron doors. You let loose a frustrated breath, bracing your hands across the back of your neck. This was hopeless. Utterly hopeless. What’s worse, is that there was no proof you could actually do those things. No proof that was the Professor was saying was fucking true. 

You were glad the back wall was cast in shadow as you stormed across the floor, sending your fist careening into the metalwork, instantly regretting your outburst when the crack of your split knuckles rang out louder than the punch itself. Clamping your lips between your teeth to stop yourself from crying out, you let yourself breathe through the pain, savouring it just slightly. It was good. Pain was good. It reminded you how you weren’t just a pile of shadows wandering aimlessly through the air yet. You doubted you could feel a broken hand if you didn’t have a hand to feel with. 

Turning your back to the wall, you slid down to the floor, head buried between your knees with your arms casing you in, throbbing hand gripping your opposite shoulder tightly. You wouldn’t cry. You would. Not. Cry. That wasn’t you. You don’t cry. Since when did you cry?

This was how Logan found you. He’d been stuck in a meeting with Xavier and Storm all morning, going over the blueprints of the latest rescue mission the team would embark on. Though in all honesty, he was barely listening, his thoughts disobediently drifting back to you. The memory of your smile, the teasing lilt in your voice, the way your arms felt wrapped around his neck, the scent of your hair invading his heightened nose. He wondered how you were getting on with Scott, and he pitied the fact you were having to do this with Scott. That was until the man of the hour walked through the doors, disrupting the meeting and finally releasing him back into the world. 

It’s no wonder his feet led him straight to you, you’d been on his mind that much. So to see you like this, curled up against the opposite wall, your hand an angry red, it tugged at his heart. 

You didn’t seem to notice him as he crossed the room, only looking up when he kicked the gym mat with his foot. There was that smile again. The one that didn’t reach your eyes and only serve to fool people who were fucking idiots into thinking you were okay. 

The last person you expected to see walk through those doors was Logan. Last you’d heard, he was stuck in a meeting with Charles and Ororo. Scott was initially furious he’d been asked to help develop your mutation instead of intent ‘crucial strategy meetings’ so he called them, but he soon lightened up when you not-so-subtly reminded him it’s because Charles thought he was the best option to help you. 

You sighed heavily, bracing your good hand on your knee as you rose to your feet. For Logan to see you in such a sorry state wasn’t high on your list of priorities. You were pretty sure it wasn’t on that list at all. 

“Not goin’ well?” he asked softly, and you had to grit your teeth to stop yourself from tearing up. You watched his eyes flicker from your face to your hand, thick brows pinching in concern. You followed his line of sight, not that you needed to, you could fucking feel your knuckles pulsing fire up your arm. 

“Uh, no, not really. I’d love to say I did this punching Scott, but he left before I could, so I took it out on the wall instead.” You half smiled, and Logan found himself blowing out a huff of laughter. Even in this state, in this mindset, you could still find humour. 

Sinking your hand into the shadows across the wall behind you, you felt the familiar tingle of, what you now know was your body breaking apart, before the slight itch of pulling it back together as you dragged it back out, good as new. 

Logan thought for a moment, hazel eyes flicking from you to the shadows behind you. “Have you tried–”

“If you’re about to say ‘concentrating harder’ I might have to hurt you.” You interrupted, much to his amusement.

“I’m assumin’ that’s what Scott said?”

“Word for fucking word,” you said with a slight lopsided smile. Now that one reached your eyes. 

Logan took a few steps forward, now borderline pinning you against the wall. If it wasn’t for his hearing, he would have missed the way your breath hitched slightly, the slight shudder in your exhale. He chalked it down to your apprehension toward your situation. He had to. Giving himself hope like that just led to a shit load of hurt.

“What I was goin’ to say, was have ya tried from in there?” he raised a brow, his eyes looking past you and at the wall behind, and you had to take a minute to remember what you were talking about, his proximity all but throwing all and any thought out the window. It was achingly familiar to yesterday in the kitchen.

“You might be onto something…” you breathed when you remembered how to form words. Now you were thinking about it, he could be right. Why on earth were you trying to call the shadows to you, when you could drag them out with you? However, the idea of once again disappearing into shadow didn’t fill you with the same sense of freedom it once did. 

And Logan could see it. The hesitation, apprehension. You’d told him you were scared last night, but this was the first time he’d seen it. “I’ll be right here, yeah?” Fuck the way you looked at him shattered his heart. You wanted to be brave, you wanted to have the same sense of wonder you always did when it came to your mutation. He looked at the clench of your jaw, the flare of your nostrils as you nodded. 

“Alright… don’t go anywhere.” you half-joked, sliding your hands down the cool wall behind you, feeling your skin tingle at the mere idea of disappearing into the darkness. 

“Where would I go? You’re right here.” Logan responded, placing his index finger on the centre of your forehead and pushing ever so slightly. It gave you enough courage to fall back into the darkness, feeling the release of those threads holding your corporeal body together. 

Logan wasn’t really sure why he said that and he hoped to fuck you were too nervous about this whole thing to actually register what he’d said. He breathed out a sigh of relief when he watched you fold into the shadow, taking a few steps back and looking at his watch. Any longer than three minutes and he’ll start to think this was a really bad idea. Though, he probably should have told you that before you disappeared. 

Fuck.

It was always a strange sensation. Your consciousness was still intact, but the rest of your body had disappeared, scattered into a million different pieces. Probably billions. You couldn’t see, but you didn’t need to. You could sense. Sense the layout of the room. Sense where the shadows begin and where they end. Everything became nothing, and it was freedom. Quieting your thoughts, you concentrated. Concentrated on pulling. It was the same itching sensation you felt when leaving the shadows, except you tried to ground yourself.

Ground yourself in a place that had literally no ground.

This was fucking impossible.

You felt yourself slipping, the shadows around you not knowing what it was you were asking. Did the shadows have consciousness too? You didn’t know. Who fucking knew? And you didn’t fucking care. You tried to concentrate again, pulling against those threads you used to bring yourself from one place to the other toward you.

And only succeeding in moving again. Walking. This was no fucking different to what you’ve always done. Just moving from one point to the next. You’d already fucking mastered that. 

But at least one good thing had come from this. You weren’t afraid anymore. 

You were fucking angry.

Your consciousness writhed like a ball of angry vipers, pulling at all and any threads you could sense around you, flicking from one place to another with no rhyme or reason, no direction. 

If you could scream, you would have done. If you could lash out, you would have done. Rage rippled through your senses, those threads around you thrashing and flailing. Useless. Fucking useless. Maybe this was the fate you deserved. Disappearing into nothing, being nothing. Maybe you did deserve it. 

But you wouldn’t fucking accept it. Not yet.

This is “–fucking POINTLESS!” you roared, stepping from the shadow, your body itching all over, buzzing with adrenaline, your back almost burning. Your eyes took time to adjust to the light again, but you were too furious to register anything. “What’s the fucking point? Nothing works! I can’t pull them toward me, I can’t pull them with me, this is fucking stupid!” you continued your tirade, almost feeling the physical weight of your failure heavy upon your shoulders. “I can’t fucking do it, so why bother trying? It’s been a day and I’m already sick of this shit!” you heaved, breath searing your newly formed lungs, sending shockwaves of fire through your shoulder blades. You couldn’t remember a time when you’d been this angry. “If this stupid fucking mutation doesn’t kill me I’ll do it myself I swear to fucking god and what the FUCK are you smiling at Logan?!” You bellowed, your eyes finally registering what they were seeing. 

Logan had probably the world’s most gorgeous smile, and you wished you weren’t too pissed off to appreciate it. But before he had time to answer, Scott and Charles entered the room, Scott dropped a mug of what looked like freshly brewed coffee straight onto the floor, the shattering of the ceramic lingering in the air as the room fell deadly silent. 

“What?” you asked, now slightly fearful as the three men peered at you, each with a different expression. Scott seemed utterly horrified, his jaw slack and agape. Charles looked almost smug, a knowing smile pulling at his lips. And Logan?

Logan just grinned at you, arms folded across his chest. “You did it,” he whispered, nodding to what you thought was the wall behind you. Your eyes lingered on his as you turned your head, finally looking at what everyone else in the room seemed to be seeing. 

Honestly, you were fucking shocked you didn’t notice. At least now the burning in your shoulder blades had an explanation. 

Two broad, rippling wings of pure shadow spread wide from your back, the darkness almost pulsing along with your rapid heartbeat. It felt good, and you noted the lack of pressure about your body. Those threads that seemed constantly under strain had loosened, seemingly constantly fed by the shadows at your back. 

You slowly pulled at the strings, watching the wings move and shift with your intentions. Your fury dissolved as you watched in complete awe, along with the three others in the room. They folded close to your back and you felt the buzzing of energy against your leg, before you extended them again to their full size, tips grazing either side of the room. 

“Wh… H-how?” Scott managed to stutter, taking a cautious step forward. You looked from your shadows to Cyclops. 

“It, uh, it was Logan’s idea. Pull them out with me rather than trying to pull them towards me…” you were still reeling, slowly extending your fingers before trying to move the rest of your body. You didn’t know how much concentration it was taking to keep them intact, and you were a little afraid of letting them slip. Your breath came heavy as if you’d run around the estate at least four times. 

Logan looked back at Scott, unable to help his ‘fuck you’ brow raise. And to his satisfaction, Scott clicked his tongue in irritation. He turned back to you when he heard your slight laugh, clearly having noticed the silent exchange between them.

“How did you even know about this?” Scott asked accusingly.

“She told me.” Logan retorted as if it was the most obvious response on the planet. Scott just stood there in shock.

“She… she told you? She told you. As in, the one over there?” Cyclops pointed at you and you flipped him off in return.

“Yeah? Who else would we be talkin’ ‘bout?”

“It’s just, she doesn’t tend to… do that,”

“She is right fucking here!” you held your arms up, gesturing to yourself in a way that thankfully returned the boys’ attention back to the situation at hand. 

“Yeah well, this is all well and good,” Scott continued, crouching now to pick up the larger pieces of the shattered mug, “but how do you release them?” he finished. 

He had a point. You couldn’t wander around the school with two giant wings stuck to your back, as much as you wanted to. How would you get through the doorways? Xavier wheeled forward until he was next to Logan, his face now much more serious.

“Carefully. Release it too quickly and the threads could go with them,”

“Wouldn’t that just mean she would be back in the shadow?” Logan asked, slight concern lacing his baritone voice. There was a catch here, and every single one of you knew it. 

“Ordinarily yes, however, she cannot disappear into her own shadow. If she releases those threads anywhere other than back to its original form, there’s a risk of her disappearing with it and getting stuck,” He explained, to nobody’s understanding. You knew you couldn’t disappear into your own shadow, you’d tried before and your body simply wouldn’t let you. 

“So wait… I can pull the shadow with me but have to return it to where it was, essentially?” you asked, slowly so that your question could be understood, even by yourself. Charles nodded, and you took a deep breath in an attempt to calm yourself. 

Logan couldn’t help but feel partly to blame for this. He’d encouraged you to take this step, to try alternate methods of developing your mutation, and now he had, you were stuck like this until you felt sure you could release it carefully. Shit.

‘She made it this far because of you. We have a chance at changing her fate because of you, Logan. You cannot regret that.’ It was always jarring when the Professor found his way into his head, and it wasn’t the least bit soothing. What did ease him a little, however, was your slight reassuring smile, renewed with confidence. 

You could see he was battling with guilt, terrified that he may have endangered you. But you could do this. You’d already managed to achieve something you never thought you could today, what’s one more miracle?

“Hooookay, let’s try this… carefully, right?” it was a rhetorical question because honestly? You were a little scared, and stalling seemed to give you time to collect your thoughts and calm your slightly stuttering heart.

“Carefully,” Charles instructed, and you nodded once before taking another deep breath. Holding it for a few moments, you tightened the threads you hoped to fuck were holding you together, keeping them in place before blowing out the breath, releasing your connection to the wings behind your back. You felt them bleed down your shoulders, shivering slightly as the shadows snaked down your legs and back against the wall behind you, returning to their original state. 

You’d closed your eyes at some point, honestly, you couldn’t remember when. You were scared to open them, scared to see if you’d fucked anything up, if parts of your body were just completely shadow, or whether you had accidentally grown multiple limbs or something. You knew your mind was running away from you, but you couldn’t help it, as ridiculous as it felt.

Logan smiled slightly to himself as he watched the shadows wash away and return to the wall, and that inward smile broadened when he noticed you weren’t moving, eyes clenched shut, your hands balled into fists, your shoulders tensed and hunched. He stepped forward and up to you, gently bracing his hands on either side of your neck, thumbs angling your jaw up a little. Your soft gasp didn’t escape his ears.

“Y’alright?” He asked, eyes searching your face before finding your own gaze, your lids having fluttered open. You visibly relaxed, one hand that was previously balled into a tight fist now gently sliding up his wrist, resting atop his forearm. Your touch was electric, fingertips sending shivers down his spine. 

“Fine, I think,” you responded, gliding your nails through the hair on his arm. It was an absent response to his touch. You wanted to be closer to him, to bury your head in the crook of his neck and breathe in his pinewood scent. His breath was a mix of mint and tobacco, and you wondered if his lips had a permanent hint of whiskey if you were to taste them, having been told by a grumbling Jean that was who the hidden, half-empty bottle in the cupboard belonged to.

You instantly mourned the loss of his touch when he stepped back, though you were grateful he did. You’d been dangerously close to kissing him, and whilst you still wanted to, perhaps not without an audience of Charles and Scott.

“How are you feeling?” You blinked when the Professor addressed you directly, having forgotten what living in reality was like for a few moments. Nodding along with an answer you hadn’t voiced yet, you grinned along with a deep, contorting rumble of your stomach.

“Apparently, starving.” A chuckle escaped your lips and you braced a hand against your stomach in an attempt to soothe away the uncomfortable feeling of hunger. 

“I think that’s enough for today. Logan, could you take this one to the kitchen? Make sure she’s fed.” There was a knowing look in Professor Xavier’s eye that Logan wasn’t sure he liked. Sure, he may have just lovingly held your face whilst bringing you back from the brink of terror, but that didn’t mean there was anything going on between the two of you. You met yesterday!

“Sure.” he shrugged, trying his damnest to sound nonchalant about it. You stretched your arms up above your head, popping your elbows slightly as you followed Logan from the room, feeling a thousand times lighter than you did when you entered two hours ago. Honestly, you couldn’t believe you’d succeeded. 

The doors closed behind you with a soft swish, and you paused to appreciate the man walking ahead of you. You’d known each other for less than twenty-four hours, and yet you’d tear the fabric of the universe apart to ensure his safety. You knew almost nothing about him, and yet you felt the strangest pull towards him, a yearning to be around him, to be near him. It was infuriating, but so fucking exciting at the same time. Could this maybe be something? Did he feel this weird connection too? Or was it just your delusions working overtime? Honestly, hard to say.

“Take a picture, it’d last longer.”

You snapped from your daze to notice he’d turned back to you, realising you weren’t following him. Flashing him a broad smile, refusing to feel any kind of embarrassment that he’d caught you practically staring at him, you jogged a little to catch up, effortlessly falling into step beside him.

“Wanted to thank you,” you looked up at him through the corner of your eye, catching his own gaze. 

“What for?”

“Everything. Logan, I’ve known you for less than a full day and you’ve already helped me more than people I’ve known practically my whole life. The Professor excluded. So yeah, thanks.” You shrugged, hitting the button on the lift to take you both back up to the ground floor. The doors closed and you leaned against the back wall, crossing one ankle over the other. 

“You need better friends if you’re thankin’ me for anythin’. Wouldn’t anyone else do the same?” he asked, mirroring your stance against the adjacent wall, folding his arms across his chest. You snorted a laugh, and he found himself smiling at you.

“Yeah, friends would, but like I said, we haven’t even known each other a full twenty-four hours yet.”

Logan cocked a brow, his smile morphing back to a small smirk. “Well pardon me, princess, I thought we were friends.” 

You rolled your eyes, and Logan had a horrendous feeling he’d misread the entire situation between you. “I mean like, lifelong friends, asshole. People I’ve known ever since I can remember. Not people I met yesterday,” you finished, gently kicking his foot with your own. Logan straightened up as the lift slowed to reach the ground floor, softly flicking your forehead in response to your kick, causing you to bat his hand away.

“Yeah, well, what can I say? You made an impact,” he shrugged, and you grinned.

“Oh yeah?”

“Don’t let it get to your head, bub. I’m just sayin’ you show up after not existin’ and immediately cause trouble.” he watched your expression shift from mischievous to a sheepish pout, unable to beat the trouble-maker allegations. He sighed slightly. “But hey, maybe I like trouble.” The doors opened for the both of you to leave, Logan being the first to make his exit. Though, you stayed behind for a beat.

“Or maybe trouble just likes you,” you retorted with that same lopsided smile he’d come to admire so much, before pushing back against the wall to join him. 

“Yeah well, ‘m’not mad about it either way,” he mumbled, and you thought better about teasing him for it. You imagined this was about as close as he was gonna get to voicing genuine care for you, so you let it drop, simply humming a thoughtful smile in response. 

You don’t know why you were expecting the kitchen to have a few people in it, since classes were currently going on. Maybe it was due to the fact you hadn’t exactly settled back into the life of a teacher yet. Not that you were a teacher anymore, the man currently rifling through the snacks cupboard had seen to that. You found, with no small degree of surprise, that you missed it. You missed teaching combat and strategy, you missed taking the kids through training drills and exercise routines. You missed helping them hone their mutations, with Jean’s help, or Ororo’s help. Sure, the worry of them getting hurt always used to play on your mind, but now you were back, you realised that the worry was worth the fulfilment. 

Taking a seat at the table, you propped your chin up on the heel of your palm, watching as Logan crouched to one of the cupboards below the counter. You didn’t pretend like you weren’t enjoying the view. He really did look fantastic for one hundred and thirty. In peak physical condition.

“I’d say take a picture again but I’d really rather you didn’t,” you were too focused shamelessly staring at his ass you hadn’t noticed he was peering at you over his shoulder with a not-so-subtle smirk. You flashed one right back.

You were coming to like that phrase. “I wouldn’t be opposed,” you retorted, wiggling your brows up and down. Logan snorted a laugh. 

“You flirt with everyone like this?”

You shook your head, moving to rest your chin on top of your now interlaced fingers. “Nah, only with the ones over ninety. I have a thing for older men,” you winked and he rolled his eyes.

“Stop,” but judging from his expression, Logan was finding this just as amusing as you were. But as much as you wanted to continue, your curiosity got the better of you.

“What’re you looking for?” you asked, standing from your seat at the table and skirting around the wood to sit on the edge closer to him, peering down over his shoulder. 

“There used to be a packet of insta-noodles in here somewhere but I think one of the kids got to it first,” he explained, and you gasped dramatically, to the point where he actually looked a little concerned over his shoulder. “What?”

“Insta-noodles? My brother in Christ, please tell me you were not about to give me instant fucking noodles?” you felt something in you die at the thought, and something else died at his affirming nod.

“Yeah, what's wrong with that?” he asked, genuinely perplexed by your reaction. It was just noodles for fuck’s sake, it wasn’t like he’d just offered to kick a baby. He blinked at your barked laugh of disbelief, watching as you hopped off the table and shooed him aside.

“Step back fossil–”

“Hey!”

“and let me do this. We’re going to actually have food. Like, real food. Take a seat or watch and learn.” You shot him a look over your shoulder, before gathering whatever ingredients you needed. Logan dragged one of the chairs back from the table, taking a seat to watch whatever it was you were about to make. 

You started by dicing an onion, a pan with oil already heating up on the gas stove, and it took all of three minutes for Logan to be impressed by your knife skills. You almost wielded the thing like a dagger, flipping it this way and that, before scooping half the pile of onion and dropping it into a plastic bowl. The other half you scraped into the pan, and Logan couldn’t help but savour the sound of the sizzle and the smell of food. Suddenly, he too was starving.

You crossed to the fridge, rummaging around the bottom shelf before pulling out a tub of minced beef, and a packet of mushrooms. Closing the door with your hip, you lay the ingredients out on the counter, pulling open the cupboard above your head to retrieve a box of breadcrumbs and a carton of eggs. Though he saw you pause briefly, turning your head back to him.

“You’re not vegetarian or vegan, right? Probably should have asked yesterday,” your question made him laugh, and you tilted your head to the side. “What?”

“Do I look vegan to you?”

You stuck your tongue in your cheek to stop yourself from smiling. No, no he didn’t. But at the same time, you’d made a similar mistake in the past. And it still haunts you to this day.

“Just answer the question, Lo’” you grit, placing a hand on your hip. Logan blinked, trying his best to get past the nickname you’d just given him. Usually, nicknames were his thing, having about a million different ones for a million different circumstances. He barely managed to shake his head, earning himself a smile of gratitude from you, before you turned back to your task at hand and he could settle himself with his brow pinched between his thumb and forefinger.

You crouched again, rifling through the cupboard with cans. Pushing a stack of soup to the side, you froze solid, your eyes blowing wide as your hand shook at what you saw. Another mug, though someone had gone to great lengths to hide this one. Your fingertips grazed the faded image, a photograph of a younger-looking you and a girl with fair features, her braids tied back at the top of her head. Her smile was brilliant. Dazzling. It took you a moment to will your blurring vision away, before inhaling deeply and bringing out the chopped tomatoes you’d been looking for, setting it to the side. Taking a moment to push her from your mind whilst stirring the slowly browning onions, you then cross to fill the kettle, flicking the switch to start boiling. Logan blew out a breath, having recovered from his heart stuttering and finally went back to watching you cook. 

It was calming, almost hypnotic, the way you moved about the kitchen. Folding the onions in with the beef mince, breadcrumbs and two eggs. Only, it just occurred to him he had no fucking clue what you were making. Standing from his seat, he moved over to lean his shoulder against the fridge door, now having a clear line of sight to watch what you were doing.

“What’re you making?” he asked, smiling slightly as you startled. He didn’t mean to scare you, he just honestly didn’t realise how deep into the process you were. 

“Meatball Marinara,” you answered, your fingers incorporating the ingredients in the bowl until you were left with a sticky, meaty lump you could form balls out of. 

“From scratch?” he asked, eyes slightly wide. You’d spoken at length about your cooking last night, and how you’d learned, and it wasn’t that he didn’t believe you, it was more that he didn’t quite realise how impressive it was until he was here, watching you. 

