#does he know that he caught Feelings? I don’t Know!

[robo-writing]

How different Logan’s would eat you out <3

X1, X2, and X3

✦A mix between ravenous and romantic. He wants you to know just how much you’re loved, and he expresses that by how long he can eat your pussy without stopping. savoring each and every movement from you, he actually enjoys when you lose control and tighten your legs around his head, moaning something along the lines of you’ll be the death of me as he laps at your cunt.

Your thighs quake around his head, hands in his hair as you look down at him. He’s having the time of his life, licking at your pussy like it’s the last thing he’ll do in this life, pulling you down and forcing you to sit right on his face.

“Don’t need air, stay,” he mumbles, eyes looking up at you. “Just stay here for me sweetheart.”

You want to protest but goddamn does he make it hard for you, especially when his hands grip the fat of your ass and grind you onto his lips. Higher and higher, you feel your orgasm taking hold with each movement.

“Logan, gonna come,” you whine, and he pushes you as far down as you can go.

“Come on my face doll,” he groans, tonguing at your shaking entrance. “Get my face nice and wet, yeah?”

Origins Wolverine

✦Lovey dovey sickeningly sweet romantic sex; down for anything as long as you’re involved. Sit on his face? Gladly. Pull your legs over his shoulders? Just say when. The kind of lover whose heart skips a beat every time he sees you naked like it's the first time, despite the fact that you're married with a house. Speaks to your pussy as if it’s separate from you.

“How’s my girl doing? Doing alright?”

Your answer is a moan, your pussy clenching around nothing. Logan smiles at your response, thumb stroking up to press against your sensitive clit.

“Yeah, doing just fine ain’t you?” He breathes, kissing the hardened nub before returning to suck on it, your legs shaking in response. “And my other girl’s nice and ready ain’t she?”

“Baby,” you whine, desperate to cum. He’s edged you for as long as possible and you’re almost certain if you wait any longer you’ll actually die. Thankfully Logan grants you mercy, tightening his hold on your thighs as he focuses all his effort into making your pussy leak on his face.

“Come for me sweetheart,” he groans, and you do. Fingers digging into the sheets, you feel your orgasm take hold as Logan wrings every ounce of pleasure he can, kissing at your thighs when your overstimulated pussy can’t take any more.

You barely catch your breath before he speaks to your cunt, admiring how your come trails down your thighs.

“There she is,” he chuckles, index finger slowly collecting the remains of your juices, admiring how they glisten in the low light of your bedroom. “Nice and satisfied, ain’t she?”

DOFP Logan

✦Second biggest munch. Running from danger constantly doesn’t make a lot of time for sex so whenever he finds the rare opportunity to do so best believe he’s jumping at it. Likes to joke that he’s started to go grey because he can’t fuck you as often as he likes. Truly eats you out like he needs your pussy more than he needs air.

“Need to be quiet baby,” he growls, pinning your thrashing hips against the wall. “You’re going to get us caught.”

It’s one of the rare days when you’ve found a safe house, even rarer that it’s just you and Logan alone for once. One look at his face and you already knew what was running through that adamantium skull of his, dragging you away to the nearest closet where you’ve been for god knows how long—the concept of time always seems to leave you wherever Logan’s talented mouth is involved.

You’re biting at your hand to muffle your moans but it’s still not enough, free hand tangled in his graying strands as an anchor. You can see his eyes roll back at the feeling, sloppily kissing up your pussy.

“God I wanna hear you,” he moans. “I’d give anything to fuckin’ hear you baby, but you’ve gotta behave for me. Don’t want anyone else seein’ this.”

The scene is something straight out of a porno—your legs hooked over his shoulders as he eats your cunt feverishly, the filthy sounds he makes with each movement, your hips desperately chasing his mouth—you wish this could never end.

70s Logan

✦By far the most selfish, he eats you out for his pleasure alone. He doesn’t give a damn if you’re crawling away, he will pull you back and lock his lips around your clit until you’re damn near thrashing in his arms, grinding against the mattress because that's just how hard he is. He won’t apologize for making you pass out, nor will he stay the night, but if he likes you enough you might find a card on your nightstand with his number hastily scribbled onto it.

When you decided to bring tall, dark, and grumpy home you didn’t expect it to end with tears running down your face, practically begging for a reprieve that won’t come. His hands lock together, forcing you still as he eats you out, not giving a damn about how pathetic you sound.

“Quit fuckin’ squirming,” he grunts, nosing at your pussy. “Lemme enjoy this.”

The man is talented, that’s a fact. Knows just how to push your buttons in all the right ways, but the problem is that he’s pushed your buttons nearly three times already and you’re almost certain his beard is going to give you the worst rash you’ve ever had.

But damn it if he isn’t responsible for some of the best orgasms you’ve ever had.

“Logan, fuck—lemme take a break,” you’re begging at this point, slapping at his shoulders when he doesn’t let up. Your breath catches in your chest when he smacks your thigh roughly in response, smiling against your pussy when he feels you clench in response.

“Don’t tell me you’re not enjoying yourself,” he mocks, showing just how true his words ring when his fingers rub circles against your clit.

You swear you can feel any coherent thoughts leak out of your ears, focused solely on coming. It’s embarrassing how well he plays your body like a fine tuned instrument, but you can’t bring yourself to care when you’re squirting a mess onto your mattress.

“There we go, ain’t that a sight?” He laughs, pulling you closer towards his face. “Now, be a good little slut and behave while I enjoy my meal, okay?”

Old Man Logan

✦#1 munch and it’s not even close. When his job leaves him tired and his body is sore he finds comfort between your legs, it’s the only time he can turn his brain off and drown himself in you. He’s so fucking starved that he’ll genuinely get lost in his own headspace and ignore your thrashing and whining just to wring another orgasm from your tired body. Kisses your labia and mutters how she's such a pretty pussy as you're trying to catch your breath.

Logan didn't even bother to shed his clothes, making a beeline directly to you the moment he stepped inside your shared home. Dirt still settled on his skin, his head nestled into the crook of your neck as your bodies sway within the closed off kitchen. "Missed me, huh?" you ask, his sigh answer plenty. "Always miss you princess," he whispers, pulling you closer. He lifts you up with warning, sitting you down on the countertop, kneeling between your dangling legs. His beard tickles your bare skin, pulling you close enough to place a kiss onto your pussy, right over the fabric of your panties. "Fuck," you sigh. "You really missed me." His smile is infectious, nuzzling against your fabric-covered core. He kisses you through it for a while before peeling off the moistened garment, thumbs reaching to stroke your pussy. The sight makes your skin hot, hands tangled in his hair. "Been waiting all fuckin' day for this," he moans, spreading you apart and indulging in your juices. "Can tell you were waiting for me too." You feel your body melt with every touch, Logan's hands an anchor as he makes out with your heat, nose bumping against your clit with each movement.

Worst Logan

✦Still trying to wrap his head around you wanting to be with him, but goddamn if he isn’t grateful. Reverent, like a sinner at an alter. Your word is law, likes it when you pull him by the hair and show him where you need it, loves it when you tell him how good he’s doing, presses himself further into your pussy when you’re ready to come. It's all about you and he wouldn't have it any other way.

You lovingly stroke his hair, back arching when he kisses your clit oh so gently.

“Lemme take a look at you,” you ask, and the sight of him is enough to make you come.