He swore, your smile could start and end wars.

“It’s pretty quick and easy, to be honest,” you explained, eyes never leaving your task despite feeling his own trained on you. You grabbed the salt from the spice rack, twisting the grinder a few times until you felt it was right. That was what a lot of cooking was for you. Just feeling. When you felt something was done, you’d take it from the oven. When you felt something needed a little more seasoning, you’d sprinkle some paprika in for an extra kick. Nothing was ever done by the book. 

It’s mainly why you didn’t exactly get on with Scott.

“Huh…” Logan responded, watching how you’d started to take small portions of the beef and roll it into little balls, placing them onto a separate plate. 

“Could you give the onions a quick stir? ‘ve got meat hands,” you wiggled your slightly shining fingers in his face, and he jerked back, much to your amusement. Logan fought the urge to flick your forehead again, settling on ignoring your evil little laugh and instead focussing on his critical mission of stirring onions. 

“D’ya cook like this when you were away?” he asked, finding an insane amount of domestic comfort in cooking with you. He saw you shake your head out of his peripheral vision. 

“Nah, didn’t have time, plus I was moving around a lot. Usually, it was quicker and easier things than this,”

“Like insta-noodles?”

You could fucking hear his smirk, and you managed to stop yourself from cracking an egg over his head. “No. Never insta-noodles. Ever.”

You’d finished making little meatballs and had started splitting apart a bulb of garlic, crushing the cloves beneath your knife before peeling off the skin and dicing them before dropping them into the pan he was still stirring. His eyes closed involuntarily as you leaned across him, once again your scent hitting him like a freight train, only this time your shampoo had blended with the sweet, slightly musky smell of your sweat. It was enough to drive him fucking feral. 

“Keep stirring that, or it’ll stick to the bottom and burn,” you instructed absently, halfway through chopping up a few mushrooms before leaning across him again to drop them into the pan as well. Logan held the spoon like it was his lifeline, knuckles draining white as you moved around him to retrieve another pan.

“Yes ma’am,” he responded, and you snorted another laugh. He really had to pull himself together. 

You poured the boiled water from the kettle into the new pan, lighting the burner and setting it on a high heat, bringing the water roiling before grinding salt for what Logan felt was far too long. He wondered vaguely if you had high sodium levels, or how your blood pressure was. You waited again for the water to come back to a boil, before placing a sizeable amount of spaghetti into the pan, putting slight pressure on the tips so the ends would soften and bend faster in the water. 

Placing the lid over the pan, you went to check your watch. Your watch that you weren’t wearing. Fucking goddamnit. You looked around for a clock, before noticing Logan’s wrist. 

Logan’s soul nearly left his body at the way you grabbed his hand, twisting his wrist to make a note of the time. You weren’t exactly rough, but it was assertive enough for him to think twice about the kinds of things he was into…

Wait, what the fuck was he talking about?

“You could’ve just asked the time,” he muttered, tugging his wrist back almost possesively. 

“Hm?” you blinked. In truth, you’d been utterly lost in how good this felt. How right it felt to just do average, mundane tasks with him. “Oh, right, yeah, sorry. Could you tell me when ten minutes have passed?” you asked, almost instantly busying yourself again by carefully dropping the meatballs into the pan he was stirring. “Gotta brown off the meat first…” you instructed softly, almost absently. But he listened, slowing his movements. Your resulting smile was radiant. “Hey, you’re a natural!”

Logan raised a brow. “I’m stirring a pan, bub. Not exactly gourmet style.” You laughed, gently hitting his bicep with the back of your hand, only to stop in your tracks, shaking your knuckles out. 

“Ow! I thought you said your bones were made of adamantium,” you exclaimed, rubbing over the back of your hand with your other palm. In truth, it didn’t really hurt, but you just wanted to make a point because nobody has the right to be this built. It was insane.

Logan bit his tongue to stop from smiling, his eyes sliding from that pan to you. “Just the result of a good workout regime,” he shrugged as if it were nothing special. In reality, he knew he looked good. He put a lot of work into his physique, and whilst his mutation did help with that, it was still nice to be complimented on it once in a while. 

“Huh… you don’t say,” you responded, cracking open the can of tomatoes once the meatballs had browned to your satisfaction. The metal sizzled slightly as you poured in the sauce, setting the can to the side and retrieving a few basil leaves from the window box on the opposite side of the room. Logan hadn’t noticed it before, remarkably, and though having no experience with plants in recent history, something told him he wouldn’t have too much trouble identifying what they were.

It was a weird feeling. Remembering something he didn’t actually remember. Though it had been the story of his life for the last few years. 

You dropped the leaves into the sauce, leaving him to stir the pot whilst you brought out two sets of plates and cutlery and set them on the counter, angling your head so you could catch sight of the time from the watch on his wrist. He would have just told you if he didn’t think you were deriving some kind of joy from attempting to read his watch sideways.

Removing the lid from the pan, you scooped up a single piece of spaghetti, blowing away the steam before dropping it into your hand when you thought it was cool enough. You shot him a quick look Logan could only describe as pure mischief, before throwing the spaghetti against the backsplash of the stove. He watched as the pasta hit the wall with a sick squelch, before sliding down the tiles. 

He looked back at you, and you almost instantly burst into fits of laughter. “The fuck was that for?” he asked, his brows furrowed in perplexion. 

You managed to recover from laughing, though hiccuped through a few giggles. “You can tell whether spaghetti’s done by throwing it at the wall. If it sticks, it’s raw, if it slides, it’s done,” you exclaimed, tilting your head to get another look at the time, noting that those ten minutes were up.

“Really?” 

“Nah, that’s an old wive’s tale. Honestly, it’s just kinda fun to pelt spaghetti at a wall and call it ‘cooking’.” You sent him a wink, and Logan shook his head in fond disbelief. He felt like he’d seen so many sides to you in the last twenty-four hours alone. And if he was being completely honest with himself, he wanted to see more. He wanted to see how many sides to you there were, and whether he would like them all as much as he liked the ones he’s already seen. Your fury included.

“Your ten minutes it up, by the way,” he reminded you, and though he had a feeling you already knew, you nodded in thanks anyway, removing the boiling pan from the stove and flicking off the burner, the blue gas flames retreated to nothing. Skirting around him to the sink, you tipped out the water, using the lid of the pan to stop the rest of the spaghetti from falling with it. You shook the pan slightly, shaking out any pieces that had stuck together, before setting about separating the contents into two portions, one slightly bigger than the other. 

“How’s it looking?” you asked, leaning back to take a look at the sauce. If Logan had to grit his teeth after smelling your scent one more time his jaw would fucking snap. You really weren’t making this easy on him, were you? Part of him wondered if you were doing it deliberately, but there was no way of you knowing about his heightened senses. Unless you’d asked around, which, with everything you’ve had going on since you got back, he sincerely doubted. 

“Looks good to me, but I’m not the expert here,” he handed you the spoon, stepping to the side for you to take over. Your fingers brushed his as you took it, and he tried his fucking best to ignore the slight buzz you’d left. 

Lifting the spoon to your lips, you sampled what you’d been slaving over for the last twenty minutes, smiling slightly as the sweet, tarty flavours burst on your tongue. It was a new sensation for Logan to wish he was a spoon, but here he was. 

“Perfect!” you beamed, dipping the spoon back in the sauce and turning to him, your palm cupped beneath the wood to prevent anything from spilling onto the floor. “Wanna try it?”

Logan shrugged, stepping forward and allowing you to bring the spoon to his lips. Your eyes never left his, the tips of your fingers grazing the coarse stubble beneath his chin, but you didn’t move away. He struggled to focus on anything other than how close you were to him, the feeling of your fingers on his jaw, your breath fanning the lower half of his face. Your hopeful eyes waiting eagerly for his verdict, searching his expression for any kind of clue. And he was suddenly afraid of what you’d find there. 

Stepping back, he pretended like he was savouring what you’d fed him, and whilst it was fucking delicious, it didn’t compare to how he imagined your lips tasting. Or anything else, for that matter. 

“‘S’really good,” he managed, and you immediately looked as if you weren’t waiting with bated breath for his approval.

“Isn’t it? Fuck I’m good,” your laugh was more akin to an evil mastermind than someone who’d just made meatballs, but Logan would be hard-pressed to find another time in his life when he felt this at peace with the world. At least, not in the life he could remember. “Sit, I’ll bring it over,” you instructed, removing a larger, metal spoon from the drawer, which he took off you the moment he could.

“Pretty sure it’s supposed to be the other way ‘round, bub. You cooked,” he glanced pointedly to the seat you’d just gestured to. But clearly, you were, amongst many other things, incredibly stubborn. 

“Not sure how you worked that one out, you cooked too,” you folded your arms across your chest, setting your jaw. 

“Yeah, barely. Sit your ass down,” he pointed to the chair with the spoon in his hand, but you still refused, now leaning against the counter as if you could get any further away from the table. Logan sighed heavily, placing the spoon down again. “Didn’t wanna have to do this…” he muttered, and you didn’t have the chance to ask what he meant by this before his arms were around your waist and you were lifted effortlessly off the ground. 

All breath fled from your lungs. Your hands instantly fell to his shoulders, nails clinging on for dear life as he carried you to that godforsaken chair. His grip around your body tightened as you attempted to wriggle free from his arms, laughing breathlessly, exhilaration coursing through your body. Only, the moment he tried to set you down, you did a complete 180 and wrapped your arms around his neck, your legs around his waist.

“Let go,” his words were muffled against your neck as he bent almost double, and you leaned back until you were practically hovering above the chair.

“Seemed like a good idea a minute ago, huh?” You arched a cocky brow and were met with an expression mirroring your own. 

“So you gonna cling to me forever? That your genius plan?”

“If that's what it takes,” 

“Let go,” the way he said your name almost had you falling to the floor, your muscles suddenly growing weak. But you stayed strong, out of nothing but principal at this point. He wasn’t even holding you anymore, you were clinging on through sheer willpower alone. For the sake of being stubborn.

“You made this bed, now lie in it,” you responded haughtily, refusing to look into his irritated façade.

“That doesn’t make any goddamn sense,” he growled, and you fucking melted. That wasn’t fucking fair, and judging by the steadily growing smirk, he knew it. His hands gripped both your calves, successfully peeling you from his waist whilst you were distracted. You had no choice but to let your legs fall to the floor, catching yourself on the chair behind you, much to his triumphant grin. 

“You cheated!” you gaped, sitting cross-legged on the seat. Logan barely looked over his shoulder as he started spooning the sauce onto the two piles of pasta. All that over fucking spaghetti. And you didn’t even regret it a little.

“How’d I cheat?” he asked, though you were aware he knew full well how. And you were right. He did know. Of course he knew. He’d used that specific voice countless times before. Usually under very different circumstances. He just wanted to hear you say it. Hear you say how it affected you. 

But, true to form, you were stubborn.

“You’re stronger than I am,” you sighed, glaring heated daggers into the back of his head. You wanted to be petty, to stand up and take the spoon from him again, but in all honesty, you don’t think you’d survive another round of ‘sit on the fucking chair’.

Logan looked at you over his shoulder, his eyes swirling with knowing, and you stuck your tongue in your cheek and looked away, not giving him any satisfaction of confirming what he was thinking. You’d been so caught up in avoiding eye contact, that you almost jumped when he set the plate down in front of you, setting his own at the opposite place. At least he’d had the sense to realise the large portion was for him. Credit where credit was due, you guessed.

A comfortable silence blanketed the kitchen as he took a seat, two glasses of water in his hands, and you smiled a thank you. If you had your brother to thank for anything, it was teaching you how to cook. Well, it was many more things than that, but at this moment, it was cooking lessons. He didn’t want you going into the world with the culinary skills of a carrot. His words, not yours. 

You had a feeling Logan was a hard man to impress, so listening to his small grunt of appreciation was music to your ears. “Told ya I was a good chef,” you beamed after swallowing a mouthful and taking a large sip of water. 

Logan nodded in agreement. It wasn’t like he could disagree, the proof was right there, in front of him, in his fucking mouth for fuck’s sake. And the peace pesto from last night. Though he was glad his metabolism was fast. Pasta two days in a row can’t be good for anyone. “Never said you weren’t,” your expression fell from pride to scowling in seconds, and the corner of his mouth quirked up. “You’re a fantastic chef.”

Your eyes narrowed as you searched for any hint of dishonesty, but you came up short. Though he said it as if to placate you, something told you he really meant it. You were just playing around, in all honesty, teasing in order to forget what just happened between you, and you’d gotten so much more than you bargained for. 

Much like the other night, you both fell into comfortable, mundane conversation, finding refuge in how fucking normal everything felt right now. You laughed and smiled as if the threat of disappearing into nothing didn’t constantly hang above your head, and he teased and joked as if the weight of his forgotten life didn’t constantly burden his shoulders. You could get used to this. Dangerously used to this. 

Logan was completely enamoured by you, once again finding himself encapsulated by the way you talk, from moments where you get really into whatever story you’re telling, to quieter moments when you let the conversation settle. If he was to die tomorrow, unlikely but worth entertaining from time to time, it was moments like these he was sure would flash through his mind. 

“What about you? I’ve talked your ear off about my life but you never talk about yours. Though, I guess there’s a lot to talk about,” you mused thoughtfully, twisting your fork through your spaghetti, or whatever was left of it. Logan grunted, shifting in his seat to lean against the back of the chair.

“It’s not a happy story,” he admitted quietly, buying himself some time by taking a long glass of water. Your gentle eyes found his, a soft smile pulling at the corners of your lips.

“I’m not looking for a fairytale. Just who you are,” you fought the urge to reach across the table and slip your hand into his. Though you didn’t want to push him to divulge anything, you just didn’t wanna feel like the whole conversation was one-sided. Sure, he would chime in with a few anecdotes but mainly it was just asking you questions. 

If he was being honest with himself, Logan wasn’t sure he wanted to tell you anything about his past. He knew you wouldn’t judge, clearly having seen a fair amount of bullshit yourself, and the fact that it simply wasn’t who you were. No, his problem lay with the fact that he didn’t want to dampen your spirit with his sob story of a past. How he only remembers through thrashing nightmares, waking up soaked in sweat, heart racing. You didn’t need to know any of that. 

“Alright… I–” he began before quite literally being saved by the bell. Logan looked at his watch, brows raising at how easily time had once again run away with the two of you. You blinked, looking around as if you could find the bell and ask it personally why it was going off so early before the echoing of ongoing conversation shattered the domestic delusion you’d both managed to trick yourselves into feeling.

“Another time,” you stood from the table, leaning over to grab his plate, but he swatted your hand away and instead took your own. 

“Never learn, do ya?” he asked with a slight smile, and you rolled your eyes. With a heavy, defeated sigh, you conceded, simply allowing him to take your plate to the sink. Stretching your arms high above your head, you popped your stiff shoulders, turning your head as two students you knew well entered the kitchen.

“You made meatballs?! No fair, I wanted some!” Jubilee whined, her books still clasped against her chest. Artie stuck out his forked tongue, much like a snake would taste the air around it before his curious face morphed into a frown. It seemed he too wouldn’t have minded meatballs. 

Logan looked over his shoulder at the two newcomers, his eyes darting between you and them, your guilt written all over your face.

“I’ll make them for you again sometime soon. We could have one of those big dinners we used to do, remember those?” you asked, your eyes alight with hope. Logan had heard of those. Apparently, you used to cook for the whole mansion, and the students would drag tables and chairs from all different rooms and have a huge feast together. Of course, he didn’t believe a word anybody said about it, since he was convinced you were a figment of everyone’s collective imagination, but now he knew you very much did exist, he could envision you dancing around the kitchen for hours on end, preparing dish after dish.

Jubilee’s face lit up at the suggestion, her hand hitting Artie’s arm excitedly. “Seriously? You mean that? We’ve missed doing that so much. Nobody cooks the way you do!” She bounced on her toes, before whirling and darting from the room, most likely to tell the rest of her friends. Artie lingered for a few seconds, clearly not knowing whether he wanted to stay or to race after Jubilee, before he too turned on his heel and ran after her. You chuckled softly, running a hand through your hair.

“What’ve I gotten myself into…?” you muttered, startling slightly as a hand rested on your shoulder. You looked up at Logan, unable to accurately decipher his expression. All you knew was that it was soft. Softer than you’d seen in the last day or so. 

“Were y’always this good with em? The kids?” he asked, and you huffed a laugh. You wished you could say yes, absolutely, you’d always been naturally gifted at looking after children. But that wasn’t the truth. 

“Fuck no. Used to hate kids, to be honest with you. Thought they were annoying as fuck when I first started,” you admitted slightly sheepishly. “But, they grew on me. Still not a fan of like, other kids, but any who come to this school? Love ‘em.” 

“Makes me wonder why they sent you ‘round America and not someone more suited.” his eyes glinted with mischief and you lightly elbowed his ribs.

“I can be incredibly persuasive.” 

“That so?”

“Mmmhm,” you nodded emphatically, stepping out of his range and immediately missing the warmth of his palm on your shoulder. You hadn’t even noticed he’d left it there until you moved away and hopped onto the table, your feet dangling slightly. He didn’t take his eyes off you, scanning your face as though he was considering you. You cocked a brow. “What?”

“Teach with me.”

You blinked. Well, you weren’t expecting that. “Come again?”

“Teach with me,” he repeated as confidently as he’d said it the first time. You scoffed a laugh. 

“What? Why?”

Logan shrugged. “You’re better with the kids than I am, and it would give you a good opportunity to develop your mutation in a combat setting.” And I get to spend more time with you.

You hesitated. “I– I don’t know, Logan. It’s… I don’t think it’s a good idea,” While you wanted nothing more than yet another excuse to be around him, you didn’t know if getting back into teaching was the right thing for you at the moment. Yeah, you missed it. Fuck, you missed it more than you thought you would, but you really meant it when you said you weren’t cut out for it. If only you weren’t the only person who thought so. 

“One class.” he bargained. “Help me with one class tomorrow and decide from there.”

You pursed your lips, and Logan could almost hear your internal debate. “You’re not gonna let it go til I do it, are you?”

“Probably not,” he smirked, knowing he’d just got you to agree. Your resulting sigh confirmed it. 

“Fine. One class. No more than that.” In all honesty, you would have agreed just to see his resulting smile. 

“We’ll see about that bub, class starts at one tomorrow.” 

You nodded once, nerves suddenly bubbling in your gut. You were going to teach again, after being out the game for the last two years. Fucking hell you wanted to throw up. But you took a deep breath, holding it for a few seconds before exhaling. Maybe this was a good thing. A blessing in disguise. Sure, it had been a while, but maybe Logan was right. Maybe your mutation would only develop under times of stress. You were incredibly stressed today, and look what happened. 

“Alright, I’ll talk to Charles and Scott, see what they say,”

Logan huffed, clearly irate with the idea. “Don’t give a shit what Scott says. He couldn’t help you after almost two hours. I was there for two minutes and you made progress,” he huffed, and you couldn’t help but laugh slightly. Was he… was he jealous? No, that wasn’t possible. What would he have to be jealous about?

“Alright tough guy, rein it in. The way you helped out earlier, it wouldn’t surprise me if Charles is telling him you should be taking over my training,” you hadn’t even thought about it before you said it, but now it was out your mouth, you realised it was entirely plausible. Especially since anyone with eyes or ears could see how much better you got on with Logan than you did Scott. Logan suggested one approach and it worked like a charm.

“Ya think so?” Fuck was the hope in his voice as obvious to you as it was to him? The idea of helping you with your mutation, whilst slightly terrifying, excited him. He couldn’t help but think that would be a learning experience for both of you.

“Yeah, why not? Like you said, Scott couldn’t help after two hours,” you shrugged, hopping off the table. “Anyway, I’m in dire need of a shower and comfier clothing, so I’ll see you in a bit.” Logan almost cried at the thought of you no longer smelling like you do now, and he had half the mind to tell you to forget the shower, you smelt that fucking good. But he also didn’t want the reputation of the weird-smell guy, so instead of trapping you in his arms and begging you not to, he simply nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, see you later.” He grumbled, trying not to be obviously annoyed by the fact the time you’d spent together was coming to an end. You shot him a confused look, before disappearing out the door and up the stairs to your room. Logan stayed for a few more minutes, his eyes closed as he finally let himself get lost in your scent. He wanted you. Fuck he’d only known you for a day and he wanted you. How the hell was he supposed to just behave normally now you were back living here? It simply wasn’t possible. 

He groaned, running a hand down the side of his face. On the one hand, he really wanted to spend more time with you. He was actively looking forward to spending time with you. But on the other, he didn’t know how much longer he could behave himself. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep up this ‘friendly’ banter with you without it crossing the line. Had it already crossed the line?

Jesus Christ, he didn’t even know. He couldn’t help thinking this was likely about to get extremely messy if he didn’t get his shit together. But, at the same time…

He always liked a little mess.

Freshly showered, moisturised and pampered, you lay face up on your bed, your room feeling more like a forest than anything else. The steam from your shower still rolling out from your bathroom, and the more tropical plants you kept seemed to be absolutely thriving. You were thrilled, you really were, but you couldn’t take your mind off the day you’d just had. Not that it was over, it was only five in the afternoon, but so much had happened in the last day it was hard to wrap your head around.

You’d been replaced as a professor, your bedroom stolen, and you’d been informed that the mutation you thought you knew so well wasn’t actually what you thought it was at all, and that it could very well end you in seconds. You’d thrown a fit, broken your hand, dragged shadows toward you and constructed them into a pair of fucking awesome wings, and cooked with a man you’d known all of two minutes.

And the strangest fucking part was that you couldn’t get him off your mind. You couldn’t stop thinking about him. It was honestly getting a little irritating, seeing his face every time you close your eyes, hearing his laugh when your room got a little too silent. Feeling the ghostly touches of his arms around your waist, his hands on your neck. His breath against your ear. 

You flapped your arms down on your bed in defiance. You would not lie in bed thinking about him all evening. You refused. And luckily, due to an unexpected visit, you didn’t have to.

“He likes you, ya know,”

You screamed, whipping your head back to your door where you saw Kitty strolling in, completely unphased by your reaction. Grabbing one of your pillows, you threw it at her approaching form, watching as it soared straight through her body. Your jaw flapped, completely speechless. “I– Wh– Kitty! You can’t just waltz in here unannounced! Scared me shitless!” you exclaimed, running a stressed hand through your hair.

“Why? I always used to. Been gone that long, huh?” she asked, plopping down on the end of your bed and crossing her legs. 

“Yeah… guess I have,” It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for your accommodation to be broken into. The moment rumour got out there was a mutant staying a few streets over the road, you had to move. Sometimes you hadn’t been quick enough and had spent the rest of the evening frantically scrubbing blood from beneath your fingernails, before making a quick exit.

Those were the times on your travels nobody needed to know about. Those were the times you’d keep to yourself. 

You jumped again as your door burst open, a frantic Logan looking you up and down before his eyes darted around the room. “You alright? I heard screaming,” he panted, slightly breathless from clearly having sprinted up the stairs. 

Your heart grew five sizes. “Yeah, I’m fine. Kitty scared the shit out of me, ‘s’all,” you shrugged, too focused on him to notice the woman of the hour beaming wildly, looking between the two of you. 

His shoulders sagged, the man visibly relaxing, his eyes lingering on yours. “Okay…”

“Okay…” you repeated, unable to tame your disobedient smile as he almost awkwardly nodded his head. 

“Right. I’ll uh, yeah. Leave ya to it,” he clicked his tongue, sending you one last glance to make sure you were really okay, before closing the door. 

You sighed, shaking your head fondly, chuckling quietly to yourself. 

“Oh. My. God. You like him too!”

Looking up with unnatural speed, you scoffed, waving your hand dismissively. “The fuck are you talking about?” you asked a little too defensively.

“I’m talking about you and Logan. He clearly likes you, and now I can see that you like him too! Oh, this is so fucking cute, just wait until I tell Marie, she’ll go fucking crazy!” Kitty clapped her hands excitedly, and you had to catch one of her wrists in order to stop her. 

“What are you on about? Logan doesn’t like me, we’re just friends,” oh, was it supposed to hurt that much to say it? But, in all honesty, you don’t think you were ready to confront whatever it was you felt for this man. For now, you were pretty content to bask in not knowing, and being kind of excited about it.

“Mhm? Friends don’t eye fuck in the kitchen.”

You choked. Her tone was so matter-of-fact that if you weren’t actually looking at her, you wouldn’t have believed you were talking to Shadowcat herself, Kitty Pryde. “Kitty! Christ, what happened to you? And we weren’t eye fucking. I was hungry and refused to cook insta-noodles, so we actually made a meal.” You explained. 

“For almost four hours? Meatballs take twenty minutes, twenty-five at a push,”

“We lost track of time!”

“I repeat, for four hours?” she asked again, folding her arms and raising one of her thin brows. You pursed your lips to stop yourself from saying anything else incriminating. “Though as much,”

“I didn’t even say anything!” 

“You didn’t need to, it’s written over your lovestruck face.” She poked her finger toward your nose, and all you could think about was the way Logan flicked your forehead beforehand or the way Logan gave you that little push back in the training room. Or the way Logan–

Christ on a fucking boat when would it end?

“I’m not lovestruck,” you mumbled, dragging your knees up to your chest. You debated telling Kitty about your predicament with your mutation, for the sole reason of explaining why you and Logan were spending so much time together recently, but you didn’t think you could bear the look on her face. The only ones who knew, to your understanding, were Scott, as the leader of the team, Jean, as the leading scientist, Charles for obvious reasons, and Logan because you told him. You didn’t really want another person to know your problems, especially not Kitty. 

You couldn’t bear to see her face when you told her you weren’t a phaser anymore. The mere thought broke your heart. You had matching mugs and everything. You couldn’t do that to her. Let alone sharing the idea that your mutation could simply not allow you to return back to the corporeal world one day, and you’d be stuck as nothing but wondering consciousness in the shadows for, effectively, all eternity. That was a little too morbid to talk about even with Logan.

“He’s just… helping me get back into the swing of things. I haven’t been a teacher for a long time, Kit, and since he took my position, he’s offered to help me–”

“Get back into teaching! Oh my god, he has, hasn’t he? That’s so exciting! I thought you didn’t want to get back into it?” She asked, untucking her legs and swinging them around so she was now lying comfortably on your bed, her head propped up on her elbow. 

“Well, we’re not getting ahead of ourselves, but yeah, that’s the idea. Gonna help him with his class tomorrow…” you trailed off, your heart beginning to accelerate at the thought of teaching your first class in two years. “So yeah, that’s why we’ve been spending so much time together. It’s nothing serious, promise! Plus, since most of the new students are kids I found, he’s pretty much the only person I don’t know here.” You flopped back down onto your bed, angling your head so you could still see her.

There was a moment of comfortable silence, a moment to let the conversation settle and for your heart to slow a little, before Kitty spoke up again. “He was really excited to meet you,” she offered quietly, and your brows raised subconsciously. “Everytime someone started talking about you, he’d tune in. He was subtle, but Marie noticed it first, and she told me to look out for it. He was looking forward to meeting you for the best part of a year.”

You took a deep breath. That couldn’t possibly be true. “You’re good at seeing things that aren’t there, Kit. I love you for it, but sometimes things really aren’t that deep,” you explained softly, trying your hardest not to smile at the image of Logan only tuning into the conversation if it was about you. It was definitely a stretch of the imagination, but it was a pleasant one.

“Yeah yeah, you watch. I’ll be keeping an eye on your totally platonic relationship with Professor Howlett but mark my words, you’ll be together by the end of the month,” Kitty smacked your calf to emphasise her point, and you shook your leg threateningly, laughing at the notion. 

“I cannot wait to see you eat your words. I’m sure they’ll taste of falsehoods and regret.” You flashed her a toothy grin, and she stuck her tongue out in retaliation. You’d missed moments like these. In all honesty, you hadn’t realised how lonely the last two years had been. Hadn’t realised how starved of friendship you’d been until you found yourself talking and laughing amongst friends again. You didn’t realise how much you’d missed this place until you came home again, to both the old friends, and the new. 

[sp0o0kylights]

You know what I want to see, I want to see more of Steve, Eddie, and Robin being 1980s small town kids from Indiana, by which I mean;

Robin is The Source of Gay Knowledge purely because her parents host Hippie Christmas and she managed to sneak away to find a neat bookstore in Indiana once. 

Her knowledge is not in depth. It's patchy, woven together through rumors, stories she heard or things she picked up from her parents' old pictures. She's got a handful of zines, one book, and some movies she managed to order for Family Video behind Keith's back.

She acts like she's Queen of the Queers because in Hawkins she pretty much is.

(Max and El ask her what a lavender marriage is once, something they overheard snooping around. 

Robin confidentially answers that it's code for when one woman dresses up as a man, fooling officials into wedding two woman.

She does not live this down two years later when they find out what it actually means.) 

Eddie doesn't spend every weekend in Indianapolis. 

Gas is expensive, his busiest days of his "job" is Friday and Saturday, and he has no fucking clue what the hanky code is. 

He's wearing that bandana because Metallica front singer James Hetfield has one on all their tour posters. 

Eddie does make it down to a gay bar though, by accident. Rick needed some back up for a shady deal. Promised Eddie a boatload of free drugs to sell if he agreed to just stand there and look mean. 

He was warned the bar they were meeting in was 'weird' and to not 'freak out' --which Eddie thought was hilarious given his nickname and general appearance, but whatever.

He doesn't understand when they get there, because it's just a bunch of hot men with hanky's in their back pockets everywhere.

Then he sees two women kissing and it clicks. 

He can't out himself in front of Rick, but one of the bartenders playfully dresses him down for his own hanky, letting him know all about the code and teasing him through his embarrassment. 

He's got an offer to come back and learn what color and which pocket his hanky should actually be in, a prospect Eddie was salivating at until Chrissy Cunningham up and died on his ceiling.

(He still wore the hanky, because the feeling of that bartender tugging it out and stuffing it back in might be the closest thing he's ever had to sex and he absolutely wants a repeat. 

He's young and horny, sue him.) 

Steve Harrington may not be academically smart but he's not dumb. 

He figured out a while back that the basketball team as a unit probably crossed the queer line more than once--or at least it did before Hargrove came in. 

( Brad Handly for example, went around slamming kids into lockers and screaming slurs like a fucking movie villain one Monday because the varsity team got dead drunk at Laura's party on Sunday and hey, look, there weren't that many girls there, okay?

They all had fucking hands and mouths. Everybody but Tommy was single and hot to trot. Nothing gay about it.

Its not even like they were kissing or treating each other like chicks. It was just Brad's first time and they got to tease him later for overthinking it. 

Dude graduated soon enough after and given Steve was on the team as a sophomore, he hadn't thought about the guy and why he might be freaking out so bad in years.) 

Robin's entire panic attack at Starcourt, and a few more after had Steve replaying that whole incident. Reframed it a bit, and, yeah.

In retrospect that had been extremely gay, actually. 

It sat with him a lot easier than he'd thought it would. Partially because of Robin, but mostly because that's just who he was.

Stranger things had happened to Steve and this one didn't want to kill, maim or otherwise eat him, so it got filed under 'interesting facts he should never tell his parents if he wanted to keep his trust fund' and then he went about his day. 

(Or he tried too, anyways.

It caught up to him when Eddie and Robin somehow figured out the other was queer and dragged him along to some bar Eddie had a standing invitation at, with demands for Steve to do what he did best.

Babysit.

Their magical trip was utterly destroyed when Brad Handly happened to be the very same bartender who had given Eddie the invite.

 Considering Brad's immediate bark of laughter followed by a hug and introducing himself as "Steve's gay awakening", Steve ended up having to speedrun through Eddie and Robin both having a crisis for him.

It didn't help that Steve had politely, and laughingly, corrected Brad with a casual; 

"Pretty sure that was Tommy man, but if it helps I think that tongue of yours gave Matt Burdon a crisis."

--which ended up with him answering a lot more gay sex questions with Brad than he cared too. 

At least he, through Brad, was able to help Robin connect to some local lesbians and--after a second crisis from Eddie regarding how Steve managed to have more sex than "the resident town freak and guy who actually knew he was gay, Steve!"-- even helped Eddie out by catching the metalheads tongue with his mouth later that evening.

The last one landed him a boyfriend, trust fund be damned.) 

[honeybeefae]

Quiet as a Mouse (Azriel x Reader)

Summary// You had been sent by your father to go sift through Azriel’s room in the Court of Nightmares to see if there was anything useful they could use against him. It went against your morals, which was rare in your court, but you also didn’t want to be tortured for the next week so you decided to go in and out quickly. However, the last thing you expected was for the Shadowsinger to be there and catch you right after his shower.

(IT’S BEEN A LONG TIME COMING BUT I HAVEN’T FORGOTTEN THIS ONE LOVES. I hope you guys enjoy it as much as I did bc sheesh it’s a hot one. This is like no fluff whatsoever, just pure fucking sex from the Spymaster.)

WARNINGS: 18+, smut, slight dub!con(?), Az gives her a choice between sex and torture so, but reader DEF wants the sex, bondage, pet names, dom!Azriel, sub!reader, Az’s got a lil sadistic side of him, edging, rough sex, shadow play, dark!Azriel, begging, knife play, this is like DARK but SO hot, you have been warned

You had been sent to sift through the Shadowsinger’s room in the Court of Nightmares. It wasn’t that you wanted to, you were terrified of him. No, you were here under threat of torture from your own family.

They were desperate to find some dirt, some stain, about Rhysand and his group to use against them. It was a foolish, stupid plan that you were extremely against but your opinion did not matter to them. The only thing that did was how quiet you could move around and be near undetectable.

Keir was in cahoots with the whole plan and had even given you a pathway to get to the secluded area. Of course, he would reap some of the benefits of whatever you were able to find, no good deed goes without a greedy hand to snatch half of it.

You had been promised that the Shadowsinger would be gone when you arrived, busy with torture or maiming or whatever it is the illusive man did in his spare time. Rhysand and Feyre were busy with Keir in the great hall and seeing as you were as memorable as a vase in a far corner, this plan should be foolproof.

So why were your palms sweating and your heart racing as if you were running against the clock of your death?

“Come on, come on.” You whispered to yourself, trying your best to be quick and neat. The last thing you wanted was for him to suspect someone had been here. “Something. Anything. Please.”

But there was nothing of substance. The drawers were full of clothes and sheaths. The desk in the corner was bare bones. It was almost eerie how clean this room was.

You had been in here for far too long and with one final look around, you decided to throw in the towel. There was nothing here for you to expose. Surely your family would understand, right? They couldn’t kill you.

Just as you were walking across the room to the door, a loud slam reverberated around you. It suddenly got a few degrees warmer and you were so terrified that you felt like you were going to wet yourself.

Steam rolled past, fogging up the mirror slightly that was in front of you. It took everything in your power not to scream as you made eye contact with a very wet and shirtless Illyrian.

His wings were slightly open, water droplets hitting the floor as a white towel hung loosely over his hips. You couldn’t stop your gaze from flicking downwards at his stomach, briefly admiring his beauty before moving back up to his face.

Immediately you were drawn into the mysterious air around him, your eyes captivated by the shadows that were curling around his shoulders and neck. The tattoos that marked his skin were an inky black that paired well with his tan skin.

You tensed when a small smirk graced his face, his head tilting to the side as he studied you.

“Can I help you, little mouse?”

Fuck.

“Yes, I mean, no,” You quickly scrambled for words, sweat forming on your forehead as you slowly backed away from his intimidating form. “I was in the wrong room, I’m so sorry.”

“That’s funny considering this is the only room in this hallway.” He mused, raising an eyebrow as his scarred hands tightened their hold on his towel. “Lie better.”

“I was, I swear.” You gulped, your back hitting the door as your heart nearly leaped out of your chest. A brief thought of it bursting through your ribcage flashed across your mind as you grasped the door handle and turned it. “I’ll just leave.”

You barely got an arm out the door before something dark and heavy wrapped around your waist and yanked you back inside. The scream that ripped out of your throat was quickly smothered as a hand covered your mouth, your eyes widening in terror when Azriel’s face appeared inches from your own.

He had used his shadows to pull you back in and shove you into the wall, the coolness of them making your skin prickle. You could see the sadistic glint in his eyes as he took you in, eyes running unabashedly over your body. 

“You know better than to run, mouse.” Azriel hummed, clicking his tongue and shaking his head. “What were you doing in my room?”

The nausea building in your stomach from your nerves was threatening to turn into vomit as you weighed your options. If you tell him the truth and he spares you, he would go after your family, but if you lied it was sure to be torture from him and you knew the stories did not lie.

“My patience is growing thin. Answer me.” He warned and you mumbled into his hand, taking a deep breath when he removed it so you could speak. 

“My father sent me here to find something to use against you, I don’t know what.” You confessed, voice wobbling, as tears sprang in the corner of your eyes. “They told me if I didn’t do it they would torture me, sell me off, and I was scared. Please, please don’t hurt me.”

If you were supposed to feel shame in begging for your life there was none. You would get on your knees and kiss his feet if it meant you didn’t die with a blade in your chest. Azriel stared into your eyes for far too long, trying to see if there was any hint of a lie, and stepped back when he saw no deception.

Your hands caught you as you fell to your knees, head hanging down as you silently thanked the Mother that he let you go. It was a miracle you hadn’t pissed yourself from how close to death you were. You tried to rise but frowned when you found yourself still bound by his shadows, your head snapping up to watch him in confusion.

“Did you think you would get off that easy?” He asked smugly. “You broke into my room, my refuge, and went through my things. Do you not think that warrants a punishment?”

Whatever happiness you had just been feeling came crashing down. You shouldn’t have been so naive in thinking he would just let you go free. Azriel’s entire reputation was built off of torture, pain, and sadism. 

The room seemed to be closing in on you as you bit down on your bottom lip. You weren’t going to make it home, you were going to die for something so fucking stupid. This was how it ended.

“Just make it quick.” You said softly, shoulders slumping in defeat. “That’s all I ask.”

Silence was heavy in the air for a few tense seconds before his laughter made you jump. You furrowed your brows at him, shocked and angry that he thought your life was something to laugh at. 

“Do you think I am going to kill you? Is that what you consider a punishment?” His hazel eyes were bright with humor as your frown deepened.

“I just thought-”

Without warning you were suddenly lifted by his shadows so that you were at eye level, his lips turned upward in a smirk that made your heart hammer and sex throb. Now is not the time. 

“I’m not going to kill you, little mouse. I’ve got a far more…pleasurable idea of torture in mind.” He purred, watching as your eyes immediately dropped to the growing erection that his towel was barely concealing. “I’m going to fuck you until you can’t walk, can’t think, can’t do anything besides say, ‘yes sir’.”

Your nostrils flared as he snaked a hand through your hair and grabbed the base of your neck, his lips brushing against your own. The scent of arousal was thick as you suppressed a moan. He had just gone from threatening your life to wanting to wreck you in seconds, your mind trying to play catch up.  

“You will be bound, gagged, and used for my pleasure. That’s your punishment…if you want it.” Azriel shrugged, his jaw tensing. “Or I could turn you into your High Lord and he can decide. Which would you rather do?”

“I…” Your voice was airy as you slowly got high on his scent, logic walking out the door as you swallowed thickly. “I want the first one.”

“Which one? I want you to say it.” He growled, his grip on your hair tightening painfully. 

“I want you to, to fuck me, sir.” You blushed, not used to using such filthy language. “To bound me and gag me and use me, as you said.”

Azriel’s smile turned feral as his shadows let you go, his hands catching you before you could fall. You were sure there would be bruises from his grip as he whispered, “You asked for it, little mouse.”

Before you could even ready yourself his lips were on yours, his mouth hot and demanding as you bent to his whim. One of his hands was digging into your upper arm while the other grabbed the base of your neck, holding you still so he could dominate you. 

His tongue mingled with your own as you closed your eyes and tried to hold yourself together. You were still shaking from fear but slowly your panties were growing more and more damp from how good he smelled and tasted. No male in the Court of Nightmares had ever made you this wet this quickly.

You sneakily tried to move your hand to palm his cock through the towel but his shadows caught you before you could even touch him, the cool mist tightening around your wrists until you whimpered in pain. Azriel clicked his tongue and shook his head, snapping his fingers and pointing at the ground.

Before you could register his command the shadows already forced you into the position he wanted, your knees aching when they hit the floor as your hands were moved behind your back and kept together at an uncomfortable angle.

“You must be mad if you think you have any control in this bedroom.” Azriel murmured as he brushed his scarred knuckles against your cheek softly, smirking when you leaned into the touch. In a flash he gripped your hair into a makeshift ponytail, enjoying the way you winced then gasped as he dropped the towel. “I own you. You do as I say when I say it. Every flinch of pain, every whimper of pleasure, it’s mine You’re mine. Now open.”

The sight of his cock standing proudly in front of you, the skin the same color as the rest of him with a dark pink head that was already wet from his excitement, made you drool. It was long, longer than you had ever had, with a nice girth to it that promised you the fuck of your life. You had barely registered his words until he grasped it in his hands and slapped it against your mouth roughly, smearing the precum on your lips until you opened wide.

Azriel wasted no time in shoving it down your throat, using your hair as leverage to move you back and forth until he was fucking your mouth. There was no gentle build-up, no praises. It was just raw and hard, his balls slapping against your chin as you gagged and slobbered over him.

“Fuck, that’s it, little mouse. Take it all the way down.” He growled, head thrown back in utter bliss as you were forced to take everything he gave you. Tears were wetting your cheeks from both the brutality of his thrusts and the angle of your hands. 

But this was also the hottest thing you had ever experienced…and he was only getting started. 

You were squirming from side to side in need, trying to get any friction you could to curb the ache deep in your sex. Your tongue swirled around his dick whenever he stilled long enough for you to do so, tasting the saltiness of him and feeling pride when he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. 

His wings flared as he started to draw closer to his peak, your throat sore and scalp numb from how violent he was treating you. The sounds coming out of you were something you would hear in a brothel, spit dripping down your chin as you tried to keep your eyes on his face.

He was using you as his fucktoy, purely for his pleasure, and you were happy to let him. This started as a way out of getting your throat slit but as the minutes passed on he had you drunk off of him and he hadn’t even touched you yet. 

“Mm, shit,” He panted, hazel eyes glowing in the dark of the room as his thrusts started to grow sloppy. “You’re gonna drink every last drop of what I give you, understand? I don’t want any spilling out.”

“Mmph!” You tried to nod, barely able to make a sound as Azriel growled low in his throat as he began to spurt into your mouth. It was a lot, more than you expected, but you drank it down just as he asked. The taste was tangy, a mix you couldn’t quite place but you weren’t complaining about. 

He held you still for a few moments after he was done, his cock twitching back to life as you struggled to breathe. You felt your binds vanish at the same time he pulled out of your throat, your hands hitting the floor as you coughed violently and tried to gulp down any air you could. 

It was a short-lived respite however as he hoisted you up and pushed you roughly onto his bed. The covers were midnight black and soft as velvet, the material feeling heavenly underneath your fingers as you grasped onto it when he appeared above you in a flash. 

“I think you are overdressed.” He smiled roguishly, moving away from you for a moment before reappearing with his blade. Your heart skipped a beat as he pressed the tip against your throat, fear and adrenaline making your head spin. “This should help.”

The dagger sliced through your clothing like it was better. There was little resistance and in the back of your mind, you thought about how easy it would be for him to slice you into ribbons. Your breath hitched when he arrived at your pants, choosing instead to roll them off himself.

You were now naked on the bed save for your panties, your nipples hardening underneath his stare. He was giving nothing away and you would’ve thought you weren’t affecting him except for the fact his dick was once again hard. Azriel licked his lips and grabbed his blade once more, watching you with a sadistic glint in his eyes as he hooked the top of your panties with the edge of it. 

A small whimper of fear left your throat, your eyes closing as you felt him tug. One wrong move and he would mutilate you. He gave an airy laugh at your reaction, raising an eyebrow as he kept the dagger close to your cunt even after discarding your panties.

“Are you scared, little mouse?” Azriel asked, watching as your eyes peeked open at him. He twirled the blade between his fingers, contemplating, before looking back at you. “Are you?”

“No…”

“Don’t lie to me. I already warned you once.”

Your hands trembled as you gave him a small nod, eyes widening when he took the hilt of his dagger and dragged it down your sex. The cool metal and leather gave you a unique sensation that made you involuntarily buck your hips, the friction giving you exactly what you’d been craving since this whole thing had begun.

“Careful, careful, little mouse.” He warned as he started to rub small circles over your clit. The sheets underneath you were quickly becoming wet from your arousal as you got off on the feeling of lust and fear. “One wrong move and this could go a completely different way.”