Face red, blushing so hard it reaches his chest, eyes so glazed over with lust his pupils leave nothing but small rings of green in his eyes. You cradle his face and the weight of his head falls into them immediately, chasing your touch.

“Gonna make me feel good, aren’t you?” You ask, and he nods his head, kissing your palm.

“Lemme taste you baby,” he whispers. “Swear to god I’ll make you feel good.”

“Never doubted you for a second Logan,” you whisper back, tugging his head back to your soaked cunt. He breathes in your scent, fucking groans at the sight of your pussy before he descends on it, noisily showing you just how much he meant his words.

“Fuckin’ delicious baby, so fuckin’ wet,” he moans. “Can’t get enough of you.”

He only gets louder when you pull him forward by the hair, rough hands leaving a mark where his fingers grip your skin.

[nonushu]

jealousy's a disease - choe hansol

genre: fluff, bestfriends to ???...🥺😊 | wc: 840 | non-idol!vernon x reader a/n: ok fineeeeee i'll stop writing for vernon now haha...

you hate him for this. you hate the way he sits there so beautifully, so blissfully, making you gawk at him—does he even know? does he know how his skin glows in the sun, or how gracefully his lashes flutter? does he even know how-

"what?"

vernon's voice cuts you out of your trance, his body facing you on the other side of the couch. his headphones rest around his neck as he stares at you in concern.

you raise your eyebrows, confused. "what?"

"i dunno, you were just... looking at me weird," he says, narrowing his eyes.

"was i?" you say softly, putting your book down, "well, sorry, didn't mean to weird you out."

he blinks, those eyelashes fluttering, again. "nah, it's cool,"

you nod, feeling something subtle building as you pretend to read, flipping to a random page. but vernon catches the shift in your expression.

"you okay, though?"

you perk up at him, meeting his suspicious gaze. "why would i not be okay?"

"'cause you're being kinda weird," he tuts, removing headphones to place them on the table. "did i do something?"

you sigh, mirroring his movements, placing your book down next to his headphones. "i don't know, vernon. did you?"

"well, no..." he mumbles, clearly muddled, "did you do something?"

"what? no," you scoff, feeling a little flustered. "no one did anything."

a pause falls over the room as the two of you stare at each other, the tension almost palpable. vernon shifts awkwardly before speaking again. “do you… not want me to stay anymore? i can leave if-”

“no!” you blurt out, your body instinctively inching closer to him on the couch. “why would you think that?”

“i don’t know!” he says, raising his hands defensively. “i just thought you were staring at me because you were getting sick of me or something.”

your heart skips a beat at his words, the sudden rush of panic rising. because the last thing you want is for him to leave.

"i wasn't," you quickly say.

he tilts his head. "okay... then what's wrong? you're acting..."

you open your mouth to respond but nothing comes out. how do you even explain it? how do you tell him how he makes you spiral from just being... him?

you cautiously reach your hand to face, finger lingering over his eye. you can see how his brown orbs widen at your sudden closeness as you softly touch his lashes. "has anyone ever told you that you have lashes to die for?"

vernon's breath hitches, his eyes fluttering. his lips part at the comfort of your touch. "uh," he mumbles, blinking rapidly when you pull your hand away. a faint blush creeps his neck, and he lets out a nervous chuckle. "n-no? that was kinda random."

you smile even though your heart races. "well, consider yourself blessed by the gods. i'm a little jealous..."

"of my eyelashes?" he asks, deadpanned.

"yeah..." you say quietly, "i don't know what you did in your past life to be so treasured."

he scoffs, “yeah, okay," he says, shaking his head with a playful smile. "i’m not sure i’ve ever been called ‘treasured’ before.”

you lean back against the couch, trying to steady your breath, and vernon watches you with a growing curiosity.

“is that what’s been bothering you?” he teases, his smile widening. “my lashes are just too nice?”

you glance at him, a bit annoyed by how easily he brushes it off. “maybe,” you murmur, though you both know it’s more than that.

"or," vernon’s smile falters, and his eyes narrow slightly like he’s starting to piece things together. "you're just jealous of my charms.”

you blink, caught off guard by his bluntness. “what? no, I didn’t say-”

“y'know, y/n, jealousy’s a disease,” he interrupts, grinning again, though there’s something softer in his gaze now, like he’s not entirely joking anymore. “do you need me to take you to the hospital? or should I call someone?”

you roll your eyes, feeling flustered. “don’t be stupid. i’m not actually jealous.”

but vernon doesn’t let it go, leaning closer, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “oh, but you kinda are, though. and I don’t think it’s just about my lashes.”

you can feel your face heating up under his stare, and your pulse quickens. “i don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mutter, crossing your arms.

he’s closer now, his tone gentler. “i think you do.”

your heart pounds in your chest, the playful banter suddenly taking a turn you didn’t expect. you meet his gaze, and the teasing light in his eyes fades, replaced by something else.

and in that moment, you realize: you’re not just jealous of his lashes, his effortless charm, or how everyone seems to adore him. scratch that, you're not even jealous! (maybe just a smidge).

maybe its the fact that he might not feel the same way you do.

but as vernon’s hand brushes against yours, his fingers lingering just a little longer than necessary, you wonder if maybe—just maybe—he does.

[schoenpepper]

Despite Everything (It's Still You)

Intro: When he looks at you, he sees everything he could have been.

Warnings: bad grammar, awful writing, not proofread, kinda angsty, more platonic im pretty sure cus its not specified if ur lovers, might be ooc idk and idc, everytime i write idia i feel 10 years older because i cringe at my own internet slang

A/N: Done! Last request is finished, hope you like it worm anon. On my end, this is super rushed and it's not like, my fave ever so ehhhh.

Masterlist

Riddle thought he’d found a comrade in you. Out of everyone in Twisted Wonderland, he’d thought you would be the one to understand him.

He sees it in your posture, always straight and never slouching. You’re good with academics, a diligent student. Like Riddle, you’d gone through life with the iron fist of a well-meaning parent, so surely, you understand him, right? You agree with him. You believe that rules are important to be upheld lest society fall into chaos. It’s such a refreshing feeling to find a person who, like him, thinks that structure and stability are core values of a proper community.

But you don’t. You don’t understand. No one does. His consciousness is flickering between ink and reality. He’s slipping into the grasp of the phantom and he feels himself slowly being consumed. He’s being devoured. Right before the overblot, even you had stood against him. Why? Riddle wasn’t wrong, he was never wrong—the rules aren’t wrong. Because if they are, then what did he lose his entire childhood for? So you must be the one at fault. This is your mistake. You just don’t understand. You tell him that the rules and the competence and the structure matter less than people. You try to convince him that there’s a better way of living. Is there?

Riddle doesn’t know why. He’d thought you were a comrade because he saw his own experiences in yours, but he’d never been so wrong. While he was still caught up in the chains of his mother’s words, you’d already broken free from the cage. You help him to reclaim the shards of childish wonder he’d never been allowed to have. You help him learn how to breathe, how to relax. Little by little, you bring him onto your path.

He doesn’t understand you anymore.

Leona doesn’t have any opinions about you. You never really talked to him at first, and he can respect that; you don’t go out of your way for bothersome, meaningless things.

Every time he sees you, you’re sleeping or slacking off. Whatever, it’s not like he can judge you for it. You also have a real competitive streak for spelldrive, and your wit’s not half bad, especially when compared to the muscle heads in his dorm. Clever and snarky, talented and strong. He can respect you. Maybe just barely, and he’ll never admit it, but he sees a part of himself in you. So, a sort-of equal. He’s still better than you though.