“P-Please,” You whispered, your eyes closing as you tried your best to keep your hips still. “I need it, I’ve been so good.”

He scoffed and pulled away, ignoring your cry of frustration. “You broke into my room, looking for something to use against me, and you think you deserve any pleasure?”

You knew he had a point but you also knew you really, really, wanted to cum. Azriel must have thought that you looked a mess because he returned the blade to your cunt within a few seconds except he went lower, and lower, until it was pushing against your aching hole.

Before you could rise up you felt his shadows return and hold your arms down just as he shoved the entire leather hilt into your pussy, the cool metal of the actual blade barely brushing against your outer sex. You didn’t know whether you should try to get away or fully submit that this was what you wanted, what you craved, but luckily for you, that choice was already being made for you.

Azriel had taken note of how desperate you were being, the way you tried to hump the floor earlier when you were blowing him, and also how you ground against the bottom of his dagger. It didn’t take much to make you a mewling mess and that did wonders for his ego. 

“You are going to stay perfectly still.” He ordered you, lazily thrusting it in and out of you. It was making a wet squelching sound that made your ears go hot in embarrassment. “If you move at all this will cut you and I won’t apologize.”

“Azriel…” You moaned, your brain fuzzy as your tried to listen to his instruction. He smirked and picked up the pace, watching as you thrashed your head left and right. “I can’t do it, I can’t.”

“You can and you will.” His voice was dripping with authority and desire as he started to rub your clit with two fingers, matching the dagger movements which had you seeing white. You could feel your pussy clenching around it, wishing it was his cock instead, and before you could stop yourself you raised your hips.

The growl he let out in warning made your eyes snap open, his forearm coming down to pin you down so that you couldn’t move. You bit down on your lip, the pleasure growing to be too much, before you couldn’t contain your cries anymore.

“Let me cum, please! Please, Azriel! I’ll be good I swear! I can listen, I can be a good girl.” You rambled, your toes curling as your orgasm threatened to consume you entirely. He was making sure to keep you on the edge, making you toe the line of pleasure and pain, and was hoping you would break entirely. 

“Do you think good girls get off on being fucked like this? Hm? Do you think good girls moan like whores while being fucked with a blade?” Azriel taunted, his lips right by your ear as your cries increased in volume. “You’re not a good girl, mouse, you’re a dirty whore. You’re my dirty whore.”

“No, no, I’m a good-” You tried to protest but he gave a particularly hard thrust into your cunt, the hilt hitting that spongy spot inside of you.

“Say it. Say it and you can cum.” He promised, grinning as you immediately caved to his wishes. 

“I’m a dirty whore.” You sobbed brokenly, body flushed and sweaty from how long he had kept you on the edge. Your thighs were shaking with how badly you wanted to cum. “I’m, I’m,” You panted between words. “I’m your dirty whore, Azriel. Please.”

The last please sounded like it came from someone begging for their life and honestly, you felt like you were. You felt like if you didn’t cum in the next ten seconds you would die. Azriel gazed at you for a moment, his hand stalling, before he kissed you fiercely and fucked that blade into you at lightning speed.

Your orgasm hit you fast and hard, stealing the breath from your very lungs as you opened your mouth to scream only for his own to swallow them. Between his shadows and his arm across your stomach you were unable to move, forced to let the waves of ecstacy break your very foundation as your pussy spasmed around the hilt. 

He pulled away from the kiss and tore his dagger from your still spasming cunt, his teeth bared in a feral way as he gripped his cock tightly and slapped against you. You were still coming down from your high, barely recgonzing the change in position until he filled you up in one smooth thrust of his hips.

“Fuck!” You yelped, your walls sensitive as he fucked you like a beast. His wings were now fully extended, covering the two of you in a warm cocoon, before he surged forward and started attacking your neck with bites and harsh kisses. “Azriel, please, it’s too much!”

“You can take all of me, little mouse. This cunt was made for me.” He groaned into your neck, one of his hands coming up to start fiddling with your bundle of nerves. “Damn you’re so tight, so fucking tight and wet for me.”

You knew he was trying to force you into another orgasm but you were still recovering from your first one. Between that, the fear of the night, and how shocked you were at how much you enjoyed him fucking you with his dagger, you didn’t know if you had another one for him. It felt like you were going to burst into a million stars.

But Azriel knew you could and even if you wouldn’t…he would make sure you did so he could feel you explode around him. He would tear the world apart to feel it.

His dick was hot inside of you and just the right length to hit you g-spot repeatedly, taking you to a whole other universe of pleasure combined with his calloused fingers on your clit. Pain and pleasure were dancing with each other deep in your soul as you started to feel that familiar tingle rise up once more.

“I can feel you clenching around me. I know how bad you want this, how good of a dirty whore you want to be for me.” He grunted, his pupils blown wide as he pinched your cheeks between his fingers until your mouth was forced open. “You want it so bad, don’t you? Look at how much of a wreck you are, how fucked out you look right now.”

“Ah, ah, ple-ah!” You tried to talk but it was all garbled together from the hold he had on your face. You didn’t even know what you were begging for anymore but he did. He knew exactly what you needed. 

Azriel’s face twisted in bliss as his balls tightened. He was riding that wave, his wings practically vibrating, and all he needed was that last push of you coming undone around him. You gasped when he let go of your face only to scream when he buried his head in your neck and bit down. The pain of it, of his canines piercing your skin, along with the rhythmic fucking of your cunt sent you to the heavens. 

Your entire body tightened up before releasing in a full body shudder, your head thrown back in pleasure as you felt yourself squirt around his cock. Azriel barely lasted the first spasm of your pussy before spilling himself inside of you, his fingers digging into your skin so hard that bruises immediately appeared.

The world around you faded into darkness as you succumbed to the numbing rapture he had given you. You lost track of time and space, your eyes closed as you felt him continung to fuck you even as his cock softened. He slowly rose up and folded his wings, smirking as he reveled in his work.

His cum was dripping out of your abused hole, the sheets and his thighs soaked from your cum, while your face was wistful. It was probably the best fuck of his life, he couldn’t lie, and as he watched you he felt his cock stirring once more. 

Azriel couldn’t get enough of you.

Two arms wrapped underneath your armpits and lifted you up until you were resting against his warm chest, whispering praises as you floated back into your body. You blearily blinked up at him, watching as he realized you were back before his lips turned up in a smile.

“I think it’s time for the reinforcement part of the punishment, little mouse.”

[weirdbookweeb]

Simon (Ghost) Riley NSFW Alphabet

Many thanks to @fictional-loves for the template <3 and obviously, this is NSFW. Proceed as you wish. Reader is fairly genderless throughout the whole thing. Pros of a non-binary author. Lots of love <3 request AUs, Headcanons, Alphabets of any kind for literally any character for any fandom in my inbox. This did involve some very interesting research. Cough cough.

A= Aftercare (what they’re like after the act)

He is a snugglebug for a solid 10 minutes after. He's got his arms wrapped around your waist, his face nuzzled in your chest while he's half-asleep. He'll make soft noises and reply gently to you with a soft, grumbly voice that just melts you to the bones. Then after those ten minutes, he gains his composure and cleans up everything, giving you kisses with teasing half-smiles. He then carries you to a bathtub filled with warm water and slides in right behind you to soak both of your aches away.

B= Body part (favorite body part their own or their lovers)

His own switches between his arms and his cock. His likes how strong he is and how big he physically is compared to a lot of other people, you included. His arms are what hold on to you and protect what needs to be protected. And his cock is just something he is really damn proud of cause it makes you feel good.

His favorite things about you are your thighs and your hair. He likes to tangle his fingers in your hair when he's kissing you, and to stroke it when you're resting in his lap, and to just smell the scent of you when he hugs you from behind. Your thighs are his kryptonite, though. The fact that they clench around his head when he's eating you out, or he can grab them as he fuck deeper into you, or that he can fuck them and feel their soft warmth.

C= Cum (anything that has to do with it)

He loves how dirty anything doing with cum can be. Tasting his cum on your lips? Seeing your eyes widen when he tastes yours? Seeing his cum on your pretty skin? Feeling your cum on his face and pelvis? He loves it all. He wears a condom when he's inside of you, but otherwise he wants you to be his canvas and he wants to taste you.

D= Dirty secret (Pretty self explanatory)

He kind of wants to do something where someone can find you both. Where he has to muffle your sounds and whisper in your ear things that make it hard to not be caught. He thinks it's really hot. He gets hard just thinking about it. He would agree to it immediately if it was brought up, but only if you brought it up.

E= Experience (do they know what they’re doing)

He's kind of got experience. He's slept with very few people and done a few vanilla things, but his job usually gets in the way of things. So he know the basics, but not the extremes.

F= Favorite position

Initially upon meeting you, it's missionary because it's how most of his previous sex was done and he really liked seeing your face. Eventually it becomes Breeze because he likes how deep he can penetrate you and can make you gasp for breath.

G= Goofy (how serious are they)

He's pretty serious. He's the kind of person who would chuckle if something funny did happen, like you both falling on the floor or someone farting, but he'd never go out of his way to make jokes. He's usually so deep in the moment that everything seems erotic unless it's genuinely really funny.

H= Hair (grooming habits)

He's neat, but he's not hairless by any means. He's always got a happy trail. It gets a little bit grown out on particularly long deployments (on over a couple of weeks), but never overgrown, unmaintained, and gross.

He also prefers his partners a similar way. Neat, but not hairless. As long as you take care of yourself, he doesn't really care.

I= Intimacy (in the moment romantic or rough/dirty)

This man is dirty. He swears under his breath when he enters you and talks about how warm and tight you are and cannot shut up about how much he likes fucking up into you. There is no romantic words in his sentences, only dirty promises and sexual gratification. He's gripping you like you're his dark angel bringing him his sinful savior, rough and desperate.

J= Jack off (do they masturbate and how often)

He masturbates semi-regularly. Every few days, he just kinda gets bored and horny. Passively paws at his dick through his pants as it hardens, teasingly, groaning under his breath before finally slipping his hand under the waistband and taking his cock into his fist with a hiss of pleasure.

K= Kink (kinks what they like possibly unusual)

He likes when his back gets all scratched up. Not to the point of bleeding, but angry red marks up and down his back drive him insane. He also loves begging, himself or his partner. He likes being worshipped and worshipping. He also likes wearing his work mask at times.

L= Location (where they like to get it on)

He prefers his own bedroom, but he also likes the kitchen. The bedroom is ideal because of comfort, availability, and the fact you can usually be more likely to go to bed right after. But something about how 'public' the kitchen is, and how he can fold you over the counters makes him love it.

M= Motivation (things that makes them tick/turn ons)

If you tease this man with a gentle carress and a few sexy sentences, he'll be turned on. Hot outfit? Turned on. Particularly proud moment? He wants to fuck you right then and there. He's kind of just turned on by you. He's got self control, but he's also just a man.

N= No (turnoffs or absolutely won’t do)

Anything to do with non-sexual bodily fluids (scat, piss, blood), multiple people, weapons (knifeplay, gunplay, anything similar), age play, breathplay, and anything that interferes with your ability to consent (CNC, S/A, ETC)

O= Oral (receiving or giving and how skillful they are)

He is good with both, be he prefers recieving so he can kiss you afterwards. He is incredibly skilled with his tongue and fingers, though. I mean. His ability to give oral is immeasurable. He was a little bit of a rookie when you got together, but he learned quick what you liked.

P= Pace (how fast they are and how long they last in bed)

He gives it long and hard. He can hold out pretty long (the better part of half an hour). He can range from 15 minutes if he's been built up for a while to over an hour if he's already came and can handle holding out for a while.

Q= Quickie (do they prefer fast and hard)

He's not fond of them. He used to do them with one night stands on deployment and they're not exactly his cup of tea anymore. Besides, what's fun in them if he can pull you aside for half an hour, have way more fun and leave you trembling from an orgasm.

R= Risk (do they like to try new things)

If you bring them up, he’s willing to try a lot of things. But outside of the bedroom, he's pretty shy when talking about sex. You'll have to be the one to talk about things you want to happen. He’s nothing if not a pleaser.

S= Stamina (how many times they can go and how long each round lasts)

He can go a few rounds. 3 or 4 with a resting period, maybe more if you give him an hour. He's not exactly 25 anymore. But each round can last around half an hour each, give or take.

T= Toys (are they game for using sex toys on themselves or lovers)

He's got stuff for the both of you. It's no fun otherwise. There's more stuff for you than for him, but there's vibrators, pentration equipment, lubricant (because yes, men and women and everyone in between can use lubricant, be safe), and more. Some stuff is hidden where you can't find it, just in case you get curious and ask one day to try something out.

U= Unfair (how do they tease or do they enjoy suspense themselves)

He is so unfair, but he expects it in return. He is the kind of person to tease you for an hour before you even enter the bedroom.

V= Volume (are they loud, what sounds, and do they talk)

He's pretty quiet. He grunts, groans, sighs, and hisses. If he's completely desperate and pushed to the edge, you can pull a whimper out of him, but most of it is breathy and bass-filled. He speaks constantly, telling you praises about your body, noises, feelings, everything.

W= Wild card (random sincannon of any sort)

This is solely for the femmes and women, sorry mascs and men, but he's got a bit of a mommy kink. If he's feeling a bit pathetic and desperate, he'll whisper out a pathetic "mommy..." and grab you tighter while thrusting into you and biting down into your shoulder.

X= X-ray (what’s down below in dem pants)

(I'm a science girlie in the most ungendered way possible, so I'm not going to say he has a 10 inch cock like I've seen a few people do, that is almost entirely unrealistic, Rasputin.) He's standardly sizable at 6.5 inches erect and 5.5 inches soft. He's circumcised and has a bit of a curve to him.

Y= Yearning (sexdrive level)

Again, he’s pretty easily excitable when it comes to you, but he’s also not 25 anymore. He doesn't have a super high sex drive, but he's definitely willing to do sex. On a scale of 0-10, 0 being absolutely no sex, 10 being horny all the time, he's a solid 6 with a "not horny all the time, but i definitely thing about it and I'm definitely open to it when offered".

Z= Zzzz (do they sleep after if so how quickly after)

He's got problems sleeping in general so he doesn't sleep afterwards. He'll be tired, but he'll kinda just hang out with you for a bit. If he were to fall asleep, it would rake him a couple hours at least and you'd have to fall asleep first and he'd have to follow a specific routine before falling asleep. Fallback from being in the military and being constantly unsafe made him have a pretty paranoid sleeping routine.

[engeorged]

The Bear and the Mountain

My life has always been defined by achievement. I sailed through university, completing a master’s degree in less than six months. I was confident in my intelligence and my looks—black hair, green eyes, and a constant carefully trimmed stubble that suited me. People often called me attractive, and I believed them, but I tried not to let it turn into arrogance. I just knew I had what it took to succeed.

After sailing through university, (I know I sound douchey but I’m just stating the facts) I launched a startup that took off almost immediately. In a few short years, I’d built it up and sold it for an eight-figure sum. I should have felt on top of the world, but instead, I felt empty. I had achieved everything I set out to do by the age of 27, yet something was missing. My life was a series of successes, but none of them brought me any meaning or satisfaction. Life was just a bit to easy.

In search of meaning, I tried everything. I spent time in Buddhist retreat lodges, seeking enlightenment through meditation. I pushed myself to the limits with extreme sports, hoping the adrenaline would fill the void. I even subjected myself to the intensity of sweat lodges, enduring the heat and discomfort in the hope of a breakthrough. Nothing worked. I was left more frustrated than ever.

Eventually, I decided to take a different approach—one that involved solitude and nature. I planned a solo trek through one of the most remote mountain ranges in the U.S., thinking that maybe the isolation would force me to confront whatever was missing in my life. The trek was challenging, but I was used to pushing myself. That was, until the seventh day, when everything changed. I was faced with a ravine and I definitely should have known better, but halfway up I slipped on a loose rock and tumbled to the bottom, breaking my leg badly and covering myself in deep cuts. I tried to move but I was trapped. I tried calling for help but I was literally in the arse end of nowhere. Stranded, in pain, and utterly alone, I realised just how precarious my situation had become.

After nearly a day of lying helpless, my hope dwindling with each passing hour, I heard heavy footsteps. Relief washed over me as a figure emerged from the dense forest. He was tall, powerfully built, and had a thick, bushy beard. There was something imposing about him, yet his presence calmed me. He introduced himself as Bear, and despite my dire circumstances, I couldn’t help but notice that beneath the wild exterior, he was remarkably handsome. His eyes, sharp and clear, held a depth that suggested he understood far more than he let on.

Bear turns out to be a man of very few words and after a few minutes of observing the situation and without a word, he lifted me onto his back as if I weighed nothing and began to carry me through the forest. I’m not gonna lie, it was actually pretty hot! The guy smelt so good too.

We arrived at his cabin, a beautiful structure powered by wind turbines and surrounded by the raw beauty of nature. Inside, the cabin was cozy and welcoming, filled with handmade furniture and intricate wood carvings. Bear set me down on a bed, and the exhaustion from the pain and stress overtook me; I passed out almost immediately.

When I woke, the first thing I noticed was the room. It was rustic yet comfortable, with wooden beams running across the ceiling and a large stone fireplace on one wall. Soft, natural light filtered through the windows, casting a warm glow over everything. The bed I lay in was firm but comfortable, and the smell of pine filled the air. But what truly stunned me was my leg. It was expertly set in a splint, immobilized with a level of precision that was astounding. My head and arms, too, had been carefully treated, stitched up with surgical skill. I traced the stitches on my head and arms with my fingers, marvelling at how neat they were. There was more to Bear than he was letting on.

Bear had not only saved my life but had done so with an expertise I hadn’t expected. The man who appeared so rugged and wild had the hands of a surgeon. I wanted to thank him, to ask him how he’d learned these skills, but when I looked around, Bear was nowhere to be found. Instead, next to the bed, there was a tray filled with food—a hearty stew, freshly baked bread, and fruits. My stomach growled, and though I was puzzled by Bear’s absence, I couldn’t resist the urge to eat.

As I ate, I couldn’t help but feel content. The food was incredible—rich, flavourful, and comforting in a way I hadn’t experienced in a long time. Each bite seemed to melt away the tension I’d been carrying. The bread was warm and soft, perfect for soaking up the thick stew. The fruits were sweet and refreshing, a perfect complement to the savoury dishes.

Yet, as I savored the meal, something nagged at me. It was strange that Bear had disappeared so suddenly. I hadn’t heard him leave, and there was no indication of where he might have gone. Still, the cabin was secure, and the food brought me so much comfort that I pushed the thought aside. I was too content, too satisfied to worry about where Bear had gone or why he hadn’t said anything.

As the last bite of food settled in my stomach, a wave of exhaustion washed over me, heavier than anything I'd felt in days. The warmth of the cabin, combined with the fullness in my belly, made my eyelids droop uncontrollably. I didn’t fight it; the soft bed beneath me was too inviting. Within moments, I drifted off, my mind lulled into a deep sleep by the rhythmic crackling of the fire.

When I awoke, the room was bathed in the soft light of early evening, and the fire had been stoked back to life. I blinked a few times, trying to shake off the lingering grogginess. It took a moment for my eyes to focus, but when they did, I saw him—Bear, standing near the foot of the bed, a tray of food in his hands. His presence, so solid and quiet, filled the space, and I felt a strange mix of relief and unease.

“Feeling better?” he asked, his voice a low rumble, almost like the sound of distant thunder. He set the tray on the small table beside the bed. The smell of warm, hearty food wafted up to me, making my stomach gurgle in anticipation, despite the fact that I had eaten only hours before.

“Yeah… a bit,” I replied, still groggy but slowly coming back to full awareness. I shifted slightly, wincing at the dull ache in my leg. It was then that I noticed Bear's gaze was softer than before, though just as unreadable. He was watching me closely, assessing my condition.

“I’ve been thinking,” Bear began, his tone even, as if he were discussing the weather. “With the way things are right now—snow, ice, unpredictable winds—there’s no safe way to get you out of here for at least six weeks, maybe more. The mountain’s too dangerous to navigate, even for me.”

His words hung in the air, and I felt a knot of anxiety tighten in my chest. Six weeks? I hadn’t even considered the possibility that I’d be here that long. But before I could react, Bear continued, his voice calm and reassuring.

“I know it’s not what you expected, but I’m happy for you to stay here with me until it’s safe to leave. You’ll be well taken care of, I promise.”

There was a certainty in his voice that made it hard to argue. Despite the odd circumstances and the isolation, something about Bear’s offer brought me a strange sense of comfort. The idea of staying here, under his care, didn’t seem so bad—especially after everything I’d been through so far. My leg throbbed again, a reminder of how helpless I was in this situation. Maybe, just maybe, staying wasn’t the worst option.

I glanced at the tray of food he’d brought—another generous helping, more than I thought I could manage. But the smell was intoxicating, and I found myself reaching for the fork without thinking.

“Thank you,” I said quietly, accepting both the food and the offer with a mix of apprehension and gratitude.

Bear gave a small nod, then turned to tend to the fire, his broad back facing me as he stoked the flames. I couldn’t see his face, but something in his posture told me he was at ease with the arrangement, perhaps even a little pleased. As I took the first bite of the new meal, I couldn’t help but wonder what the next six weeks would bring.

The days blended together as I continued to recover. Bear’s presence was elusive—he was rarely around when I was awake, but every time I stirred, there was more food waiting for me. It became a routine of sorts: I’d wake up to find a fresh meal by my bed, eat my fill, and drift back to sleep. I began to wonder if I was imagining him, but the expertly prepared food and the meticulous care I received were real enough.

Over time, I started noticing changes in my body. At first, it was subtle—my clothes began to feel snug, especially around the waist. I told myself it was just temporary, a result of being bedridden and inactive. But as the days passed, the changes became more apparent. My belly, once flat and firm, was now rounding out, pressing against the fabric of my shirt. It felt strange, yet I tried to convince myself that it was nothing to worry about. After all, I was healing, and once I was back on my feet, everything would return to normal.

Despite these thoughts, I couldn’t deny the pleasure I found in the food. Each meal was a masterpiece—perfectly seasoned meats, creamy potatoes, and desserts that were impossible to resist. I found myself looking forward to the meals, eagerly anticipating the next dish that would appear beside my bed. My appetite grew with each passing day, and with it, my belly grew too.

One evening, after another large meal, I decided to investigate. I ran my hands over my stomach, feeling the firmness of my belly beneath my skin. It was rounder, fuller than it had ever been before. The sensation was both unsettling and oddly comforting. I couldn’t deny that I was putting on weight, but I wasn’t ready to fully accept it either. It was easier to tell myself that it was just temporary, that it was a side effect of healing, and that soon I’d be back to my old self.

But deep down, I knew something was changing. The combination of solitude, indulgence, and the strange, almost mystical care I was receiving from Bear had set me on a different path—one that I wasn’t sure I was ready to confront just yet.

I woke up one morning feeling strangely energised. The routine of waking, eating, and sleeping had begun to feel monotonous, but today something was different. As I sat up in bed, I noticed something new at the foot of it—crutches. Handmade, with sturdy wood and comfortable grips, they were unmistakably Bear’s work. The craftsmanship was remarkable, each detail carefully considered, and I realised that Bear must have spent considerable time making them for me. I looked at the handles and saw a small family of carved bears catching tiny wooden salmon jumping from the curves of the crutches.

Excited by the prospect of moving around on my own again, I carefully swung my legs over the edge of the bed. My leg still ached, but the splint held firm, and with some effort, I managed to stand using the crutches. It felt good to be upright again, to be able to explore beyond the confines of the bed.

The cabin, as I saw it for the first time beyond my bed, was a work of art. The walls were adorned with intricate carvings and paintings, depicting scenes of wildlife and nature. The furniture, all handcrafted, exuded warmth and comfort. There were shelves lined with books, maps, and various trinkets that spoke of a life lived in harmony with the wilderness. The fireplace crackled softly, filling the room with a gentle warmth.

As I hobbled around, taking in the surroundings, I couldn’t help but notice how my body felt heavier, more cumbersome. My belly, once flat and toned, now hung over the waistband of my pants, a soft and unfamiliar weight. I caught my reflection in a window and was startled by the sight. My midsection had undeniably thickened, the result of a week of indulgent eating and inactivity. The roundness of my stomach was undeniable, pressing against the fabric of my shirt in a way that felt foreign and uncomfortable.

I tried to push the realization aside, telling myself it was just temporary. But there was no denying the evidence. The steady supply of rich, hearty food had left its mark on me. I felt a pang of discomfort, not just physically but emotionally. I was a man who had always been in control, and now, control seemed to be slipping away.

As I explored the cabin, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. It was a strange sensation, as though Bear was there, observing me, but I couldn’t see him. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled, and I turned to look around, but the cabin appeared empty. Still, the feeling persisted, a silent presence that was both comforting and unnerving.

Eventually, I made my way to the kitchen. It was as beautifully crafted as the rest of the cabin, with a large wooden table at its center. To my surprise, Bear was there, standing by the stove. His back was to me, but I could see the muscles in his broad shoulders working as he stirred something in a pot. The aroma that filled the room was mouthwatering, a rich blend of spices and roasting meat.

This was the only the fourth time I’d seen Bear since he rescued me. He was still the same imposing figure, tall and powerful, his beard thick and wild. But there was a gentleness in the way he moved, a careful precision as he prepared the meal. I watched him for a few moments, marveling at how effortlessly he commanded the space, how naturally he seemed to belong here.

Bear turned slightly, and for the briefest moment, our eyes met. There was something in his gaze that I couldn’t quite place—an intensity, a quiet watchfulness. He nodded toward the table, indicating that I should sit. I obeyed, lowering myself into one of the chairs, the crutches propped beside me.

Bear brought the food to the table—a feast that made my mouth water just by looking at it. There were roasted vegetables, a thick stew brimming with chunks of meat, and freshly baked bread that was still warm from the oven. He served me generously, filling my plate to the brim, before sitting down across from me.

We ate together in silence, the only sound the clinking of cutlery against plates. The food was, as always, incredible. Each bite was a burst of flavor, and despite my earlier discomfort about my weight, I found myself eating with gusto. The food was just too good to resist.

As we ate, I felt Bear’s eyes on me, watching my every move. It was unsettling at first, but as the meal progressed, I began to feel something else—an unspoken connection between us. It was as if Bear was studying me, understanding me in ways that I hadn’t even begun to understand myself. The silence wasn’t awkward; it was charged, filled with an unspoken bond that was slowly forming between us.

By the time the meal was over, I was full to the point of bursting. My belly, already swollen, now pressed even more insistently against my shirt, but I couldn’t bring myself to regret the meal. Bear cleared the dishes with the same quiet efficiency, and as he worked, I realized that my feelings toward him were shifting. There was more to this man than I had initially thought, and I was beginning to feel drawn to him in ways I hadn’t expected.

After the meal, Bear disappeared into another room, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I sat there, feeling the weight of the food in my stomach and the weight of the growing connection between us. Something was happening here, something I didn’t fully understand yet, but I knew it was important.

As I made my way back to bed, my belly heavy and full, I couldn’t help but wonder what the next days would bring. The cabin had become more than just a place of recovery—it was becoming a place of transformation. And Bear, the enigmatic man who had saved me, was at the centre of it all.

The days turned into weeks, and the cabin, once a place of temporary refuge, became my entire world. The outside world seemed distant, irrelevant, as I settled into this new rhythm of life. My leg was healing slowly, and with Bear’s crutches, I could move around more freely, though I still spent much of my time resting. But it wasn’t just my leg that was changing; my body was transforming in ways I hadn’t anticipated.

Each morning, I’d wake up to the smell of something delicious wafting through the cabin. Bear’s cooking was exceptional, and I found myself eagerly anticipating each meal. There was always a generous spread—thick, savory stews, roasted meats, freshly baked bread, and rich, decadent desserts. The food was comfort itself, warm and filling, and I couldn’t help but indulge.

As I ate, I became increasingly aware of my body’s changes. My once-flat stomach had now grown round and heavy, a firm dome that swelled more with each meal. My shirts, which had fit me perfectly when I first arrived, were now stretched tight across my midsection, riding up to reveal a line of soft hair trailing down to my belly button. The waistband of my pants dug into my sides, leaving red marks on my skin, but still, I ate. I told myself it was just temporary, that I’d shed the weight once I was able to be more active, but deep down, I knew I was lying to myself.

I couldn’t deny the growing attraction I felt toward Bear. It was an attraction born not just from his rugged good looks or his self-sufficiency, but from something deeper, something about the way he carried himself. Bear was a man of few words, but his presence was commanding. There was an intensity to him, a quiet strength that I found irresistibly compelling. I began to crave his approval, his attention, though he never said much.

Bear watched me closely during our meals, his gaze intense and unreadable. At first, his silence made me uneasy, but as time went on, I began to interpret it as a form of attention, a sign that he was observing me, even if he wasn’t speaking. I found myself wanting to impress him, to catch his eye in some way. I started to eat more, pushing myself to finish every last bite, hoping that he would notice.

In those moments, I felt a strange satisfaction as my belly grew fuller and rounder. There was something about Bear’s quiet attention that made me want to show off, to prove something to him, though I wasn’t entirely sure what. I’d stretch after a meal, subtly arching my back to accentuate the curve of my stomach, hoping he’d see how much I had eaten, how much I had grown.

It became a game of sorts—an unspoken challenge between us. I’d eat until I was uncomfortably full, then stretch or shift in my chair, allowing my shirt to ride up and expose my swollen belly. Each time I did, I could feel Bear’s eyes on me, though he never commented. The tension between us grew with each passing day, and I found myself increasingly drawn to him, eager to elicit a reaction, even if it was just a lingering glance.

One evening, after several weeks of this routine, Bear prepared an especially large feast. The table was laden with food—platters of roasted poultry, glazed hams, bowls of mashed sweet potatoes swimming in gravy, freshly baked rolls, and a massive apple pie that filled the cabin with its sweet, spiced aroma. I couldn’t help but feel a surge of excitement as I sat down, the sheer amount of food both daunting and thrilling.

As we began to eat, I could feel Bear’s eyes on me, watching as I loaded my plate with more food than I thought I could handle. I dug in with enthusiasm, the flavors rich and satisfying. The chicken was tender and juicy, the potatoes smooth and buttery, and the rolls practically melted in my mouth. I ate and ate, determined to finish everything on my plate and then some.

With each bite, my belly expanded, pressing harder against the confines of my clothes. I could feel the tightness increasing, the fabric straining as I continued to eat. I was full—painfully so—but I kept going, motivated by the silent presence of Bear across the table. I wanted him to see how much I could eat, how much I could take in, how much I was willing to grow for him.

When I finally couldn’t eat another bite, I leaned back in my chair, my stomach round and bloated, pressing up against the edge of the table. My shirt had ridden up completely, exposing the full expanse of my swollen, hairy belly. I stretched my arms overhead, feigning a casual movement, but really I wanted Bear to see—to take notice of the way my belly jutted out, heavy and full.

Bear’s eyes were on me, his gaze intense as ever. He didn’t say a word, but the way he looked at me, I knew he was watching, taking in every detail. I held his gaze for a moment, my heart pounding, then slowly lowered my arms and settled back into my seat, feeling the weight of my bloated belly resting on my thighs.

Bear remained silent, his expression unreadable, but there was something in his eyes that made me think he understood. He got up slowly, clearing the table as he always did, and though we didn’t speak, I felt as if something had shifted between us—an unspoken understanding that this was about more than just food.

As I made my way back to bed that night, my belly aching from the sheer volume of food, I couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of satisfaction. I had pushed myself to the limit, and though Bear hadn’t said anything, I knew he had noticed. That silent connection, the way he watched without speaking, was enough to keep me going, to keep me wanting more.

A few days later and after a particularly heavy lunch, I felt the familiar pull of sleep. My belly was stuffed to capacity, swollen and heavy from yet another feast, and I couldn’t resist the lure of an afternoon nap. I made my way back to bed, sinking into the soft mattress, my body surrendering to the weight of the meal and the warmth of the cabin. As I drifted off, the last thing I thought about was Bear—his quiet presence, his intense gaze, and the way he watched over me without saying a word.

I woke up a few hours later, the sun hanging lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the room. My stomach still felt heavy, the remnants of the meal sitting comfortably in my gut. I stretched slowly, wincing slightly at the tightness in my midsection, before sitting up and realizing that the cabin was unusually quiet. Normally, I would have heard Bear moving around, cooking or working on something. But today, there was nothing—just the sound of the wind outside and the crackling of the fire.

Curious, I decided to get up and look for him. Using the crutches Bear had made for me, I carefully made my way down the stairs and into the main room, but there was no sign of him. The kitchen was empty, the stove cold. It was strange—I had grown so accustomed to his presence, to the idea that he was always somewhere nearby, that his absence felt almost unsettling.

I wandered around the cabin, checking the other rooms, but still, there was no sign of Bear. Finally, I decided to venture outside. The late afternoon sun bathed the clearing in a warm, golden light, the air crisp and fresh. I felt a slight chill as I stepped out onto the porch, the cool breeze brushing through the holes made by the buttons on my shirt as my protruding stomach pushed them out.

That’s when I saw him.

Bear was standing in the clearing, a few yards away from the cabin, chopping wood. He had taken his plaid shirt off leaving his torso fully exposed and I was not disappointed. His broad, muscular back glistened with a thin sheen of sweat that caught the sunlight. His powerful arms, thick with muscle, moved with precision as he swung the axe, the blade slicing cleanly through the logs with effortless power. Each movement was fluid, controlled—his body a study in strength and grace.

I stood there, transfixed by the sight of him. Bear was a man of imposing size, and seeing him like this, shirtless and in his element, made him seem even more formidable. His chest was broad and thick, covered in a mat of dark hair that trailed down to his stomach, which was flat and defined, a stark contrast to my own soft, rounded belly. His biceps bulged with each swing, his forearms corded with veins as he gripped the axe handle.

His entire physique was the embodiment of raw, primal strength—his torso a canvas of hard muscle, honed by years of living off the land, working with his hands, and surviving in the wilderness. There was no doubt that this was a man who had mastered his environment, who thrived in the harshest conditions. His beard, thick and wild, only added to the ruggedness of his appearance, framing his strong jaw and emphasizing the sharpness of his features.

But it wasn’t just his physical power that captivated me; it was the way he moved, the way he seemed so utterly in control of everything around him. There was a quiet intensity in his movements, a confidence that came from knowing his own strength. It was mesmerizing to watch.

As I stood there, watching him work, I felt a wave of emotions wash over me. There was admiration, certainly—how could anyone not admire such a powerful figure? But there was something more, something deeper. I was drawn to him in a way I hadn’t expected, an attraction that went beyond the physical. It was the combination of his strength, his self-sufficiency, and the quiet way he cared for me, even as he kept his distance.

Bear hadn’t noticed me yet, and for a moment, I considered going back inside, letting him continue his work undisturbed. But something kept me rooted to the spot, a need to stay, to watch, to be near him. I took a few steps forward, careful to be quiet, not wanting to break the spell of the moment.

As I moved closer, I could see the details more clearly—the way his muscles tensed and relaxed with each swing, the droplets of sweat that slid down his chest, the rise and fall of his breath. There was something almost hypnotic about the rhythm of his movements, a primal energy that seemed to pulse in the air between us.

Finally, as if sensing my presence, Bear paused in his work. He turned slowly, his eyes locking onto mine. For a moment, neither of us moved. The world seemed to hold its breath, the only sound the rustle of leaves in the wind. His gaze was intense, penetrating, as if he could see right through me, straight to the thoughts and feelings I tried so hard to keep hidden.

I swallowed hard, suddenly feeling self-conscious under his scrutiny. My shirt was stretched tight across my belly, the fabric straining to contain the fullness that had developed over the past weeks. Compared to Bear, I felt soft, weak, but the way he looked at me made it clear that he saw more than just my physical appearance.

Bear didn’t say anything—he never did—but there was something in his eyes, a quiet acknowledgment of the connection that had been growing between us. He nodded once, a small gesture, before turning back to his work. I watched as he resumed chopping wood, the moment passing, but the feelings it stirred in me lingering long after.

I stood there for a while longer, letting the sight of him burn into my memory, before finally turning to go back inside. As I walked back to the cabin, my heart was pounding in my chest, a mixture of excitement and something else—something deeper, more profound, that I wasn’t quite ready to name.

The following morning, light filtered softly through the cabin windows, casting a golden glow over everything. I had become accustomed to waking up this way—slowly, with the warmth of the fire in the hearth and the smell of breakfast already beginning to waft from the kitchen. But today, something was different. There was a heaviness in the air, a tension I couldn’t quite place. Bear had been quiet, more so than usual, and as I made my way downstairs on my crutches, I found him standing by the door, staring out into the clearing.

I hesitated, feeling a knot of unease tightening in my stomach. “Good morning,” I said softly, trying to read his expression. He didn’t turn to look at me, just kept his gaze fixed on something far in the distance.

“The weather’s changing,” Bear said finally, his voice low and rough. “Conditions will be good for travel soon. The day after tomorrow, I can take you back down the mountain.”

His words hit me like a punch to the gut. I knew this day would come, but hearing it out loud felt like the ground was shifting beneath me. I had been so consumed by the strange, quiet life we had built here that I hadn’t fully considered what it would mean to leave. To go back to my old life, to a world that now felt distant and unimportant.

I forced a smile, trying to hide the turmoil I felt inside. “That’s… great,” I managed to say, though my voice sounded hollow, even to me.

Bear finally turned to look at me, his dark eyes unreadable. For a moment, I searched his face for any hint of what he might be feeling—relief, sadness, anything—but there was nothing. He was as stoic as ever, his expression giving nothing away.

“Is that what you want?” I asked, the words slipping out before I could stop them. I immediately regretted it, feeling foolish for needing reassurance, for wanting to know if he wanted me to stay as much as I suddenly realized I wanted to.

Bear’s gaze lingered on me, his eyes glistening in the low light. But he didn’t answer, just gave a slight nod as if the decision had already been made. Then, as if the conversation hadn’t happened, he turned and went back to the kitchen, leaving me standing there, feeling lost and dismayed.

I spent the rest of the day in a fog, trying to process what was happening. The idea of leaving, of going back to a life that felt meaningless in comparison to what I had found here, filled me with a deep sense of loss. But even more than that, I was confused by Bear’s reaction. Did he want me to stay? Did he feel anything for me at all? The thought of leaving without knowing the answer gnawed at me.

That night, as I lay in bed, my mind raced. I couldn’t just leave like this, not without some sign, some acknowledgment of what had been growing between us. An idea began to form in my mind, reckless and desperate, but the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. If words weren’t going to get through to Bear, maybe actions would. Maybe if I pushed myself, showed him how much I was willing to do, I could finally get him to react.

I decided that the next day would be my last chance, and I would make the most of it. I would eat as much as I possibly could, more than ever before, until there was no way Bear could ignore me. Until he had to acknowledge what was happening between us.

The next morning, I woke with a sense of determination. I had a plan, and I was going to see it through, no matter what. When I made my way downstairs, Bear was already in the kitchen, preparing breakfast. The smell of sizzling bacon and fresh pancakes filled the air, and my stomach rumbled in anticipation.

Bear glanced at me briefly, his face as blank as ever. I could tell he sensed something was different, but he didn’t say anything. He just placed a plate in front of me, piled high with food—eggs, bacon, sausage, toast, and pancakes dripping with syrup. It was a feast in itself, more than I would normally eat in a day back home, but this was just the beginning.

I dug in, eating with more enthusiasm than I had in weeks. The food was as delicious as always, each bite rich and satisfying. I ate quickly, shoveling food into my mouth as fast as I could, determined to finish everything on my plate. My stomach started to fill up, the familiar tightness building in my midsection, but I didn’t slow down. I kept going, piling more food onto my fork, swallowing each bite with determination.

Bear didn’t say a word as I ate, but I could feel his eyes on me, watching. I couldn’t tell if he was impressed, concerned, or something else entirely, but it didn’t matter. I had committed to this, and I was going to see it through.

When I finally finished, my stomach was already distended, pressing against the waistband of my pants. But I wasn’t done. I pushed my plate forward, giving Bear a determined look.

“More,” I said, my voice firm despite the fullness in my belly.

Bear raised an eyebrow but complied without a word. He piled more food onto my plate, another helping of everything, and I started again. This time, each bite was harder to take, the food sitting heavily in my gut, but I didn’t let that stop me. I could feel my belly swelling, the fabric of my shirt stretching tight, but I kept eating, determined to show Bear just how much I could take.

When breakfast was finally over, I was stuffed beyond belief. My belly was round and bloated, pushing out so far that it felt like I could burst, but I also felt a strange sense of pride. I had done it. I had eaten more than I ever thought possible, and I wasn’t finished yet.

I spent the rest of the morning resting on the couch, letting my stomach settle, knowing that lunch would be just as big a challenge. Bear kept his distance, but I could feel his eyes on me every so often, as if he was checking to see how I was doing.

Lunch came all too quickly. This time, Bear served up a spread of sandwiches, thick slices of bread stuffed with meat, cheese, and vegetables, along with a side of crispy fries. My stomach was still heavy from breakfast, but I didn’t let that deter me. I attacked the food with the same determination, forcing myself to eat every last bite, despite the growing discomfort.

With each bite, my stomach expanded further, the tightness in my belly increasing until it was almost unbearable. I could feel my shirt riding up, exposing the swollen curve of my gut, but I didn’t care. All I could think about was eating more, showing Bear just how much I could take.

By the time dinner rolled around, I was in a daze. My stomach was so full and heavy that I could barely move, but I knew this was my last chance. Bear had outdone himself for dinner—roast boar, roasted potatoes and vegetables gravy, rolls, pies and a huge chocolate and custard brioche for dessert. The table was groaning under the weight of the food, and I knew I had to finish it all.

I ate slowly this time, savoring each bite, even as my stomach protested. I could feel every inch of my belly stretching, the skin taut and aching, but I kept going. Bear sat across from me, silent as always, but I could feel his eyes on me, watching my every move.

Finally, after what felt like hours, I finished the last bite of cake. I leaned back in my chair, my belly so full and distended that I could hardly breathe. My shirt had ridden up completely, leaving my swollen belly exposed, round and taut like a drum. I could feel the weight of it pressing down on my thighs, the skin stretched so tight that it felt like I might split open.

Bear stood up slowly, his gaze fixed on my bloated stomach. He walked around the table and stood in front of me, his expression unreadable. My heart was pounding in my chest, a mix of fear and anticipation, but I didn’t say anything. I just looked up at him, waiting.

Then, without a word, Bear reached down and placed a hand on my belly. His touch was firm but gentle, his fingers pressing into the firm, swollen flesh. I sucked in a breath, the sensation of his hand on my overstuffed stomach sending a shiver through me.

Bear didn’t speak, didn’t ask if I was okay. He simply took a piece of leftover bread, slathered with butter, and brought it to my lips. Without thinking, I opened my mouth, letting him feed me, my body responding to his command. He pushed the bread into my mouth, his fingers brushing against my lips as he did, and I chewed slowly, feeling the food settle heavily on top of everything else.

But Bear wasn’t done. He kept feeding me all the leftovers he could get his hands on, piece after piece, each one pushing me further beyond my limits. My belly was so full that I could feel it pressing against the table, the skin stretched so tight that it ached with every breath. But I kept eating, swallowing every bite he offered, my body trembling with the effort.

is eyes never left mine as he continued to feed me, each spoonful a slow, deliberate act. My belly, swollen and heavy, lay like a massive weight on my torso. I could feel every inch of it, tight and firm, my skin stretched to its limit. I shifted slightly, trying to ease the pressure, but it only made me more aware of just how full I was. Yet, despite the discomfort, or maybe because of it, I found myself craving more.

Finally, when I thought I couldn’t take another bite, Bear set the spoon down. His hand moved to my belly, resting on the roundness of it, his fingers splayed across the taut skin. I inhaled sharply at the touch, feeling the warmth of his hand against the coolness of my overstretched stomach. He didn’t say anything, just traced his fingers over the curve of my belly, as if admiring his work. The sensation sent a shiver through me, a mix of pleasure and something deeper, more primal.

Without a word, he helped me to my feet, guiding me outside into the crisp night air. The sky was clear, the stars bright and endless above us. I felt the cold against my skin, a sharp contrast to the heat that radiated from my overstuffed belly. We lay down on the soft blankets he had spread out, my belly rising like a small hill between us. I could hardly move, every breath a reminder of how full I was, but I didn’t care. I was exactly where I wanted to be.