The taste of sand lingers on his tongue as it swirls in the air through the storm. There’s a part of himself he can no longer control. It makes him wrap his fingers around Ruggie’s throat and Leona… He doesn’t want this. But he can’t stop. He can still recognize you on the edge of his vision. Weren’t you just like him? At birth, everything good was handed right over to your older sibling, leaving nothing but scraps for you. You found it unfair too, didn’t you? So why are you standing against him? This is his chance to be someone worth more than his birthright. Why…are you not agreeing with him?

Leona tried to stay away from you. But call it his instinct or whatever; he can’t seem to avoid you at all. The second prince of Sunset Savanna is awestruck by your words. You tell him that birth doesn’t determine everything. You tell him that you’d learned from your own past. That you can still make something of yourself without that which was given. You sure are chatty now, but who is he to stop you?

You’re not his equal. You’d long since left him in the dust.

Azul sees you as an opportunity. He likes you, really, because you know how to do business and you find a way to compromise that doesn’t step on either person’s lines.

It’s not difficult for him to find out about your past, and to be honest, he’s greatly delighted to find out about all that you have in common. Did you feel the way he did when he was isolated and bullied? Did you feel his pain? You were an outcast too, weren’t you? But wow, look at you (and him) now! It’s rare he sees someone as diligent as himself, as cunning and as smart. Resourceful and oh so benevolent, you’d fit right into Octavinelle!

He’d steered himself long ago; he would never be weak again. He had long, long since forgotten humiliation and defeat. But he’s here again. This time, defeat was brought by your hands. Azul had thought you were allies. Business partners, at least. Why betray him like this? Don’t you get it? He’s powerful now! Why try to stop him? Why did you succeed? He’s left in the aftermath of heartache and debris. He doesn’t know why he did the things he did, but he’s sure that he was so close to being all-powerful. Perfect. A being so beautiful and flawless and strong… You took that chance away from him.

Azul wants you out of his life—your presence now is only a reminder of everything he could have been, and everything he failed to be. Unlike him, you’ve already moved on. You’ve learned to forgive your tormentors, and most importantly, you’ve learned to forgive yourself. You tell him that it was never his fault, but that revenge was never meant to be the answer.

He finds that he had nothing in common with you, after all.

Jamil is perceptive. Next to the one who’s attracting the attention of the whole room with a bright smile and sunny disposition, he finds a kindred spirit in you.

You seem responsible enough, and like a mirror, he sees you taking care of that person the way he does with Kalim. It’s easy to pierce through your act because he knows how to do it too. Seemingly not too smart, not too dumb, not too strong, not too weak. You’re good at pretending to be average. Like Jamil, you’ve lived a life of servitude. Are you tired of forced humility? Of feeling like your life isn’t worth anything when compared to the one you serve?

He’s tired too. He’s so, so tired. Why was freedom unreachable to Jamil right from the moment he was conceived? Was he unworthy of a life unbound by shackles? You’re looking at him like he’s a stranger. Jamil looks at you like you’re a mirror. A mirror that’s shattered, and damaged, and every piece is covered with ink and regret. You know what he’s been through, so why are you in his way? You should be an accomplice. Do you not yearn to be your own person? The phantom is whispering promises he knows it won’t keep. But nothing is more tempting than just…one day of happiness. Of his own happiness.

Jamil is inevitably drawn to you. You live so brightly; you see your master as a friend. You tell him he doesn’t need to do the same. That the only thing he needs to do is find a way that works for him. And you’re asking about things he hadn’t thought of before. An employment contract? The legal status of slavery in the Scalding Sands? Wait, you’re serving that person out of your own volition in exchange for salary and other related benefits?

In you, he sees a light at the end of the tunnel.

Vil approves of you. Like looking in a mirror almost, he sees beauty and a passionate drive to remain beautiful in every single way.

You’re a person with a consistent goal and a persistent drive to do better and be better; a hard worker with tenacity like that of the Queen herself. You are no potato. You are a diamond that has found a way to shine uniquely, and like him, you are already a master at your chosen profession. And yet, he sees the trophies and the medals are all silver and never gold. It is frustrating, but Vil knows that you as well know what it’s like to always be second best.

He’d worked so hard. He’d tried his very best. Professional music and choreography, styling and costumes. He’d set up a multi-week boot camp for his team members in order to whip them into shape. It’s all swept away by that person. Again. And again. And again and again and again and— No. No more. He will take matters into his own hands. But you stand in front of him with a familiar determination, only this time, you’re determined to stop him. Rook had betrayed him and now, you do too. Is he not worthy of a victory? Not even once? The blot is so, so ugly. But if it means he’ll get to wipe out everything that’s opposed to him, he’ll take that blot and use it to his own advantage. Like the queen who’d disguised herself as an ugly witch in order to take down the princess; everything can be sacrificed for the sake of ultimate beauty. If you’re not with him, you must be against him.

Vil apologizes sincerely for his faults. He knows he was wrong, even if it hurts his pride to admit it. But you accept him so easily, so readily, he can’t believe you’re acting like he’d never even hurt you. You forgive him. You help him accept his losses and continue to strive. Because you’d been in his position before, but you’d grown to be happy and appreciate the wins in life instead.

You are no mirror image of him. You are better.

Idia’s never been this happy before; through his screen is someone who just gets him. You’re good at games, and an introvert too? Score!

It’s not like, ever, that someone who vibes with his genius just comes strolling through his life, so Magicord bears witness to long, late night chats about anything and everything. You’ve got some real fucked up childhood trauma too, big mood tbh. It’s easy to spill his guts out over the internet, because even then, you still don’t really know him. You like the games and animes that he likes, and he’s so glad that for once, there’s a person out there who’s lived through the same villain-arc that he has.

He can’t rebuild the world if so many noobs are trying to stop him. Why? What’s so wrong with wishing for a world that can fit him and Ortho right in? Why is that too much for him to ask for? Why are you, the person he thought was his cool moots, acting up too? Don’t you like Ortho? Bro…no…you’re not actually doing a protagonist monologue rn, are you? Seriously? You think you can defeat him and his phantom through the power of friendship? Lolz, you’re so lame. If the world was a fairytale, he wouldn’t have been born with this dumb curse. If the world was a fairytale, he would never have been trapped in STYX with no way out. If the world was a fairytale, Ortho would still be alive. But it’s not. So he’ll remake it to be the story he’d always dreamt it to be.

Idia thinks you’re 110% cringe, like actually barf-inducing. But you did kinda save him or whatevs, so he can put up with you. Like, begrudgingly yk. You’re just such a weirdo. He really thought you were just like him, but no. You’ve had therapy. That’s like, actually wild. You try to counsel him too, talking about feelings and whatnot, and how to move past grief so that it no longer consumes you from the inside out.

So it turns out you didn’t have a villain arc like Idia did. You’re the main hero.

Malleus finds you absolutely delightful. To see another who can speak to him without fear or nervousness is a marvelous thing that he cherishes.

You are no fae or long-lived species, but he finds you fascinating. You are intelligent and wise beyond your years. You are powerful in your own right. You are familiar, in every sense of the word. Even your experiences seem to be shared. You’d been orphaned too, and experienced loss and grieved. You’d mourned for far too many loved ones who have left before you. Do you see the present as he does? Do you embrace the past as he does?