Bear settled beside me, his arm draped over my swollen stomach, his touch reassuring and solid. The night was quiet, the only sound the faint crackle of the fire inside the cabin and the slow, steady rhythm of our breathing. As we lay there under the stars, the night stretched out before us, endless and full of possibilities.

I thought back to how I had ended up here—how the search for something more had led me to this remote mountain, to this man, and ultimately, to myself. I had sought out the wilderness to challenge myself, to find meaning in my achievements and push my boundaries. But in the end, it wasn’t the extreme sports or the spiritual retreats that had given me what I was looking for. It was this—lying under the stars, my belly stuffed to the max, feeling the warmth of Bear’s body beside me.

I had found something here, something I hadn’t known I was searching for. Not just in Bear, but in the quiet, unspoken connection we shared, in the way he had cared for me, fed me, pushed me to my limits in a way I hadn’t expected. I had found a peace I didn’t know I needed, a contentment that came from letting go of control and simply being.

As the stars twinkled above us, I let out a slow, satisfied breath, feeling the weight of my belly press down against me, grounding me. I had come to the mountains looking for something, and I had found it, even if it wasn’t in the way I had imagined. And as sleep began to take hold, I realized that I wouldn’t trade this feeling for anything.

[archiemyback]

OH MY GOODNESS you should do an nsfw alphabet about jann😭, also loved the 24 hour mark fix it was so gooddd !! you can write so well

NSFW ALPHABET W/ JANN MARDENBOROUGH.

warnings: talks of sexual acts, kinks, and other adult things; minors please dni

author: here it is! i tried my best to do this but i never did an nsfw alphabet before so it was interesting. im also glad you enjoyed the fic, i was nervous for it! request anything at any time!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

jann will literally hold you in his arms until you come back from your high. he wants to make sure that you’re not going to break, he really thinks you’re so fragile.

once he’s sure you’re safely back in reality, he cleans you off where you need it and brings you water. sometimes he’ll bring you some fruit if you like it.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

jann’s favorite body part of himself are his legs because he has to work them out and he uses his strength to lift you up when he needs to.

jann’s favorite body part of you are your lips. he absolutely dies everytime your lips are wrapped around him.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

jann is such a respectful guy: he will not come anywhere else that isn’t your pussy unless you tell him. he’ll keep it clean and whenever you’re ready, he’ll paint your chest with his spend.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

jann secretly wants you to dress up in your own racer outfit. and honestly, anything you do is hot and sexy to him but especially seeing you with that material wrapped on your body would set him off.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

before you, jann had one girlfriend that didn’t last too long but long enough for him to know how to please you. he’s not clumsy at all, in fact, you thought he slept around a lot before getting with him.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

doggy or cowgirl. no words, just vibes.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

jann takes your pleasure seriously. he wants to make sure you’re comfortable by any means and if he has to crack a little joke to ease your mind then so be it.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

jann keeps it neat. he trims it down but doesn’t get rid of all the hair.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

jann is such a romantic person. one day, don’t be surprised if you walk in the house and see candles and roses aligned on the floor. and in the moment, he wants your eyes on him, he wants you to let yourself go and just enjoy what he’s doing to you.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

he literally maaturbates to the thought of you being next to him and touching him. he’s so sweet.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

jann has one kink and that’s edging. he doesn’t do it to you all the time but when the moment is right, best believe he is going to edge you for as long as he thinks you can take it.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

he prefers the comfort of the bed. he’s not into public things like that because he doesn’t want people to catch you and you feel uncomfortable. he’s not opposed to drying semi public but if he can keep it private, he’s fine with that.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

going back to what i’ve mentioned before, jann wants you to make sure your pleasure is top priority. he wants to make sure you finish first and everything.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

anything that is taboo and on the gross side. no shade to people who like stuff on the more.. extreme side but jann stays away from that. just know, he is not completely vanilla—he can get freaky if needed.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

jann loveeeeeees getting head. he actually thinks you’re a pro but, he does love returning the favor and he puts his all into it. like don’t let him get riled up and get on his knees in front of you, you’ll be weak in the knees.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

when jann fucks, he damn near is desperate.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

in the time of your relationship has started, you both have only had one and that was before one of his races because he was so stressed. he claimed the only way to calm his nerves, was fucking you.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

like i’ve stated before, jann is all about your pleasure so if you bring something up that has piqued your interest, he’s willing to try it for you. however he still has his boundaries and if he doesn’t like something like that, he’ll let you know.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

since he does exercise, he can go for a few rounds, checking on you and making sure you’re alright and if you need a break. but if you give him that green light to keep going, hold on.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

if you owned toys before him, he’ll find a way to use them if needed.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

his main kink is edging and he doesn’t edge you much unless he’s in that type of mood. sometimes he’ll just tease for fun.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

he. is. SO. vocal. you told him to never hide how you sound because it helps you so much with making sure you make him feel good. jann whimpers when he first enters you and grunts when he’s bouncing you on top of him.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

jann intentionally set the fully body mirror in front of a lounge chair in your shared room. everytime you go to check out your outfit, he sits down there and looks you over. he puts his hands on your waist and pulls you to sit right down on his crotch. i don’t make the rules, he did.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

8 inches, thick head, one vein on the underside of the length, tip color #F3B6AD. i had to get specific.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

real high because it’s you. he loves you.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

jann thinks a guy falling asleep before his girl does is selfish so he stays up and caresses your back, massaging you and kissing all over your face. once he’s sure you’re relaxed and sleep, he’ll hold you and fall asleep.

[batterygarden]

aot relationship hcs

Ft. Eren, Armin and Mikasa

Sfw but no minors on my page pls, these are miscellaneous and sillly.. I wrote them in a haze after my melatonin kicked in yesterday…like 1 or 2 suggestive ones in there

Eren

He plays basketball (he’s rlly good 😔) and if you come visit him on the court he dribbles the ball around you rlly aggressively like “try n block me!” and you just stare at him straight faced because he is exhausting

He is simply the most DRAMATIC man alive. Like if you don’t give him endless attention, hold his hand, climb on him, act borderline obsessed with him… he might explode. If you go 24 hours without playing with his hair he is wearing all black and mourning your lost love… cause you must just not care about him anymore!

He’s also kinda a neat freak… another opportunity for his dramatics. If you leave a dirty dish in the sink for more than half an hour he is turning up in a hazmat suit like baby…. i can’t handle how dirty the kitchen is rn. (He’ll do the dish for you)

Casual shoplifter even though he can truly afford all the things he steals

He probably commits tax fraud too

Bad driver but over confident as hell. Driving almost 50 in a residential like STOP :/

Also… hello mr oral fixation. He’s constantly got a necklace in his teeth or something… and that’s all fine and good till you find YOUR OWN PERSONAL BELONGINGS in your boyfriends mouth god. Like give me back my nice pilot G2 pen you animal >:(

Takes rlly long showers and uses up all the hot water AND your fancy conditioner. He is definitely one of those product stealer men…

He also borrows ur claw hair clips and never gives them back 😔

Randomly pretends to beat up the air in front of you u like put ‘em up!! And you’re never sure how to react. Like you’re standing there doing the dishes and he assumes fighting stance and starts punching ghosts till you give him attention.

Armin

Accidentally rolls his eyes ALL the time. Like he doesn’t even mean to his face is just automatically sassy when he disagrees w something. But he’s self aware. Sometimes he’ll do it and you’ll pause mid-sentence then he’ll catch himself like WAIT SORRY. I didn’t mean to do that. 😔

Makes you dandelion chains without you having to ask.. or puts dandelions and other wildflowers on you all the time… in your hair, in your pocket, in the little holes where your shoelaces go.

he’ll just fiddle w your things absentmindedly CONSTANTLY… he’s simply a fidgety guy!

Like you’re sitting in the grass talking to him and he’s nodding along like Mhm Mhm… while he repeatedly zips and unzips your bag… rolling up and unrolling the straps etc.

but sometimes the thing he is fidgeting with is YOU. Your hands are a favorite… especially your rings and any jewelry you may wear 😮‍💨 this man is having a field day spinning the metal around your fingers.

He’ll sometimes over explain things/accidentally go into extreme detail and you’ll tease him for mansplaining. But a lot of the time he’ll the OPPOSITE of mansplain things and use words way too big / poorly dumb down the most CONVOLUTED subjects and you’re like slow down there mr graduated college early 😔 .. say that again as if I were a 5 year old please

His sport of choice is… wait for it… track. Yeah this man’s a runner… occasionally a hurdler… he’s got stamina.. have u seen those CALVES when he’s the colassal ! Major swoon

Pretentious as hell ab the music he listens to. Gatekeeps even…. NO PUBLIC PLAYLISTS.

He gets bad anxiety the night before work and stuff… also picks apart social interactions after they happen… generalized anxiety disorder king!

He’s a gossip of course…. Literally will give you a million looks mid social gathering that say “we’ll dissect this later”

Does weird only child things every day without realizing

Like arranging the Tupperware a specific and less efficient way than you and getting mad when you don’t put yours away like he wants it

Or getting annoyed when you don’t burn his candles a very specific way that apparently is “more efficient” 🙁

He also NEEDS alone/recharge time… social stuff can get exhausting to him!

Mikasa <3

Good w cars… best with cars out of the three hands down… she’s your personal mechanic 🥺

She’s also miss quiet road rage over here.. she seems calm and collected but she is cursing the entire lineage of the minivan driver that just cut her off in traffic.

Eats up some reality tv… and is embarrassed about it 😔 she asks you not to tell people she’s rewatching season 10 of the bachelor rn

Aggressive as hell to ucky men in bars / clubs… or just in general

Like “back the fuck off before I beat your ass” kind of aggressive… very protective of you and any woman ever in these type of situations

& she has the skill to back up her talk!! This woman is a martial artist/ full time gym rat… she is *strong*. You need not worry about your safety no matter the situation when you’re with her.

Her critical nature towards men nicely contrasts how much she LOVES bimbos lmao. Extremely forgiving and patient towards bimbos… she’ll explain things to you so so gently.

She’s somewhat shy with direct flirting before you’re official… kinda nervous to ruin whatever dynamic you two had going on to begin with.. but once your feelings are out in the air this woman is getting a medal for her direct communication skills.

“I need you to hold me really tight right now, I’m feeling kind of anxious.”

“I want you to kiss me please! Need to feel your pretty lips”

“If we were alone right now I would have you fully ***** and ********* *** ** ** ****** ****.”

perpetually cold hands.. and she warms them by sticking them in YOUR shirt or even occasionally your pants. Just sticking em in there and then staring at you like she’s doing nothing wrong … staring at you like you’re NOT getting goosebumps on your ass cheeks rn

Once she gets comfortable, Mikasa is CONSTANTLY TEASING YOU RIGHT WHERE IT HURTS.

like it starts light, creating a little inside joke or two, like making fun of the special way you prepare your sandwiches or how you make the bed.

But then you catch her giggling to herself one day and you’re like aww what’s so funny ^_^ and she says she was thinking about that time you embarrassed yourself in front of her parents 😔

But then sometimes if she’s not in the right mood she’ll get all sassy if you tease her back. All “okay but I didn’t say it like that 😒.” Then she’ll pinch you.

She texts like .. full punctuation and everything. At first you thought she was mad at you every time you got her notifications till you got used to it.

She looks KILLER in turtlenecks it’s ridiculous

[dev1lm4n]

sinful reunion

masterlist | ko-fi (help me survive college :/)

pairing: engaged!joel miller x f!reader

summary: frustrated with how things were, you left joel and jackson for a whole year. today, you decide to give him a little visit and figure out that he's indeed engaged! joel trapped you in his bathroom to make you feel better

word count: 5k

warnings: explicit (18+), extreme dubcon, mean joel miller, fingering, infidelity, again.. joel miller is a mean, mean man.

note: do COMMENT and REBLOG if you enjoyed this :) i'm so exhausted from college i'm literally gonna pass out after i post this

Spring flew swiftly by, and summer came; and if the quaint city had been beautiful at first, it was now in the full glow and luxuriance of its richness. The great trees, which you remembered looking shrunken and bare when you left, had now burst into strong life and health. Branches doubled in length and girth, mantle of bright green draped over deep browns. Masses of white flowers brought memories of the late winter. A bubbling cloud of hot steam evaporated off your exposed forearm. The rolled sleeves settling right above your elbow was damp with sweat, same thing goes for below your arms and between your thighs. You sighed. The folded porno magazine you’ve been using as a shield above your forehead didn’t help much after all.

If it’s not for that old, obscene, grouch of a man, you wouldn’t have returned in the height of summer.

Things hadn’t changed much.

People are still as hopeful as ever. Their eyes shone with a renewed brightness, as if a full stomach and a roof over their head was simply enough to keep them satiated. They still bake apple pies, shovel their walkways, go to work (even if it's not to the infamous Wall Street), return home and share a familiar tequila with a friend or fiend. People are still people. And the pretend normalcy drove you insane. It’s confining and overall suffocating. 

Being safe ailed you. You couldn’t be that lady in old commercials. Plaid apron over her chest, sandwiches on the table, husband and kid smiling at her happily. You couldn’t kiss your husband goodbye or craft lunch boxes for your kid. You couldn’t live if it wasn’t on the edge of death.

You tried. For Joel, you swore you’d try.

It’s been a full year since you fled. Maxine, your dear horse being the only witness to your escape. That and the night guard you threatened with a shotgun, an unloaded one you’d argue, but it’d still have you in big trouble if it was reported. With a few old friends or two, you managed to slip back in discreetly. You disguised yourself as a patrol unit. Practical jeans, some stitches torn apart from prolonged use, and a khaki button up. Boots that’s dipped in dust and dirt tight around your calves, a bold contrast to the neat wooden boards underneath. Your eyes landed on the welcome mat in front of his door. A shrilling memory invaded your head‒ how you picked it out for him, all smiles and giggles at the corny line printed atop.

You stepped on the mat, mocking it by grinding your dirty heel atop.

Then you knocked. Precisely three times.

Maybe you shouldn’t have come. It was shameless of you to return. Cruel, even.. disgusting for you to abandon someone who’s clearly dependent on you. 

He lived for you. Every morning he made sure to wake you up with a gentle kiss on your lips, or your clit if he’s being kind. Every night he’d always tell you how much you meant to him, never an I love you, but always in the lines of dangerous situations and how he’d save you from it. You made a promise to stay. A promise to accept a ring around your pretty fingers when the time comes; doesn’t have to be shiny, you said, anything will do. But then you left. While he was out, keeping the city safe from any potential threats, you buckled up and tugged on your horse’s reins. Maybe you shouldn’t have come. Maybe you should just-

You jolted, even stumbled backwards when the large door swung open in one grand movement.

In panic, your eyes oscillated. His eyes were the same shade of brown you remembered him by, though this time it was much rounder, as if he’s truly surprised. Then it came to meet his hooked nose, the one you’d poke everytime you’re laid side by side post-coitus,. And his cracked lips, oh how you remembered kissing them better. 

Joel Miller hadn’t changed one bit. It freaked you out, how he looked the same as he did when he practically proposed to you or when you promised to still love him even when he’s no longer young and strong. Your breath quickened. Your heart froze, cold sweat dribbled down your temple even when the air’s hot and balmy. You clutched onto the rolled magazine. The salacious pages of nude girls in cowboy hats creased at the strength of your bare hands. Is he going to say something? Anything? You’d rather have him furious than silent.

“Who is it, honey?”

The air thinned.

“The turkey’s cooked, but it’s kinda burnt.” The voice giggled. “Oh, who is this?”

You counted to ten to ground yourself.

One.. Two..

“Just.. just an old friend,” he muttered.

There was a girl. A pretty one at that, standing on her tippy toes as she attempted to look past Joel’s broad frame to observe you. Her tanned skin glowed like a newly polished silverware under the summer sun. A cascade of glossy, ebony hair framed her round face, falling in gentle waves which closely resembled swaying palm trees in coastal beaches. You noticed that it was adorned with delicate, ornate hairpins as well. One of flowers and the other of a classic shape. Was it from him? He used to do that for you, picking up small items to gift like a bird in need of mating. The thin gold strap around your neck was from him, a gift from when the two of you were still operating high-risk jobs around Boston. A proof that you’re mine, he spoke that time.

Joel made the conscious decision to move to the side. Now you could see her more. How she’s cladded in a loose shirt with short sleeves rolled to her shoulders, how her shorts fit perfectly around her smooth thighs, how her supple breasts spilled out of the neckline. In any way you’d think of it, she was the better option. A masterpiece in the Louvre museum, a best-selling New York Times book. She’d be a model if the world wasn’t infested with flesh-eating nuisance. Your head lowered (you’re staring too much!), opting to scrutinize the details of your boots’ mud yellow strings. 

This was a bad decision. You shouldn’t have come. If only you weren’t curious of whether he’d get on his knees and beg for you to stay. If only you weren’t curious of whether he’d embrace you back in his large arms. If he’d fuck you ‘til your little brain stop working.

“Well then, what are you waiting for?” The feminine voice spoke up. “Invite your friend in, Joel.”

“No- haha, no it’s alright,” you panicked.

“No,” she reached for your hand. The free one, not the one with the porn magazine. “Com’on. I cooked a big dinner tonight! The more, the merrier.”

“I really shouldn’t,” you tried to convince her.

Her soft, greasy hands ‒ probably from stuffing the turkey she’s claimed to make ‒ led you through the entrance despite your many reasons. You found it a little funny that you still memorized the layout of Joel’s house like the back of your hand, like an old corny song you couldn’t quite get out of your head. The dining room was to the left, you remembered. It was just as you left it. An old, dull rectangular table sat in the middle. It used to be only filled with bread and fruits you pick up from the market. Sometimes you’re diligent enough to create a sweet jam, but there was never a fresh meal on the table. There’s no time for that. He would often times heat up a can of Chef Boyardee when you’re sick, or when he’s ruined your little hole so much that you’re pretty much bedridden, but that’s about it/

“Your name is?” you questioned, eyes still roaming around the room.

“Summer and yours?”

You mentioned your name half-mindedly as you sat down on one of the creaky chairs. You opted for the one on the left, your favorite one as it always gave you a five-star view of the lovely trees beyond. The room was much cleaner, curtains drawn and ceilings dusted. You’d even bet money that ‘Summer’ had also dusted all the compartments of the chandelier, wiped each and every window panel, and vacuumed the rotten patterned carpet underneath. The rounds of your pupils settled back on the sight unfolding ahead of you; how the Joel Miller, the same person who needed an entire year or two to be comfortable in expressing his feelings to you, led his new lover by the waist. He then proceeded to pull her chair back to aid her, a gentle smile on his face at all times.

He changed.

He looked exactly the same, but there was just.. something off about him. Was he a doppelganger by chance? Joel Miller is never warm. He’s naturally a tough lover. Reluctant, even mean at times, but right now he’s acting like the picture-perfect husband. A righteous man, which you knew he ain’t.

“So where’d y’all know each other from?” 

Her lovely, cheery voice pulled you out of your dazed state. You raised your head slightly to flash a small smile her way. The chair creaked once more at Joel’s weight as he settled on your right, heavy frame and all extremely obvious from the corner of your eyes. A man, his lover, and his sort-of-ex having dinner in the late afternoon of a warm summer day‒ how ironic! You couldn’t even look at him, because sparing him a glance meant that you had to look at those manipulative eyes of his. Those browns that could impose a certain feeling deep in your chest, whether hatred, fear, or something close to love.

“Work,” he spoke up, “used to deliver packets.”

Half the truth. Packets? Sure, but not ordinary ones.

“Mhm. We arrived at Jackson together.”

As lovers, you’d like to add.

“Long time friends then?” Summer beamed a sweet smile your way. 

Guilt pooled in your stomach almost instantly.

“Yup.”

“Oh well, me and Joel met last Winter. He’s fond of the horses and I work at the stables so things worked out,” she mentioned dreamily, “the winter festival’s our first date.”

An eerie tension stood between you and him. It was thick, as thick as blood and as nasty as pus on a wound left unattended. 

He stood up after a moment or two to help slice open the thick turkey and only then did you dare to look at him. To ogle at his large forearms that’s tightly gift-wrapped in a thin breathable shirt, to dig deep into where his veins start and where it ends, to finally relish in the sight of his thick, bushy hair. It’s been awhile. A long time actually since you get to properly look at a man. You continued to watch as he sliced a chunk and placed it right on top of your empty plate, the knife he’s holding reflecting his tight-lipped smile your way. The winter festival’s supposed to be your thing. The two of you’s thing, where you’d gift each other a surprise and smoke a blunt or two and maybe fuck, but you left.

“That’s nice,” you replied, albeit a little dry.

“He’s a nice man,” Summer chimed in. “Kind, caring, a true Southern gentleman that is.”

You could argue on that.

“Is he now?”

“True thing that is. Swear on my life,” she continued. “Must be nice having him as a friend.”

“Well, don’t toot my horn too much, darlin’.”

There it was. That masculine drawl. That voice that’d have you begging on your knees if he asked you to. You’d commit the greatest crime‒ no, you’ve commit notable crimes just to have him stay right by your side. Just to have him acknowledge what you’re capable of, so he’d take you under his wings in the depth of Boston’s trenches, because protection from him meant a good life. Maybe that’s all you’ll ever be to him, a little bird to protect. And maybe that’s all he’ll ever be to you, a protector in times of need.

“It’s a little warm here in Jackson,” you chuckled. “A cold beer might help a lot.”

“Oh sorry, honey, we don’t drink alcohol ‘round here.” She sounded apologetic, but you swore her almond eyes were judging you for a second.

“You don’t?”

“Nope,” Summer leaned her head to the side. “Been going to church these days. Pastor said it’s better to pray than indulge in past addictions. Ain’t that right, Joel?”

“That’s right, honey,”

Joel Miller is a church-goer now? For the first time in forever, you had the courage to look him in the eye. He was looking right back at you when you looked, though he had one of those expressions you couldn’t quite decipher. His tired eyes were hooded, enough that the top and bottom curve of his dark pupils are nowhere to be seen, along with a much obvious glint of mischief. It was either morbid curiosity, rooted hatred, or desires of past addictions as Summer puts it. The strands on your brow bone twitched ever so slightly, as if in pure disbelief that a man like him would kneel for a God. It’s not that sinners couldn’t repent. It’s him that you knew could never change. You took a bite out of the supple meat, never leaving his eyes as you do so. Maybe.. just maybe he’d crack under pressure.

“You go to church too?” Summer questioned, mouth full of boiled asparagus.