The world is a sad, sad place. He would like to change it. Into one with happy ever afters, into one where there is no hunger and no poverty. There will be no suffering. In his hands, he will mold the world into one that is kinder to its people. There will be no death and separation. He’s had far too many of those, enough to last his long lifetime. He’s not wrong. So why…why do you stand against him, weapon pointed towards him? The only thing he wishes for is permanence. Do you not see the vision? There is so much sadness in the world, why do you choose to wake from your beautiful slumber and face it head on? No matter. He will help you, even if you deny him.

Malleus is more than happy to take your hand when it is outstretched towards himself. You teach him so many things he hadn’t realized before, like how to cherish the present and treasure each memory more than attempting to find a solution to make them everlasting. He had believed wholly that he was right; that the answer to death was a long period of dreams in which everyone lives in a happy ending. He had believed you to be similar to himself—he is wrong about many, many things.

You’ve always looked to a brighter future than he could even imagine.

[celli-ohs]

11:40 PM | sim jaeyun x reader, fluff, crack, sfw, 800 wc

This is so stupid. You think as you crawl around the yard, searching the grass. You were doing all of this because your stupid boyfriend got himself grounded.

Jake Sim was 22 and grounded. But you love him, so much so that you’re willing to get on your knees and hunt down a single pebble in his backyard.

It takes you a bit longer than expected (how the hell does his lawn not have a single rock??) but you eventually find a couple, small as coins. You run around the back, praying you don’t get caught by his parents. His mother (god bless her heart) had already warned you to not contact Jake until Wednesday.

But when you're young and in love, you do crazy things, like throwing rocks at your boyfriend’s childhood bedroom window. After your fourth rock, the window cracks open and Jake peeks his head out.

Unfortunately for him, you hadn’t realized he’d finally noticed you (it’s dark out okay? You could barely see.) and you throw a rock smack dab into his face.

“Ow! What the fuck- Stop!” He whines, rubbing his forehead.

“Oh! Sorry, sorry! Are you okay baby?” You slap a hand over your mouth, feeling guilty. Jake rubs his forehead, sending you the most adorable pout. “Yeah,” He nods. 

“What’re you doing here? I’m grounded, you know.” He tells you, making you scoff. “I know, I just really missed you.”

Hearing how much you missed him has Jake grinning from ear to ear, said ears turning pink. “Oh yeah?” He asks shyly. You roll your eyes at him.

“Yeah Rapunzel, now let down your hair and let me in!” You joke. “I can’t, my mom will hear the door!” Jake complains. “But you can climb that tree.” He points to the old oak tree planted a few feet away. Its long sturdy branches extend right past his bedroom window.

You look at the tree, then at Jake, then at the tree, and then back at Jake. “You’re joking, right? I just came here to tell you goodnight and that I love you.” You clarify. Jake’s pout deepens.

“But I miss you so much. I can’t stand being apart from you, I’m already having withdrawals!” Half of his body is practically sticking out of his window now. “Jake I’m not gonna climb a tree to get to you, what if I fall?” You argue.

“I’ll catch you!” He sounds so sure. “You’re grounded!” You remind him. “I’ll still catch you, now come on, I really want to kiss you.” He’s got this cheesy grin on his face that pulls at your heartstrings.

In all honesty, you missed him a lot too. You probably wouldn’t be standing outside in nothing but your pajamas lamenting to your lover unless you were having withdrawals too.

So that’s how you found yourself 15 feet in the air, balancing on a single branch to just get close to your boyfriend. “If I fall and die, you are so not invited to my funeral.” You hiss as you drag yourself, moving painfully slow, inch by inch.

“Well that’s because I’ll be buried right beside you, if you’re going, so am I.” He jokes, which doesn’t help because if he makes you laugh too hard you fear you might slip.

“Shut up! I’m concentrating,” You huff, and hold your breath as you finally reach his window sill. As you mentally congratulate yourself for achieving a physical challenge you never thought you’d accomplish after the age of 12, Jake stares at you with hearts in his eyes. 

“Are you going to keep staring or let me in?” You finally ask, and Jake comes back to reality, chuckling as he helps carry you inside. You both clumsily land on the carpet, making a thud on the ground. “Do you think-” “Don’t worry, my dad’s a snorer.” He assures you, helping you up.

Once on your own two feet again, you’re suddenly tackled into Jake’s bed, the owner snuggling his head into your chest. “God I missed you so much.” He hums, a boyish grin plastering his face.

You can’t help but squeeze him tight and press a kiss to his hair. “I missed you too.” You sigh. “But I definitely think I deserve some kind of reward for risking my life to get here?” You joke, clearing your throat. Jake looks up at you, excited.

“Who would I be to refuse?” He’s already up, leaning towards you. “I felt like Flynn Rider climbing up the tower.” You giggle as Jake begins to pepper your face with kisses.

“Shouldn’t it be the other way around? I’m Flynn,” He questions, looking at you confused as you only laugh.

“Whatever you say princess,” You sigh, cupping his face and finally getting a taste of his lips.

author's note: someone tell jake i'm deeply in love with him omfg 😭 I saw that one tiktok and immediately just had to start writing he's such a beautiful man and so princess coded.

[kaya-p]

heyy tay I would love it if you could write a nsfw alphabet for hasan because I reallyyyyy enjoy the way you write :))

NSFW ALPHABET WITH HASAN 🐦‍🔥❤️‍🔥

notes: im unbelievably horny… (and thank u sm anon😭)

🔖 — @babydollfacedangel @the-phantom-author @fullofgutsndopamine @questionable-behaviour @hasblair @bunnywabigheart @nfr-girly @benzodiazepines-withdrawal @kayakhasan @vicravluv @aomi-nabi

my pinned + my inbox is 📭 !

i am BEGGING YOU, to listen to this song while reading this please <3

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

— i see hasan being a cuddly guy afterwards. gets you anything you need, he LOVES looking after you in bed and afterwards <333

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

— EVERTHING, especially your pussy. like he said before, all vaginas are beautiful <3

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

— SUCH A DIRTY SLUT FOR CREAMPIES!!! he’s practically confessed to enjoying creampies…

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

— he LOVES unsafe sex… heres the video at 46:08 <333

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

— he’s said that his body count is over 100…

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

— missionary with ur legs on his shoulders… ifykyk

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

— it’s a mixed of both, but when he’s giving… HES GIVING. but he does giggle every now and then <3

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

— STUBBLE GIRLYS STAND UP. there’s stubble/full shaved down there. makes him feel and look 10000000x hotter;)

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

— like he’s said before… light some candles, slow n sensual, messy ass pussy fucker n eater ANDDDD lives for erotic and ambience lighting😋

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

— he prefers to be with you, while jacking off. ive explained this in my most popular nsfw work of him here.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

daddy, size, spanking, roleplay, exhibitionism, voyeurism, brat, praise, domination, creampies, blindfold sex, diy porn, choking (asphyxiation), katoptronophilia, public sex, quirofilia, getting caught, being close to being caught, degradation (to you), orgasm control, dirty talk, threesomes (if your comfortable with it), objectification, grinding, dry humping, breeding, sadism anddddd aftercare!

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

— preferably at home (anywhere at home LMFAO) but doesn’t mind at all to do in public…

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

— you could literally looking like a hot mess and he would careless with bending over and pulling down ur joggers.

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

— anything you don’t wanna do (same w him)

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

— HES AN ACTUAL GOD… MESSY EATERRRR, beard… SOAKED (and his stubble is getting lighter), top… SOAKED, he for sure cums when whenever he’s eating you out. he’s going to fucking TOWN😭😭😭

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

— slow; for whenever he’s feeling sexy n erotic. but rough… OWHHHHHH🫡, until you become sore, beaten, used and EXHAUSTED. ifykyk, that clip of him on stream, the way to disney pride… HIS THRUSTS ARE SO DEEP, SEXY, SMOOTH, AND SWIFT AS HELLLLL

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

— sure why not, but you both prefer to go to third base then second base tbh. BUT, if you guys are out-out, 100% going to second base on each other no matter if you’re out with friends or on a date😭

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

— tbh, no. he’s had 100 women, sure he’s experienced. but like he’s said before, he’s pretty vanilla with some sexy ass kinks tho.

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

— if i remember him saying before, he’s lasted for fours hours. DONT FULLY QUOTE ME ON THAT… I NEED TO FIND THIS CLIP OF IT. GIMME A CHANCE 😭😭

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

— 10000000%, he’s taking them toys to the battlefield. and likes he’s said before in the BDSM video, he has his own toys. in fact, he loves using them during sex.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

— are you fucking joking me… HAVE YOU SEE THIS MAN???? HES TEASING US EVERYDAY ON STREAM???? he’s a big PHATTTT teaser…

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

— in the BDSM video, he’s said he moans, growls and grunts a lot sooo…

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

— loves creampie-ing you in public whenever you don’t have the chance of changing underwear. he’s fucking loves filling you up, while letting his cock twitch in you when he’s done <3

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

— ive already stated this beforeeeee, 7inches and curves to the left!!!

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

— pretty high, cant match it with u tho ;)

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

— are you kidding me??? straight away LMFAOOO

[yawnzbf]

LDS boys x reader who's quite oblivious to their feelings?!?

| Partner who is quite obvious to the boys’ feelings |

Lnd boys x gn! Oblivious! Reader

Xavier

Xavier will wait for you to realize your feelings on your own terms giving you time and affection

He will be so soft and sweet to you, the man’s just happy to spend time with you

Sometimes while training together, he’d purposely let you win so can watch to celebrate.

When he does something a bit flirty, you’re dumbfounded- ears red eyes unable to meet his.

Though he isn’t the best person around to have in the kitchen, he makes an effort to learn how to cook your favourite dish.

A particularly strong hit from you caught Xavier off guard. He stumbled backwards, feigning a loss of balance, and fell to the floor with a dramatic thud. Concern immediately washed over your face as you rushed forward, your weapon forgotten, to check on your fallen comrade.

"Xavier! Are you alright? I should have been more careful," you said, worry etched across your features as you held him still.

Xavier lay there, seemingly dazed, looking up at you with a mysterious glint in his eyes. A whisper echoed through, "Woah... you look pretty from here."

Your concern shifted to confusion, and you tilted your head, trying to make sense of his words. "Hm? You said something? But I can't believe I was able to defeat one of the top-performing hunters today!" you exclaimed, once you registered the accomplishment, your attention torn between victory and the well-being of your sparring partner.

"Congrats on the win, you did great," Xavier replied, his hands reaching up to gently cup your face. The touch was unexpected, and you blushed slightly at the unexpected closeness. His eyes sparkled with a mixture of admiration and devotion.

Zayne

Zayne, although busy throughout the day, would set aside time for you to spend it with you even when you insist on him utilizing it to rest

His type of love would be acts of service and gift giving, getting you small things

^^ for example when you unconsciously ramble on how you were recently into doodling and sketching so he brings in a sketchbook for you to fill up )):

Or when you wanted to have crushed ice in the middle of the summer, he’d use his evol to help you out

He’d keep in one of your doodles on his office desk- a constant reminder of you that put a smile on his face

Dr. Zayne peered over the rim of his glasses, his expression a mix of concern and amusement. The soft hum of medical equipment echoed in the small examination room, creating an oddly serene backdrop to the unfolding conversation.

"Your heart's racing again," he remarked, the corner of his lips lifting in a half-smile. "May I ask why?"

"Really? I don't know, Dr. Zayne. This happens every time I'm near you. Do you think this is some kind of allergy?" you ask genuinely worried.

Laughter almost spills from his lips at the question, “I don’t think that is medically possible, perhaps this is because of some different matters..” Xavier trails off, eyes hinting at something you aren’t sure of.

While you are left confused- oblivious even to his intentions!

Rafayel

This man will not stop pestering you, constantly throwing flirty lines at you even when you shoot him down again and again :(

Unlike the other two, immediately after he recognizes his own feelings, he’s all over you

Although when the topic of actually confessing comes up, he’s all shy and red in the face, and when you misunderstand his confession- he gets all pouty not talking to you for days

“y/nn!” he whines over the phone, “I need you here right now! You’re my bodyguard, right?! There’s this hideous bug near my canvas, please come quick,” he hurriedly says cutting of the call before you can even reply.

You roll your eyes as you hear his dramatic plea through the phone. It's not the first time he's called you for something trivial. Sighing, you decide to play along with his antics and head to his house.

When you arrive, you find him standing on a chair, gesturing wildly at the bug near his canvas. "Y/nn, thank goodness you're here! This bug is a threat to my masterpiece! Can you please get rid of it?" he says, looking genuinely distressed.

You can't help but chuckle at his exaggerated reaction. "Alright, alright, calm down. It's just a bug," you reassure him. You take a step forward and swat the bug away, making sure to make a show of it. "There, problem solved. Your masterpiece is safe," you tease.

He looks at you with wide eyes, a mix of relief and admiration in them. "You're my hero, y/nn! Always coming to my rescue," he says, a mysterious glint in his eyes. As you share a laugh, you notice a hint of vulnerability in his expression.

"You know," he starts, scratching the back of his head nervously, "I... um, appreciate you being around. More than just for bug emergencies, I mean." He glances away, his cheeks turning a shade of pink.

He hesitates and finally blurts out, "I like having you around, y/nn. More than just for emergencies." You raise an eyebrow, not fully grasping the weight of his words.

“I mean, I hope you do,” you start, giving him a small smile. Upon hearing your words, he’s not talking to you for the rest of the week, while you wonder if you had said something wrong.

Sorry you had to wait this late but I was busy with moving into uni and lyf happened, although be ready to be fed more often now!!

[moyazaika]

omg doe brought up this AMAZINGGG idea abt the crime lord yan and his lawyer darling hello hey hi!!!!!!

this kinda got away from me because it is 3am but i nEEEEEDED to get this out bjsjsjjs i blame @carnivorousyandeere

i know i wrote the initial dynamic for his darling to be his lawyer, in that they’re on his side in court to keep him from getting sent to prison BUT BUT BUT hear me out T_T

lawyer darling who put yan kingpin away.

as in ,, you are the reason he was found guilty. you are the one, when the judge announced the final verdict, that his gaze turned to and that he smiled for, then. sentenced to death, before it was appealed to multiple life sentences; the beginning of the end of his empire.

you, you, you — the cause of his downfall.

after the infamous internationally documented case, your career soars to unprecedented heights. you’re the lawyer on every newspaper in every country, all the tv channels and glossy magazines. every law school wants you to speak at their graduation ceremonies. every firm’s reaching out to you. the whole world knows your name; you have everything!