“No, not really.” You chuckled awkwardly. “There’s not a lot of churches out in the wild.”

“Ah, that’s right,” she hummed. “Why don’t you go to church with us this Sunday? A lot of fun y'know.”

You plastered on a smile, before briefly scooping some of the stringy meat up your mouth.

“I’ll consider it.”

Joel was the first one to snip the ungodly attraction‒ his eyes torn away to meet Summer’s much brighter gaze. Your gut tightened, gag reflex emphasized even more at the sight. Joel Miller was yours, that’s all you could remember despite the extent you took to avoid him, and having him give his precious attention to someone other than you brought a sense of disdain. He shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn't land his eyes on anyone other than you, weren’t you the best thing he ever had? It took awhile to school your expression to a level of believable nonchalance. You found the vintage canvas hung atop of the fireplace a great help in distracting yourself. It’s easy to get lost in every stroke, every clash of colors, instead of the green man squeezing himself between your heart chambers.

“Oh, when did you-” you paused mid sentence.

A ring. 

“Ah.”

Your vision blurred, splotches of red and blue tearing at the edges.

“Engaged, huh?”

A solitary engagement ring encircled her long finger, miraculously preserved by time’s embrace. A relic at times like these. You watched as it glimmered under the orange hues, jaw propped up on your palm to stop it from gaping. A small, radiant stone set in tarnished silver‒ the object mocked you silently, a red flag in front of an agitated bull, it’s purposefully making you reel into the depth of your hatred. Where the you one year ago rested in peace, where the you you’ve been trying to erase off the planet’s surface hibernated, and everything’s starting to resurface all at once. The need. The desperation. The desire to be wanted by something.. someone you couldn’t acquire entirely. You laughed. A dry one at that. Might even sound condescending if it were a tad bit shorter.

He fucking proposed to her. 

Of course he did.

Of course he had to change his ways after you.

You don’t deserve being treated right. She does.

“Oh, you noticed,” she giggled, the noise shrill in your ears. “Just last month actually. We were having dinner and I-”

“Sorry, I..”

You were suffocating, chest inflated twice the size.

“Feel a little sick. Gonna go to..” you held your hand over your lips, genuinely feeling like emptying your entire stomach. “To the bathroom.”

You stared at your own reflection, pitiful, glazed with a layer of disappointment and grief. The vision you had for this visit slowly crumbled. Every unfulfilled dream, every missed opportunity, and every question left unanswered converged into a heartache‒ dull yet throbbing, coursing through every inch of your skin and crawling much deeper. The laughter and conversations you had with him seemed so.. distant, as if they were mere echoes of what once existed a million lightyears ago. You held yourself, worn down fingers clinging on your forearms, nails digging down onto the warm skin underneath. What were you expecting? For him to mourn your exit for the rest of his life? Perhaps. Joel Miller was great at making you feel like shit, but today takes the cake.

Leaving was the only thing on your mind and so you gripped the rusty door handle. A quick exit, you knew you were good at that. Though instead of a brightly lighted hallway, your chest collided with a tough chest wrapped in a flannel shirt. A sandalwood, musky flannel shirt you might add and all those plans you had in mind dwindled down like a damp paper airplane. Plan A, B, and C were quickly crossed out on the chalkboard. Frozen, your lips trembled in fear. You stumbled backwards. Boots thudding against the old tiles, you’re afraid. Chest inflated with fear, you’re terrified!

“Move, Joel.”

Silence.

“Fucking move. Get out of my way.”

You threw quick, meaningless punches on the broad of his chest. It did nothing but made him get bolder with his actions. He took a step back, which you’re grateful for, but not when you realize that it was to lean back against the bathroom’s door. You’ve come a long way from how meek and helpless you were in the QZ, managing to survive the scary outside world for a whole year and keeping all your limbs attached, but you knew that you’d never manage to budge his weight. He was heavy. Used to be a massive ball of muscles, though now slightly worn down by his age. Joel threw you a look. A dirty, demeaning one that’s always been reserved for you. Only you.

“Fuckin' hell are you deaf?”

You bubbled up.

“Fuck you and your little play house. Going to church? Should repent the many souls you took yourself,” you seethed. “You’re just a big asshole on legs y’know that? Now fuck off. It’s a fucking mistake coming to see you.”

You stormed his way. Big mistake. He took you by the shoulder. Rough fingers dug deep into where your bone sits, his knee quick to slot itself between your legs. He was quick to switch the dynamic, to be the offensive one instead as he had you pinned on the wall. The frail wooden bathroom door creaked at the contact, its hinges banging against one another. You looked like one of those dead butterfly displays, spread out forcefully to show your entire potential. Was he going to murder you? Was he going to bang your head against the mirror and leave you there to bleed? He looked like it. With those blown out pupils, you're not even sure if he’s going to keep you alive or dead. If he's going to finally end your misery at last.

“You’re gonna kill me?” You tried to shove his chest back, but it’s no use. “Gonna choke me to death?”

“No!” The grip he had on your shoulder never once loosened, even at your viscous accusations. “You really think I’d kill you?”

“I don’t know.” Your eyebrows sunken in sorrow.

“You don’t know?””

“You’re not the man I once knew, Joel.”

“I’m-”

“I don’t know you anymore! You’re not the same.” Your feet tried to tackle his legs, a move he taught, but he stayed unbudged. “You’re kind, attentive.. you’re there, Joel. You’re present in time. You’re never present with me.”

“That’s not true.”

“Oh fuck off, Joel. You’re not gonna gaslight me.”

That had him briefly loosening the grip around your shoulders. You were quickly met with his cold finger tips, grazing the soft skin of your cheeks, only to settle on your cracked, bloody bottom lip. In a haze, you’re unprepared for the hand slithering its way onto your throat. It squeezed tight enough to impede your airway for a brief second or two, only to loosened when your eyes grew teary. You gasped for air immediately.

“You left!”

“You proposed to her!”

His expression toughened. The Joel Miller you knew was back. The cruel one with tendencies to abandon, to be hollow of true meaningful feelings, and he was inching closer. His soft scruff brushed against the tip of your ears. Warm puffs of air made you turn your head to the side, avoiding his serpent-like hold. He's quick to guide you by your jaw when you start straying off.

“Didn’t know if you’re alive or dead.”

“Oh I bet you’d be enthralled if I were dead,” you chuckled humorlessly. “You hated me, Joel.”

“I was worried,” he continued, ignoring your comments entirely. 

He placed a gentle kiss on your temple, slow and steady as if you’d vanish into dust once more if he was too rough, and proceeded to smother sloppy kisses down your cheek and onto your neck. It glided like warm butter or sunscreen on a beach day. Joel never forgot the way in which you enjoyed getting those sweet spots below your jaw sucked, a mark to show his claim over you, to show his ownership even if you had to drape a shawl over it every time you had to shop for groceries or go on patrols. You weren’t as pretty and prim today though. You were untamed, always attempting to pull yourself away from him, to avoid his rough fingers and needle-like beard.

“Went on a search team every day for a whole month,” he hummed. “What if my sweetheart’s bleeding out in the midst of winter? Low visibility and endless snowstorms. What if you’re shot dead or worse, turned into one of those creatures?”

“But you’re a smart little minx, ain’t ya?” he huffed, his fingers gentle as it slowly popped the buttons to your shirt. His musky scent infiltrated your head. You’re drunk on him. “Threw a tantrum so big you disappeared on me.”

“No, Joel, we- we can’t,” you forced those words out, even when your soft breasts were spilled out of your chest. Those sensitive peaks were already stiff, you’d lie and say it’s simply because of the cold, but there’s no such thing. “Can’t- you’re en- engaged..”

He toyed with your nipples, squeezing and tugging on the right one before giving the same attention to the left. His eyes were dark, pupils dilated as he swirled around the sensitive skin with his coarse fingers. Your breath hitched and your chest spasmed. Every inch of morality left your headspace at the twinge of pleasure, your knees grew weak and he had to prop you up against his strong shoulders to aid you.

“You’re cheatin- oh fuck..”

“I am, huh?” he chuckled lowly. “You don’t want this then? Want me to leave?”

“No! No, please please,” you begged as his fingers carefully began to undo the stiff belt around your waist. He tugged on your zippers, tortuously, slowly unraveling the pretty skin he’s been missing so goddamn much. “I need you..”

“Needy minx,” he insulted teasingly. “Shameless, aren’t ya? Didn’t ya just say ya hate me?”

You whimpered. This shouldn’t be happening. This wasn’t in any of the plans you’ve concocted, it was just pure desire. He felt sinfully good. So warm and firm against your body, so strong and dependable. His shoulder proved to be the perfect place to bury your head into, muffling out the noises you’re prone to make when he shoved his entire palm down your panties. Joel Miller didn’t tolerate the misdemeanor. The hand he had around your neck tightened ever so slightly, before he abruptly pushed you back onto the wooden door. The hard material thudded against your back, resulting in a soft, breathless whine for more. He might be a mean, mean man for afflicting such things, but you’re even more insane for tolerating it.

“Ah, look at you,” he hummed, fingers tapping slow beats onto the hood of your clitoris. “No one fucked you good enough out there.”

You shook your head no. Annoyed, Joel slid his index and middle finger down onto your slit. He cumulated the slickness gathered around your pathetic little hole, before he slid it back up to tease. Up and down. Up and down. Then a full circle. The motion left you breathless, thighs bucking up against his hand, but he’d give you a light slap on the thigh if that happens.

“Oh.. you haven’t fucked anyone else out there?” he cocked his head arrogantly. “Dunno if I can believe a pretty girl like you. After all..”

He had the audacity to slip his finger in. A whole knuckle down your entrance, which is much more than you anticipated. Almost instantly, a sticky clear substance started dribbling out, gushing all around the foreign object infiltrating your cunt. It’s been so long, far too long that you kept yourself untouched. You could basically be categorized as a virgin again at this point. It wasn’t a deliberate decision, it’s just that no one turned you on this much. No one could shove their fingers inside you without getting their head blown off. No one but him.

“You’re not the girl I once knew.”

He turned your little insults right back at you. A single tear dribbled down your warm cheeks, hot and invasive, your fragile heart torn into two and stomped on the ground. Joel retaliated by pressing his lips right onto yours. Starting out soft and smooth, gentle and reverent, as if it was his way of apologizing and professing his undying love for you, but then it grew rougher and unrecognizable. A clash of teeth, a vicious fight for dominance. You had to put up a little fight, show him the kind of girl you’ve turned into, but when he eased a second finger down the tight rings of your cunt, it’s all over. You squirmed, desperately grinding down against his rough palm.

“Fuck me!”

“What was that?”

“Fuck me, Jo-”

A knock.

Your eyes blew wide open. The soft fluorescent lights flickered above, casting an eerie shadow that danced across Joel’s expression. You let out a soft whimper, eyes pressed into a crescent shape as you felt the need to cry out of fear and guilt, a sobering shot that made you realize how wrong this was. How disgusting this is. Immoral. Even when he was still three knuckles deep inside your pussy, even when you knew you couldn’t push him away. Your knuckles grew white as it clung onto the fabric of his flannel. He didn’t pay any mind to the interruption, instead, he continued to thrust his dripping fingers in, reaching around to find that squishy spot of yours. The one that’d send stars onto your vision.

“Are you okay in there? I didn’t know why you got sick..”

The muffled voice strengthened the guess you had in your head. It’s Summer, the girl with the engagement band around her fingers, the girl who’s supposed to have his two fingers deep inside her cunt. Your heart raced like a wild stallion, thunderous beats resonating in your ears. A small moan barged its way out your lips when he pressed on your clit once more with his thumb, he quickly guided your jaw back to face him with his free hand. Joel’s expression hardened, brows furrowed and lips pressed into a tight-line, then his mouth contorted into shapes. A wordless order to stay quiet and respond accordingly. You nodded, bottom lip slotted between your teeths.

“Was it the turkey I cooked? Oh god.. it’s my first time cookin’ in. I didn’t know that it’d be terrible. I’m so sorry, do you need some help in there? I can-”

“No.. oh! No.. no.. I’m fi- aaagh- fine.”

Your eyes darted around the small space, looking for any means to escape, but the solitary window was far too small to be of any use. Panic had seized you, but Joel’s fingers brought you back where he needed you to be. On the edge of an orgasm that you knew was going to melt your brain and make you go dumb.

“Really? You don’t sound too good.. I could maybe cook you up a remedy.. Oh, or we can go to the infirmary together? Just I don’t-”

“No.. ooh. Summer, I’m- shit- Summer, I’m fine.”

“Oh.. okay then. I’ll be waiting outside. Um, do you maybe know where Joel is? Kinda wanna see if he has some meds for you.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision as you tried to navigate your way to release. The thumb he had on your clitoris started rubbing faster, tighter circles, leaving you on the very edge of a dangerous cliff.

“Dunno- oh fuck.”

He’s in there with you for fucks sake. Her fiancé’s here fingerfucking you!

“Gonna cum,” you muttered out a little too loud.

“What was that?”

“Gonna.. mmph.. Gonna come out so- sooghn.”

Your knees buckled, for once he allowed it, and you buried your face onto the crook of his neck. His fingers continued to thrust in the perfect rhythm, fucking back in the arousal that’s slowly dripping down. You weren’t shy in grinding back down onto his palm, neither were you shy when you came all over his fingers, the remnants left in an embarrassing pool down your trousers. His thumb tickled your clitoris, making sure the sensitive nub deserved all the pleasure it could get as he watched you crumble. Everything was just how you remembered it. Sinful, warm, and helpless.

“Okay.. I’ll go look for Joel in the backyard shed!”

[shakespearean-dream]

TW!!! — blood, scarring and mild body horror ahead 🥲

benny’s turn!

before i start i wanna clarify i hesitated a bit on posting this because lovely mutual @vor-leser just posted his benny interpretation (go look at it and follow him btw), and idk if we like mind melded or smth but our human benny’s are super similar LOL. i damn near scrapped the whole thing out of fear someone would get mad at me but i Would Not be able to start over and get this done ever so this is as good as we’re gonna get. 😭 my apologies niko love u /p

this has been like a full 7 days in the making 😭😭 the art block that i felt coming on while doing ellen and ted hit me like an optimus prime sized semi truck this week along with a depressive episode so i definitely appreciate that happening and i am not upset about it at all! /s i’m totally good so don’t worry or anything /gen, mental health is just weird and i also wanted to explain the gap in my posts 😔

i do not know how to feel about this drawing if i’m so fr with you; i’m proud of myself for AM-ified benny cause i think i got the slowly rotting from the inside out primal freak energy down pretty good, but on the other hand this feels kinda empty?? i usually have a lot more commentary squished in here but i think my brain’s a little fried 🤦‍♂️ i love drawing me some beautiful buff men though so drawing normal ben was familiar territory. however his wack ass haircut i gave him is his punishment for being a PRICK!!! go sit in the corner and think about ur actions benjamin.

like ted n the rest of the sillies i’m not straying too far from canon with his personality, he’s an ass and a murderer and a hella smart dickhead who desperately needs to be punished by the universe (thank you for that one AM). hot take i did not like his “redemption arc” in his game scenario and i don’t think with how he was throughout the entirety of his life (and also throughout the game, main example his inner dialogue) he would actually go out of his way to help the kid because he means it??? n prove he changed to the guys he killed cause he means it??? i dunno maybe AM torturing him made him have a main character “omg i’ve been in the wrong this whole time!!1” moment like the game suggests i’m just not buying it 💀 i’m sure it’s just cause bennys scenario couldn’t be too long and they couldn’t fully flesh him out which i won’t fault the game makers for. i’m a steven universe fan, i know what time constrictions can do to a plot and redemption arc 😭 looking at you white diamond…

his wife n kids are up top and they’re kinda neat to me— i was considering the hc that part of the reason manya (his canon wife) left him is because she realized she was a lesbian which would be funny as fuck considering benny’s also One Of Them Queers 😭. i think during the brief times he was home and able to parent his daughters they got really scared and tired of him, one because he’s just a very threatening powerful and overbearing man, but also because i feel like he would’ve been on their ASS about everything. grades, extracurriculars, friends, wardrobe, this guy was micromanaging his family to an annoying extreme (ofc because of his perfectionist complex). he probably loved manya and the kids in his own weird way, but it was more contractual to him than any real personal relationship. maybe he inherited that from his own parents?? i doubt he ever talked to them after he moved out.

that’s about the end of my thoughts on this fucker. 🥲 funny storyyyy i just remembered i have laundry to finish so im gonna go do that, lord help me. thank you for reading all this if you did!!!!! we’re over halfway through so who do yall want next? wanna save AM or nimdok for last? i’ll see u guys later :]]]

[decepti-thots]

☕️ rodimus just, like, in general

I'm gonna take 'in general' to mean across the franchise here.

The interesting problem modern TF media has to grapple with when it comes to Rodimus is that he's simultaneously a very, very iconic G1 character, and also a character who exists to solve a problem Hasbro has done their damndest to wipe out of existence. That is: Rodimus exists to be an explicit replacement for Optimus Prime, who is no longer allowed to die like, ever. Not permanently! His whole personality is designed in direct opposition to Optimus. Where OP is a fairly mature, seasoned leader (even in early G1 cartoon stuff, where he's envisioned as being a lot chiller and even a bit younger than later stuff), Rodimus is a young inexperienced new-to-this guy. Where Optimus is a real 'father to his men' type, Rodimus is very much the kid. And so on. Whereas other for-the-movie characters like Arcee and Ultra Magnus can be characters independent of anyone they are replacing, Rodimus can't, but also, Optimus getting replaced is no longer on the table. It's a conundrum!

IDW1, specifically in MTMTE, really ran with that 'what is he even here for?' concept in a self-referential way. In MTMTE, at the outset, the joke is that Rodimus is a second-stringer trying to manufacture his own narrative that allows him to take on this role that has juuuust passed him by. And then it uses that to explore what, exactly, someone who is in that position is, post-war. What does it mean to force yourself into that role? What does it require you do? How do you not just appear to fill it, but actually fulfil the requirements to be that person(/character)? It's why I love that take so much; it faces the inherent contradiction dead on. And I think the way it answers it works extremely well. (That this is also a continuity where he is not young, but the war continued long enough without the status quo shift that he remained that kind of unfulfilled potential the whole time, is also interesting. That one is on Autocracy though.)

Cyberverse also had a neat little workaround. They got Optimus out of the way without killing him so Hot Rod could have that arc, with the Quintesson stuff. It was only ever going to be temporary, but they made that work with the concept, the idea Hot Rod was never 'supposed' to be in that position at this point but got thrust into it as a kind of emergency measure and proved himself.

But it does mean you can't really engage with him as a completely straightforward character, I think. Even if you killed off OP, everyone knows it won't be forever now. You could only do that convincingly one time, really. It's basically impossible now to write a Rodimus who is divorced from the metatext of what the purpose of that character was and how that is no longer why he exists. I'm curious to see where Skybound tries to take this, assuming he's planned to show up in the main comic at some point. That's such a Sunbow-influenced canon, down to its foundations. I suspect they might find it tricky to balance that, if he becomes a regular at any point!

[laguezze]

PAC: What you should be confident about

Theme: Focus by Ariana Grande

I am kinda back guys! Feeling better and ready to step into a new, confident energy! So here are some reasons why you should be confident!

Warning ⚠️: it's honest, also there is a +18 pile soooo. Minors DNI.

Let's see the piles!

Pile I

Pile II

Pile III

Pile IV

Pile I

(+18 only bc i don't wanna be calling a minor sexy and alluring)

You are sexy. Period. Like you have something so alluring and attractive about you. There's something so seductive in your aura. You're charming and talk well. I'm hearing your voice may be very attractive and siren-like. You might get tons of compliments on your voice.

Your calmness also makes you incredibly mesmerizing. You seem mysterious, but also playful. You're like a femme fatale fr (no matter the gender, it's the energy they bring to the table)

You just know, subconsciously at least, how to pull people in.

You speak well and are educated. You understand social customs and the way conversations work, so you make people very comfortable.

You should be more confident of your energy, like you're so charming and hot like genuinely charming and irresistible.

Look around at the room, see all those eyes? Yeah, they're looking at you bc you rock. That's why.

Pile II

The way you walkkkkk like we got a strutter here. I'm hearing the way you walk accentuates your curves very well and makes your body look very good. People notice the way you carry yourself. I'm seeing someone walking around the city with a handbag and a good fit. Fashion may be your strong suit too.

People might see you as someone fashionable and confident, whether you are or not. You definitely carry a strong energy with you. People love it.

You make heads turn a lot more than you realize. Like omg feel free to ignore this but I'm hearing you may have a good dump truck if you know what I mean. Like you're just built different in that department what can I say? People admire that. People wanna be you and be with you.

You also have such a positive energy to you, like your confidence shines through and people want to be around you a lot bc of it. They want to be like you.

Pile III

I knew I was gonna get this pile. You guys are my brains pile. The smart ones, very intelligent people. That's one of your strongest suits and I think you know that. You definitely do, yeah. Well, I'm here to tell you what you already probably saw coming. You should be confident about it. Own that IQ babes. But ALSO I'm hearing some of you are not satisfied with this answer. Maybe you read some of the previous piles while scrolling and you're like "bro why is everyone being called hot and I'm out here being called smart??? Am I not hot or what?" Calm down. You are hot. Your intelligence makes you extremely hot. Sapiosexuals would kill for a day with you fr.

BUT since you wanna hear something physical maybe, I will mention, there's something about your cleavage area and eyes. Maybe some of you wear glasses and people love that look. Your look compliment your personality. Very neat and clean, it's effective and attractive. People love that.

You might not be physically strong, a lot of people like how dainty and fragile you look because of your strong personality and brains. They love the contrast and so should you.

Pile IV

Hmm... You're probably expecting me to say your body. A lot of you guys might party a lot and get told that your body is hot and this and that. And although you take pride in that, deep down you are tires of hearing it. You want to be called "beautiful" while someone stares at your face. Not looking down.

You are beautiful, I'm seeing your soul is wounded a little bit. You may have had a rough time and got over it but the scar still hurts sometimes.

Your soul is beautiful. It really is. You want the real thing, you're passionate about life and love. You came out of a Renaissance painting literally like you're just so idealistic and it's hard to be that way in such a dull world full of hookup culture (note! I'm not judging anyone for hooking up. I respect decisions and personally don't see anything wrong with it. I'm just saying for some people that are more hopeless romantics looking for their one true love it might be hard to navigate a world in which hookup culture is very prevalent)

Your soul and your inner life makes you stunning. Your body is, of course, hot and beautiful. But the main thing you should be more confident about is your inner self. Your kindness and deep thoughts.