—so why do you keep going back to the man who now has nothing?

the kingpin looks the same as he did that fateful day in court. only now, there’s bags under his eyes, and a five o clock shadow on his jaw; lips still curled in an easygoing smile. he laughs when he sees you, as if the two of you were merely old friends who hadn’t caught up in a while.

as if you’re not visiting him years later in the city’s most high security prison.

he grins. “come to gloat, have ‘ya?”

“you’ve committed countless crimes.” you state. “stolen lives and livelihoods. broken up families. killed good men. and still, all these years later, no remorse?”

“don’t get ‘yer panties in a twist,” he huffs, lazily leans back in the rickety prison chair so that he’s swinging it back and forth on its back legs, like a child. how absurd that even the garish orange uniform of a prison should suit him, “comes with the job description, don’t it?”

“i think about you,” you admit, eyeing the chains that bind his handcuffed hands to the desk in front of him. you look up, meet his gaze through the thick, dirty pane that separates you from him. keeps you safe. out of his reach, if only just.

a low whistle. “you sure know how to make a man feel special, y’know. been followin’ your cases. never put another one like me away, did ‘ya?” he grins. “i like that i’m special. makes me feel all warm ‘nd fuzzy inside.”

“wow,” you let out. “you really have gone insane.”

“always been a ‘lil crazy! like i said, part of the job description. though i’ve been thinkin’ recently,” he starts.

your fascination prompts you to lean closer. a sort of morbid curiosity that yearns to solve the puzzle of his twisted mind, slot the pieces you’ve already got in a way that makes them fit. you’ve got this weird feeling that you’re missing something. a big piece, maybe. one of the central ones.

“thinking about what?” your voice is barely above a whisper, almost conspiratorial. he leans in, too, all wide eyes—

—and then he jerks forward with the chains around the cuffs on his wrists pulled taut as he suddenly yanks them all the way, like a feral dog pulling on its leash. he looks like one, too, with that glint in his eyes.

“fuck!”

you barely even register that you’re on the floor until he laughs, low in his throat. he makes a vague gesture to your chair, toppled over on its side.

“oops.” he says, coyly. “didn’t mean to scare ‘ya.”

“liar,” you hiss, standing up to dust yourself off. this was stupid. why would you even entertain the idea of a civil conversation with a madman?

he gasps dramatically. “this is slander, your honour!”

“i’m leaving,” you scoff. “i don’t even know why i even came down here. you’re clearly fucking crazy.”

“and you’re no fun!” he pouts. “how ‘bout you stay just a little longer and i’ll make it worth ‘yer time, pretty please?”

“no can do,” you turn on your heels and reach for the door, fingers curled around the handle as you spare him one final glance over your shoulder— “have fun rotting in here for the rest of your life, psycho.”

—except the door won’t open. you try again, and again once more. the handle won’t budge. an awful sense of urgency overcomes you as you desperately shake the handle in a futile attempt to get it to just—

“funny ‘yer calling me crazy, ‘cus einstein once said real insanity is doin’ the same thing,” he beams. “over and over and over and over again, and expecting different results. door’s locked, lovely. ‘yer not getting out from there, ‘m afraid.”

you turn back then, still holding onto that door like a lifeline. he’s standing up, rubbing sore wrists that are, you realise with a sinking feeling, no longer bound by the handcuffs that kept him chained; on a short leash, like a good dog.

“what are you doing…?” your voice shakes, and it’s a far cry to the headstrong, unwavering lawyer who put the world’s most notorious criminal behind bars. “what the fuck—”

“i told you i’d make it worth your while t’stay,” he rolls up his sleeves, before pushing all of his hair (longer and greasier than the last you saw him) out of his face, features set in a determination you’ve never glimpsed before. familiar eyes twinkle with mischief. “and i meant it, y’know. the world’s very best lawyer came so far to see me! least i can do is greet ‘em properly.”

“‘cus see, the other prisoners wouldn’t be so nice. but i’ve been thinkin’ about you too.” he pulls his arm back and his fist comes flying at the pane. “don’t wanna have a conversation or nothin’ like that, nah, we talked enough.”

“you’ve been thinking about me, i’ve been waiting around for you…” bloody knuckles against cracks in the one barrier that is keeping you safe from him. you watch, helpless, as it threatens to break beneath the brute force of his trained fists.

“now let me just come over there,” he pulls his arm back again, ready to strike; knuckles raw and red, like the maniacal grin carved onto his pretty, flushed face. a deep blush and a shaky smile as those fists bring it all crashing down. “and show you how much i missed my faaavourite lawyer in the whole wide world.”

“—that be a good enough reason to stick around?” he asks slyly, before catching himself. “oh, silly me.” he shakes his head, apologetically, as he steps over broken shards on the floor, tainted with his blood. “doesn’t matter what ‘ya say.” a low hum when scarred hands reach out for you. “i waited so long for you…”

“… so, let’s make up reaaalllll good for all that lost time, okay?”

[ewyuzu]

cold distance

toji fushiguro x reader

warning: contains emotional conflict and themes of abandonment.

you sit at the edge of the bed, your fingers nervously tracing the hem of your shirt as you wait for toji to come back. the apartment feels colder when he’s not around, the silence heavy and unsettling. you hear the front door creak open, and your heart skips a beat. but instead of relief, all you feel is a knot tightening in your chest. he’s been gone for days—no call, no text, no sign of life.

he strolls in, as casual as ever, tossing his jacket onto the couch without so much as a glance in your direction. his hair is slightly dishevelled, and there’s a faint bruise on his jaw, but he acts like nothing’s wrong, like this is normal.

“you’re late again,” you say quietly, not wanting your voice to shake, but the frustration is hard to hide.

toji barely spares you a glance, his tone dismissive. “got caught up. not a big deal.”

you swallow hard, feeling the familiar anger rise up inside you. it’s always like this—he comes back late, no explanation, and expects you to just accept it. for once, you can’t. “it is a big deal,” you snap, standing up, your arms crossed tightly over your chest. “you disappear for days, and i have no idea if you’re even alive. and when you finally show up, you act like nothing happened.”

he arches a brow, his expression indifferent. “i told you before, this is how it is. if you can’t handle it, maybe you’re not cut out for this.”

his words sting more than you want to admit, but you can’t let him brush you off like that. “it’s not just about handling it, toji. you make everything else your priority—your jobs, your survival, even your past. but what about us? what about me?” your voice is trembling now, but you push through, needing him to understand.

he lets out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his dark hair. “i’ve told you from the start, i’m not the kind of guy who sits around and plays house. this is what i do. it’s how i survive.”

“and what about your son?” the words leave your mouth before you can stop them, and you immediately see his expression change. his eyes darken, and his posture stiffens. you know you’ve hit a nerve, but you can’t stop now. “you don’t just push me aside, you push everyone away. including him. don’t you even care about him?”

toji’s jaw tightens, and for a moment, he doesn’t say anything. the tension between you both thickens, the air heavy with unspoken words. when he finally speaks, his voice is low and controlled, but there’s an edge to it. “that’s none of your business.”

“it is my business,” you insist, taking a step closer, your heart pounding in your chest. “he’s your son, toji. and you act like he doesn’t even exist. how can you just ignore that?”

his eyes flash with something—anger, maybe, or guilt—but he doesn’t let it show. instead, he scoffs, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “you don’t know anything about it. about me, or him. so stop acting like you do.”