You will be loved the way you love one day 💕

The End

[ghostchems]

gloves - cardinal terzo x female!reader

you are the resident glove maker at the abbey and cardinal terzo comes to you with a curious request.

a/n: glove maker is a real job. i said so. i mean, at least at at the abbey. so there is violence and blood here. terzo is not very nice, ya know. we got some smut too!!! so mdni! 18+! this is about 2.7k words. ao3 link :) it has been a long time since i've been able to post something and i am feelin proud of this!

“This won’t do, Sorella.” Terzo scowls and throws the glove at you, narrowly missing your face as you duck. “They are far too loose!” He throws the other glove, this time hitting his target (your face) with a soft “pfft”. You snatch the gloves into your hand, balling it up into a first. He has been so difficult about these damn gloves, so particular even though most of his requests would make his day to day work uncomfortable. 

“If I make them any tighter you won’t be able to bend your fingers, Cardinal.” You slap the gloves onto your workspace and flop on your stool, hands running through your hair. “Is that what you want, Cardinal? To not be able to move your fingers when we both know that is something you do frequently?” The way you’re speaking to him is bound to get you in trouble but the man is being completely unreasonable. He growls and moves so quickly into your space, his hand slamming right in front of you.

“Do you want to be punished, Sorella? Or do you want to feel my fingers for yourself?” He rasps leaning closer to you as he bares his teeth. You’ve never been this close to him before and you take in his appearance. His usual neat, raven hair is spilling into his face and the black paint around his eyes is somewhat smudged from his sweaty frustration. Still, you can’t help but look at his pillowy lips and then into his mismatched gaze — it’s always hard to resist the Third.

“I would like neither, thank you.” You aren’t about to give him what he wants after disrespecting you, despite heat spreading underneath your skin. “What I would like is for you to be realistic about these gloves. I am really doing my best.” You sigh and pick up the gloves, looking over them in your hands. He had requested golden stitching to accent black leather gloves and you are pleased with the work you’ve done so far, despite Terzo’s protests.

He growls deep in his chest and plants his hand on your shoulder as he slinks behind you. A chill runs down your spine as his hand grips your other shoulder, feeling his hot breath on the top of your head. Terzo digs his nails into your skin through the fabric of the habit, causing you to give a small squeak. You try to wriggle out of his grasp but he’s not letting you go, only pressing his fingers even harder into you. He lowers his mouth right to your ear, taking a moment to take in your scent before giving a gravelly hum.

“You will create exactly what I am asking, Sorella.” Terzo hisses, his lips grazing your ear. “If you do not do what I ask, I will have no choice but to punish you, hmm? This has taken far too long already.” His mouth travels down your ear to where it meets your neck. “I feel you might be a glutton for punishment, Sorella. Do you desire being sliced into for the upcoming harvest ritual, hmm? You desire to be beneath my blade?” You suck in a sharp breath, your hands clutching onto the dismissed gloves. 

Even though he could seem aloof about his clerical duties, Terzo is extremely talented with ritualistic carvings of the flesh and always flaunted it. He is also able to convince Papa Emeritus the Second on who exactly should be given the “honor” of laying upon the altar beneath him, usually having either his most devoted followers or those that have wronged him and you can guess what he does to the latter. Even after a strong “talking to” from Sister Imperator each time, he gets away with it.

“I’ll make the gloves to your specifications, Cardinal.” You say in a hushed voice. His grip on your shoulders loosen and he drifts one hand to lightly caress your neck, his sharp nails grazing the sensitive skin. “I do not desire to be beneath your blade.” Your voice is even quieter this time, giving a sharp gasp as his nail scratches against your neck. His one finger pushes your cheek and forces you to turn your head to face him. 

“Va bene.” His lips curl into a cruel smile. “I look forward to what you have for me next time, bella.” Terzo is back to his charming self, one hand leafing through his perfect black hair. He gives you a wink that makes your skin crawl and leaves you to your work.

***

You stare down at the new gloves you made for the Cardinal. They are not what he asked for but divine inspiration had taken you over. They are not stitched with gold but they are as tight as he had asked for, almost perfectly fitting your own hands. Instead of the stitching, shiny gold nails had been affixed to the tips of the fingers. Terzo had given you wounds from his nails the last time you saw him and you thought of them each time you went to work on his gloves. That thought worked into your brain and took on a life of its own.

And now, here they are. Gloves that Terzo did not ask for that are seemingly teasing you. You run your finger along one golden nail, resting at the top and you press down, pricking yourself from the sharpness of it. You bring the finger to your face and watch the blood drop form, then you quickly lick it off. So many scenarios run through your mind but they all end the same way: on the altar beneath Terzo while he glares down at you, a mischievous sparkle in his green eye.

He will be arriving soon. Maybe you could delay the inevitable some way. You could tell him that now is a bad time, that you’ve fallen ill… perhaps you could even “disappear” for a few weeks before resurfacing with the requested gloves. But your heart is set on the golden nails. They are so him, even if it’s not exactly what he wanted. You take a seat behind your desk, your eyes unable to break away from the gloves, the tips of them twinkling in the dim light. 

You must have lost track of time because suddenly the door to your office is creaking open and he is there. Your eyes snap up to him, a blank expression on your face. Terzo’s cassock is unbuttoned enough that you can see the top of one of his pecs, speckled with dark chest hair. You’re too nervous to notice. His eyes dart to the gloves in front of you and he stalks closer, flickering his attention from you to the gloves and back.

“They aren’t what you asked for, Cardinal, but they are you.” You surprise yourself by how strong your voice sounds. Terzo licks his lips and reaches for one of the gloves, tenderly picking it up and running his fingers over the smooth texture. He examines the glove, his expression confused but curious, his eyes glossing over the sparkling, gold nails. He looks to you again as he knits his brows together.

“Let me, Cardinal.” You stand slowly and walk over to him, tender hands taking the glove from him and starting to slip it on. There is something intimate about your fingers running over his strong hands as you slip the glove on, making sure to pull it as tight as possible. You zip them up, the zipper being located on the back of the hand next to his thumb to ensure maximum tightness. A soft sigh escapes his lips, seemingly due to the glove fitting incredibly tight, too tight for him to form a fist. 

“This will do, Sorella.” He purrs, examining the sharp gold nails. Dark eyes meet yours as he looms closer to you. “But, ah, this is not what I asked for, as you said.” Terzo leans forward and takes a gloved finger to rest underneath your chin. “Do you enjoy disobeying me?” A breath catches in your throat as he tips your head up to look at him. 

“I set out to give you what you requested but inspiration took over, Cardinal. I stand by them.” You suck in a breath, his hand moving from your chin to your cheek and he presses a nail to the skin. “Careful, they’re sharp.” He nicks you and you give a yelp, causing a small cut on your cheek. A low growl rumbles up from Terzo’s chest, his hand moving to the back of your neck as he leans in and kisses the bleeding cut on your cheek. The ache that had been slowly building between your thighs is almost unbearable now, your breath hitching and your face growing hot beneath his lips.

“They are, as you say, me. I’ll leave you, if you would like. Or… I could stay and give you a reward and perhaps a punishment for the work you’ve done.” He purrs against your cheek then pulls away enough that he can look into your eyes, his hot breath against your flushed face. “The choice is yours, Sorella.” 

He isn’t giving you much of a choice, is he? You’re aware of his reputation among the clergy and there’s a reason why despite being a cardinal he has a horde of siblings coming and going from his quarters, following him around the abbey and indulging him in whatever he wants. You would be lying if you said you haven’t thought about his face between your legs or his cock between your tits before. Terzo has this way about him that brings something fresh, dangerous and sexy to the Abbey, which is why people are so drawn to him, yourself included, even after all the trouble he’s given you about these damn gloves. 

You don’t respond, instead you reach for his already unbuttoned cassock and tug him into you, crushing your lips against his. Terzo falters, caught off guard for a moment until he regains his composure, his gloved hand feathering into your hair and scraping against your scalp. Your tongue tangled with his and you can’t help but moan at the taste of him, a spicy cinnamon with a hint of sweetness. He uses his free hand to cup your ass and force you to move backwards giving a small yelp at his sudden strength. You stumble backwards as he takes control of the situation, still clutching your hair tightly in his gloved hand. 

Terzo bites at your lower lip, dragging his sharp teeth against it and you whimper against him, your hands digging into the fabric of his cassock, pulling it apart even more. He practically tosses you onto the small couch in your office and climbs on top of you. You gasp, your eyes wide and your lips parted as you stare up into his devilish eyes. Terzo presses his hips firmly against yours and starts to slowly circle his hips, feeling him rut against you through your habit. 

“Fuck, Terzo.” You whine as you struggle in his grasp. His chest rumbles with a low growl, letting go of your hands and beginning to claw at your habit with his gloved hand tearing through the fabric with ease. Terzo dips his head down, his tongue laving over where your neck and shoulder meet with a soft groan. You have wriggled your habit off of you and you’re now working diligently on the rest of his cassock, shoving it off his shoulders. He sits up, his hips keeping you pinned beneath him as he rips your habit completely off. Your eyes are wide, cheeks flushed while he hovers above you, his eyes roaming your naked body hungrily.

Terzo grabs you by the wrists and pins them above your head with his ungloved hand. The feeling of being in danger rings out in your brain, the look on his face different than you’ve ever seen it before. He presses the gold nails to your stomach, his wild eyes focused on your face as he rakes them down to your abdomen. Tears spill from your eyes and you cry out in pain, feeling blood seep from the wounds. He moans deep in his throat and lets go of your wrists only to reach for your panties and frantically tears them off of you. You’ve hardly come down from the pain you’re feeling when he pushes into you with one quick thrust.

You aren’t able to adjust to his size before he starts fucking you, his arms curling around your body to hold you close to his chest, panting into your ear. You grip onto the back of his shoulders, your own nails digging into the skin as you sob, the pain and pleasure mixing in a way that feels delicious. His hips snap into you at a brutal pace and you feel your muscles tighten, the building pleasure causing heat to spread through your body. He growls into your ear, his mouth dipping just where your earlobe and neck meet to bite and suck at the flesh.

In an instant, he sits up and pulls you with him, situating you on his thighs and resting both hands on your waist. His hips jerk, his cock massaging your inner walls as he uses your hips to slam you down onto him with every thrust. You’re able to finally get a look at him – his hair a mess, falling into his face and his cheeks flushed. Terzo’s eyes are blown wide with lust, his chest rising and falling with breathy moans. Speaking of chest, his is smeared with your blood that you’ve forgotten about by now but the very sight of it causes you walls to flutter around him.

“Oh, Sathanas.” He rasped, his grip on you tightening as he floods you with his cum. Terzo’s head drops to your shoulder, his body slumping against you. You are panting heavily, your heart racing. He slips his hand between the two of you, his lips finding your shoulder as he presses against your swollen clit. Your back arches from the contact, a deep moan rolling from your lips. He works his thumbs in quick circles on your bud, his teeth biting at your shoulder with a low growl. Your body tenses, holding onto him so tightly as you whimper, your head feeling light and your eyes fluttering open and shut. 

Your vision blurs and a shockwave grips your body, his name screaming from your lips as you reach your climax. You slump against him, your skin glistening with sweat and your body quivering while you come down. He carefully lifts you off of his cock, some of his speed spilling down the inside of your thighs. You lean against the back of the couch, your eyes glassy as you gaze back at him, a light smirk playing on his lips.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it, sister?” He moves forward, a hand grabbing you by the back of the head and pulling you into a hungry kiss. You let him take you, his tongue probing every inch of your mouth. Terzo pulls away about an inch, only to give you a playful nip to your nose and then stands. You slump against the couch, feeling like a complete and total mess, your body still tingly from the sensation and there is a dull burning pain on your abdomen from his scratches.

He saunters over to your desk and reaches for the other gloves, tucking it into his pocket. You are still catching your breath, your hair tousled and your busy flushed read. Terzo’s eyes studying you, still smirking because he likes what he sees. 

“Grazie, sorella. I will be sure to come to you if, eh, they ever need repairing… or if you want to play again.” He waggles his fingers at you, the golden nails that are now stained with your blood shining in the dim light. You lay down on the couch and give him a lazy wave. Terzo gives a low chuckle, amused by your response and leaves your office, his chest still covered in your blood and his cassock left on the floor.

You exhale slowly, finally able to get your bearings now that he is gone.

The punishment really wasn’t that bad.  

[holyghostflo]

Ok, it's been a quite a while since I've done one of these, so buckle up. I've got a big one for you to today:

Izzy Moonbow's sparkle sense.

Now, my opinion on G5 as a whole is... not great. The generation had a whole lotta interesting ideas that were either executed poorly or never really explored.

In the case of Izzy's talent for seeing sparkle, after the movie, it's mentioned very little and rarely with any real story or character intent. (Not saying all traits of a character must do this. Some can be charming and lovable without having much of a point. This isn't one of those cases.)

-but I like stories, and I like Izzy, so let me cook for a sec.

The first time Izzy ever mentioned "Sparkle" was with Sunny on their way to Zephyr Heights.

"You know, your Sparkle? Yours is... lavender."

Two things:

One, the more obvious point: Sparkle might be alluding to Twilight Sparkle, the literal pony embodiment of magic.

Two, Izzy notes that Sunny's Sparkle is a specific color, meaning that, whatever she's seeing isn't just a sparkly something... it's a COLORFUL sparkly something.

Now, let's rewind back to G4 for a bit.

What's sparkly, colorful, and magically comes from ponies?

That's right. Their magical Aura.

Izzy can see the literal magical aura of other ponies, regardless of their race. (As opposed to G4, where it was only clear what color unicorns and Alicorns magical aura was because.... well, yeah.)

This could've been EXTREMELY interesting.

How, you may ask?

Allow me to demonstrate.

In G4, the color of a pony's Aura usually followed a rule: It had to match either their eyes or their cuite mark.

Twilight's aura was hot pink/fushia, which matched her cutie mark.

Rarity's aura was a crystal blue, which matched both her eyes AND her cutie mark.

Other examples include, but are not limited to:

Sweetie Belle - light green = her eyes

Celestia - sulight yellow = her cutie mark

Shining Armor - hot pink/fushia - his cutie mark

Lyra Heartstrings - golden yellow = her eyes + cutie mark

Starlight Glimmer - cyan = cutie mark

-and so on, and so forth.

Now, going back to Izzy, she told Sunny her Sparkle was the color lavender.

Notice how that doesn't really seem to follow the rule.

However, doesnt that specific color remind you of anypony?

Sunny's magic being the color of Twilight Sparkle had SO many implications.

Was she physically related to Twilight Sparkle in some way?

Was the color just a neat little hint that Sunny was basically the next in line to fill Twilight's shoes?

Plot concepts, people. Plot concepts!

Having a pony who can see the magic emanating off of other ponies is tremendous for telling us things about other characters and their possible role in the story.

-AND G5 DID NOTHING WITH THIS.

[eatyoursparkout]

hello! this ask is prompted by a recent reblog of yours about rubber preservation. I'd love to hear your thoughts relating to TFs and preservation and plastics. what should folks know? any best practices for storage? do you think there's another way manufacturers could produce them to make them more hardy? etc etc. thanks :)

Sure! I'm not a conservator by trade (and even within conservation plastics are still somewhat of a new and niche thing), but I can offer some general advice.

The tl;dr is that like 90% of other materials your best bet is to keep them clean, out of strong light, in an environment that isn't too hot or too cold, and to avoid temperature/relative humidity (RH) fluctuations as much as possible. And above all, make sure that they're well-ventilated.

The tl;dr tl;dr is that plastics just suck.

More detail under the cut! (...Lots of detail. Sorry.)

There's 2 main problems with plastics.

The first is that a lot of them are just kind of inherently unstable. Unlike a nice chemically stable material like glass, they want to deteriorate when exposed to things like....oxygen. Rip. And once damage has set in, it's basically impossible to reverse/treat.

The second is that there's really no regulations or standards when it comes to the manufacture of plastics. There's a bazillion different types, and even if you're able to identify the specific kind via chemical test (and this often damages the object in question) it's almost impossible to know what other kinds of additives went into the plastic soup that created the thing in front of you. This also makes it really hard to develop a standardized approach to caring for and treating plastics, because two things can react wildly differently even if they appear virtually the same.

That means that when it comes to plastics, preventative conservation is the name of the game. You want to mitigate the effects of the agents of deterioration on the object as much as possible. And in the meantime, make peace with the fact that nothing can be preserved indefinitely :')

TFwiki has an article talking about the common types of plastic used in TF figures, which is neat and useful. Gonna hazard a guess that most figures are predominantly ABS, which is great because it's a fairly sturdy hard plastic that probably won't show effects for a while. I'd be statistically more concerned about figures with squishy, rubbery bits (looking with apprehension at my Kingdom line BW figures).

So! While the ideal environment for plastics is cold, dark, dry and oxygen-free (lol), when it comes to personal collections you can obviously only take reasonable measures. They're in our homes, not a vault. The main things you want to keep in mind:

Light fades and discolours plastic over time, and can eventually cause certain kinds to become brittle. The more lux that your figures are exposed to, the faster that's going to happen. So while it's not reasonable for your house to maintain museum-level lighting or shell out for fancy UV filtered cases, I'd keep your displays out of direct sunlight at minimum.

High temperatures can increase the rate of oxidation, and low ones can encourage shrinkage and brittleness. Either one can do damage over time, but what's worse is fluctuations in temp that force the material to weather one extreme to the other. If you've got your figures in a storage unit or something, a climate controlled one would be ideal, or at least insulating the box so that they're kept at a more stable temp. In the home, I'd keep them away from any vents/heaters.

As far as humidity goes, it's less damaging to plastics than a lot of other materials, but you still want to avoid any large fluctuations that will cause the material to expand and shrink (and eventually crack). Wherever you're storing your figures, try to make sure it's somewhere <65% RH (this is a high cutoff compared to most materials, so your home is probably fine unless you live somewhere humid without A/C).

Pollutants are a big one for plastics. Dust can cause microabrasions and damage over time, so keeping your figures clean is a good idea. I'd use a soft brush to avoid scratching your figures, or a lightly moist swab of some kind. Don't risk any kind of chemical cleaners, bleach, vinegar, etc. and I'd even avoid compressed air to be safe. If you want to be really careful about it, wash your hands before handling your figures. Humans carry all kinds of oil and dirt on their fingers- that's why museum professionals are often wearing gloves.

And then there's the problem of off-gassing...

Plastics can unfortunately give off vapours that can negatively affect other plastics in their vicinity. The especially bad ones are called malignant plastics (evil, scary), but it's hard to ID them until they start falling apart or damaging the things around them. Best course of action is to reduce contact between different figures (pose them together, but maybe don't leave someone's hand on someone else's shoulder for five years), and make sure that there's good ventilation.

If you're going to box up figures, don't be like me and store them in your parents' basement for years in an airtight container :') Go for a more pourous material like archival grade corrugated board, and use something as a buffer between figures like polyethylene bags/sheeting so that they're not touching (there's pros and cons to sealing each individual figure in a polyethylene bag- it'll be trapped with its own gases which could speed up deterioration, but the microclimate will keep it from affecting other figures around it).

And if you have boxed figures.... either commit to leaving them boxed forever or crack those bad boys open. My partner opened up their Pacific Rim figures after several years of them stewing in their own vapours and sadly they ended up falling apart in their hands. Thanks NECA.

As for manufacturing, you'd have to ask a chemist! I'm not sure exactly what it is that turns certain plastics to gunk and causes others to shatter, but I'm sure standardizing the way we make them would go a long way. Unfortunately, the stuff that's going to better for the planet in the long run (biodegradable) is also going to deteriorate quicker by design, so that's a whole other issue.

Anyway! That's a lot of info, but I hope it was an interesting and/or helpful introduction to plastic care lol. If you're interested in more thorough reading, I'll direct you to the CCI's handy dandy free online resource. They're an invaluable resource for all kinds of materials care.

[finisnihil]

I feel like there’s such an untapped potential in Fair Folk/Fae based horror because when you look into their folklore it’d be perfect for something spooky.

The Fair Folk are fucking terrifying entities, you can never let your guard down around them, you can never accept their hospitality but you cannot for an instant cease being polite and even when you go out of your way to avoid them they still will creep into your life like mold or rot and steal your children for themselves or even pieces of your body. You have to be aware of every loose hair, every drop of blood, because they can use it against you. You have to bargain with the forest if you want anything back from them even your soul and that’s even more dangerous because the forest wants to devour you so bad. They’re eldritch in their horror.

In most modern stories based on them they’re very sexualized and they have a lot of their core traits stripped from them, they come to resemble more so the modern idea of a fairy like the kind you see in Peter Pan. Petty but ultimately possessing some sense of benevolence (Ex. Tinker Bell getting the Lost Boys to shoot Wendy but still having her existence tied to the belief of children). Sarah J. Maas’s fairies are hot guys with neat powers.

On the topic of ACOTAR I struggled to get invested in it because it lacks the tension of an encounter with the Fair Folk, the mind games, the stakes. The powerlessness of not only you becoming more aware of your surroundings but your surroundings also becoming more aware of you. Sure Feyre was spirited away but her place in the world of the fairies was mostly of little struggle beyond being lonely and feeling out of place. The fairies around her could be mean yes but there was an absence of the cruelty, the biting pettiness, the suffocating fear of saying just one wrong thing. When you compare it to works of authors like Holly Black, who is extremely faithful to the folklore, it’s easy to see just much of the Fair Folk’s base concepts were stripped from ACOTAR’s worldbuilding.

In The Folk of the Air series by Holly Black there’s a constant sense of powerlessness in the protagonists and the quiet understanding that kindness doesn’t get you very far with creature like the Fair Folk. Jude only because somewhat respected when she becomes cruel, she only assimilates fully into the world of the Fae when she abandons her notions of her humanity, when she acts like them.

The House of Furies series by Madeleine Roux also has a fantastic grasp on the horror of the Fae. In House of Furies there’s the ever prevalent feeling that the protagonist doesn’t belong among humans because she gives the people around her a sense of uncanny valley. The Fae are these eldritch beings far beyond the understanding of the protag, and they constantly haunt the narrative in the way that they are nature and you can run as far as you want but you can’t outrun what watches you from the trees.