“then tell me,” you plead, your voice softer now, more desperate. “tell me why you’re so distant, why you shut everyone out. why you act like you don’t care.”

toji’s gaze hardens, and for a moment, you think he’s going to walk away, like he always does when things get too real. but instead, he steps closer, his presence looming over you. “i care about what i need to survive. that’s it. if you’re expecting more than that, you’re wasting your time.”

his words hit you like a punch to the gut. you can feel your chest tighten, your breath catching in your throat. you’ve known from the start that toji isn’t the type to open up easily, but hearing him say it so bluntly, so coldly, feels like a slap in the face.

“so that’s it?” you ask quietly, blinking back the sting of tears. “everything else comes second, including me?”

toji doesn’t answer right away. instead, he looks at you, really looks at you for the first time since he walked in. there’s something in his eyes—something raw, something he’s trying to bury deep. but it’s fleeting, gone in an instant as he shrugs. “i’ve never promised you anything different.”

your heart sinks, the weight of his words pressing down on you like a heavy stone. you don’t know what you expected—maybe some kind of reassurance, some sign that he does care, that you mean something to him. but all you’re left with is this cold, hard truth.

“i can’t keep doing this,” you say softly, almost to yourself. “i can’t keep waiting around, hoping you’ll change. i deserve more than that.”

toji’s jaw clenches, and for a split second, you think you see a flicker of something—regret, maybe, or hesitation. but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared. he doesn’t try to stop you as you turn away, walking towards the door, your chest heavy with the weight of your decision.

just as your hand reaches the doorknob, his voice breaks the silence. “you don’t need me. you’ll be fine.”

you pause, your heart aching at the sound of his voice, at the emptiness in his words. you want to turn around, to see if he’s really as detached as he sounds. but you don’t. instead, you nod, even though he can’t see it, and open the door.

“maybe it’s you who needs to realise that,” you whisper, stepping out into the cold night, leaving him behind.

[themeraldee]

I feel like Homelander would be caught off guard by southern mannerisms in the way that nicknames and pet names are given out very easily. Like reader is a new stylist or something and Homelander doles out a rare compliment and she just beams. "Well aren't you just a sweet thing, thank you Hun"

"Well aren't you just a sweet thing, thank you hun."

Homelander is caught off guard by your earnest words, a genuine sparkling smile on your face while you spritz his hair with a bit of hairspray.

He's used to saying similar words condescendingly. So to have you say it so genuinely and with such honest politeness totally throws him off.

People who work for him are usually annoying, either spewing out fake pleasantries or they're jittery, all scared and walking on eggshells. Either way you're different.

In his eyes this gives you good motherly qualities he's very much drawn towards. The kind of southern hospitality and attitude that just makes him want to please you just so you praise him and tell him what a sweetheart he's being all over again.

It becomes a routine anytime he sits in the dressing chair. He stares at you through the mirror in front of him already giving you a beaming smile.

And there you go again.

"Well ain't you just a ray of sunshine today. What got you all happy?"

"Just having a good day." He shrugs, melting into your hands gliding through his hair, separating the strands to see what you're working with.

Or another day you hit him with a "Well, don’t you look like a million bucks today!"

And already he's puffing his chest out, squaring his shoulders so you see him in the best of lights. And does he purr under your care... You may just be touching up his hair a bit or styling it either softly or more professionally, depending on the event Vought brought you in to style him for. However, to him it's pure self-indulgent pampering as you softly run your fingers through his hair, giving him killer scalp massages. You always take care to make him comfortable and happy.

And you're not blind. He's being painfully obvious in his growing attraction towards you.

That's why you dare to stop him before he heads out to the stage. And you pull him in placing a soft kiss on his cheek, careful not to disturb the make-up he's had put on for the camera.

"Go get ‘em, sugar, I know you’ll do great."

And he's flustered. Looking away, the-tips-of-his-ears-red kind of flustered. It's an event like any other. Like he's done thousands of times yet now it feels like his entire life depends on it.

"You betcha." He gives you a salute and a little wink and with that he's off to, for once, give the next public appearance his all. Juuust in case you're watching.

[lw77]

Diet Pepsi 💈 (LSxMV)

Chapter 2. - Hunter?

“What’s wrong, Angel? I think you know I’m not interested in either,” Max says, a cheeky smile pulling at his lips.

Logan’s head is bent over the order sheet his dad had left him to figure out, because in his Father’s words he “needs to know more than how to scan items in the store.” Still in disbelief over his Father, because Logan stocks the chips all the time. That’s two things he does in the store. 

He hears the shop door jingle, thinking it’s his dad back from accepting their stock delivery. Frustrated, he whines, “This looks like a multiplication chart with words, Dad! How am I supposed to order anything?” His tone stretches into tantrum territory; he might as well have stomped his foot and crossed his arms.

“Why don’t you pout too, son? I figured it out, and you will too,” his dad replies as he walks in. But as Logan looks up, he realises it’s not just his dad who has entered— Max is behind him.

Max’s bright blue eyes lock onto Logan’s, and he can see the amusement swimming in them. Logan straightens up, flushed, clearly aware that Max has overheard his mini tantrum. He watches as Max heads to the fridge for a drink, his gaze trailing from Max’s broad shoulders in that tight white shirt down to the taper of his waist. But before he can let his gaze wander lower, his dad steps in front of him, waving his hand from side to side to catch his attention.

Startled, Logan exclaims, “Jesus, Dad! Give a guy a warning.” His dad deadpans, “I did, son. You just seemed to be else where,” unsubtly hooking a thumb back to indicate where Max stands.

“Yeah, OK. I’ll figure it out, whatever,” Logan mutters, flustered at being caught checking out Max by his dad.

“I think it’s not just the ordering you need to figure out, son,” his dad says, subtly eyeing both Logan and Max, who is still choosing a beverage. Amusement laces his dad’s voice as he comments on Logan’s plight.

“Stop it, please” Logan hisses in alarm, trying to keep his voice low.

His dad just laughs, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Just saying, son, sometimes you have to ride the bull by the horns,” he adds, the last part louder than Logan would like.

"That's not even how the saying goes," Logan whines.

"Oh, I know how the saying goes. I just thought this was more fitting to your situation," his dad replies plainly, as an explanation.

Yeah, Logan would rather get rammed by an actual bull than hear his dad give him any more dating advice or try to play wingman.

Cringing inwardly, Logan looks up, silently praying, *Please, God, if you can hear me, save me. I promise I’ll go to confession more often, and I won’t even bully Oscar for being a math geek anymore.* God must’ve had a needy child to answer because Max is approaching the register. Meanwhile, his dad unhelpfully lingers to the side of the counter, clearly enjoying the view of Max and his own beet-red son.

Logan shoots his dad a look. His dad’s expression is one of unhidden glee, but thankfully, he turns to busy himself straightening some candy bars—still in clear view of the two but less obvious.

“H–Hi, will that be all for today?” Logan asks, pulling himself up by his customer service bootstraps. *Eat your heart out, Dad .*

Max looks at him, eyes squinting as if he knows just how flustered Logan is. Logan tries to focus on the cross necklace peeking out from Max’s white tee, glinting and inviting.

“Yes, Angel.”

The nickname makes Logan’s whole body flush with heat, and his eyes snap up to meet Max’s. He quickly glances at his dad, who ducks down as Logan catches him snickering.

Logan scans the bottle and turns the reader toward Max.  His tongue feels thick as Max holds his gaze.“O–ok, w–well that’s good, here’s your t–total. Would you li-like your receipt?” he finally stutters out.

“No thanks, keep it. See you at lunch, Angel.” Max’s blue eyes twinkle warmly as he winks and waves goodbye to Logan’s dad, who is now openly watching.

When the door closes behind Max, his dad smirks. “Well, that’s one way to grab the horns, son. Can’t lie, didn’t think you had it in you. I thought we’d have to renovate your bedroom to get that boy in there.”

“Oh my god,” Logan groans. “Aren’t you supposed to want to save my innocence?” He’s mortified that even his parents are so aware of his blatant attraction.

“I think that went out the window when we saw your clothes from College, Logan. I mean, you might as well have worn assless chaps, son. Your mom worried someone had vandalised your clothes,” his dad says, barely holding back his laughter. Logan looks at him in shock, mouth agape at his dad’s relentless teasing.

__________________________

He hears Danny’s croon of “Logie boy! I have a present for you” all the way from the back room. As he heads out to the cash register, he spots Danny standing there with a relaxed Alex by his side. Upon seeing him, Danny wiggles his fingers in a “ta-da” motion toward Alex.

“Wow. You shouldn’t have,” Logan says dryly, squinting and raising an eyebrow in mock scrutiny. “Actually, I think I already have this model. Are you sure the contracting isn’t just a front for your stealing, Danny?” he calmly asks, making Danny guffaw in surprise at Logan’s humor, while Alex quietly laughs, familiar with his best friend’s wit when he’s coherent.

“Anyways, how’s your first day, Alex? Any hot milfs on the trail yet?” Logan asks, leaning his forearms on the counter.

“How come you never ask me if I have any milfs on the trail, Logan? I’m hurt! Is it because I’m Australian?” Danny replies, one hand on his hip and the other over his heart.

Logan ignores Danny, prompting a squawk of indignation that draws the rest of their crew to the register.

Continuing Danny’s train of thought, George chimes in, “Yeah, Logan, is it because I love the Queen? Is that why you won’t ask me about any of my milfs or dilfs?”

Charles adds, “Is it because I’m not actually French, little Logan? I’ll have you know that hasn’t been a problem.”

And it continued, until Carlos finishes his argument, and Logan groans in disbelief, holding his face in his hands muttering a muffled, “You guys are ridiculous.”

Raising his head, Logan realizes no one else is trying to make their case for being a milf or dilf hunter. He sees Max in front of him, eyebrow quirked.

“What’s wrong, Angel? I think you know I’m not interested in either,” Max says, a cheeky smile pulling at his lips.

“Ye-Yeah. Uh-huh,” Logan sighs, feeling like liquid fire wherever Max’s gaze trails.

Max’s eyes are warm, like they were this morning, but there’s something else there as he drinks in Logan’s obvious blush and bright eyes.

Their staring is interrupted by Danny’s sudden clap. Logan turns toward the loud man as he declares, “Oh yes! Logie boy, tomorrow is Alex’s official welcome party. So pack your swimmers and party pants—we’re going out on the lake, then back to our lake house for a little party. Nothing crazy, of course,” Danny adds, though his unconvincing tone makes some of the crew laugh at his obvious lie.

Logan glances at Alex, who just shrugs as if he doesn’t know much either. “Sure, is Oscar coming too?” he asks Alex.

“Yeah, he sa—” Alex starts, but is loudly interrupted by Danny. “Hey, Logie Boy, you may have an issue with us Aussies, but they’re always welcome at my parties!” He wags his finger accusingly.

Rolling his eyes, Logan replies, “Sure,” in mock exasperation.

He turns back to Max, realising the man never looked away during the whole interaction; his gaze is firmly fixed on Logan. The heat rushes to Logan’s cheeks again.

“So I’ll see you tomorrow, Angel?” Max asks calmly, as if he’s not claiming Logan in front of his whole crew, or staring him down with that bone-melting gaze.

Logan’s tongue feels too big, and his mind is blissfully cottony. “Ye-yes, I’ll, uh, see you,” he nods, trying to affirm it to himself.

“Can’t wait, Angel,” Max says before leaving, with some of the crew following him out, all flashing Logan a mock salute.

His best friend is the last to leave, making a crude motion with his hands. Logan flips him off and mouthing an annoyed “ alboner"

Oh god, he's going to see Max wet and half-naked tomorrow. Oh my god, he will be wet and half-naked tomorrow too.

Chapter 1 - Angel

Chapter 3 - Sunburn

[herbofgraceandpeace]

Re: Flavian’s outburst to Christopher about how he (Christopher) has been an unfeeling, stuck-up brat—Flavian’s not exactly right or wrong here. I think Jones is demonstrating that Christopher is so caught up in his (very real) powerlessness to control his situation, he doesn’t realize that he DOES have the power to really and truly hurt others. He’s so caught up in his own misery that he (selfishly) forgets that others might be miserable too.

This is part of growing up! Christopher hasn’t really been taught empathy, and he hasn’t really had it modeled for him either, outside of Tacroy caring for him, but that doesn’t excuse his behavior. He’s so focused on how the people at the castle aren’t caring for his conscious wants that he entirely ignores the ways they ARE intentionally and deliberately attempting to care for him (I think at least a little classism privilege is at play in him ignoring the maids—he’s only ever known his parents’ mistreatment of servants, but presumably he should have been paying attention to how the castle folk treat the maids differently)

However, I think the adults at Chrestomanci Castle are guilty of the exact same kind of blindness and self-focus as Christopher. They HAVEN’T been meeting his needs emotionally (which has led to their inability to physically protect him either), and whatever their intentions throughout his stay, they did not try to get to know or understand Christopher as a person at his arrival, and they’re paying for that first impression. He’s a CHILD. a child from an unloving and neglectful home, who’s just been ripped away from his friends and his home at school, a child’s just DIED for the second time, and he’s a child with hopes and dreams and self-will, all of which have just been casually, thoughtlessly stripped from him. The castle folk are so focused on their OWN need of a successor for Gabriel that they treat Christopher as an object to be formed to meet their needs instead of a person with needs of his own. They’re so focused on their search for the Wraith and the hell he’s wreaking on others that they miss the very real hell they’re imposing on Christopher. All of their attempts at care are based solely on their perception of what he SHOULD need and want because! They never! Ask him! What he needs or wants!!!!!

What’s that post about how some people act like “if you don’t give me the respect I think I deserve as an authority figure, I won’t give you the respect you deserve as a person”? I think that’s basically how the otherwise decent and well-meaning adults of Chrestomanci Castle treat little Christopher Chant. Confident in their own virtue, they presume that of course this boy who doesn’t know them will trust them immediately. Confident in their work for the greater good, they are indifferent to the suffering of the individual before them. It’s clear that they care about him and his well-being, but without treating him like a real person at all, and it’s never more obvious than in the scene where Gabriel takes his spare life away. They are taking tangible, drastic steps to protect him because they are very worried on his behalf, but throughout the whole process they have no real knowledge of the horror and terror he is experiencing because they are too busy making choices for him to ask him why he’s making the choices he does (and again, Christopher doesn’t TRUST them. But they never empathize with him enough to realize that.) Another example is how Miss Rosalie and the others keep chasing Throgmorton away from Christopher when he’s laid up. They’re so focused on how uncomfortable Throgmorton makes them feel that they don’t care at all they’re isolating Christopher and depriving him of his only companionship.

But none of their bad conduct exonerates Christopher of Flavian’s charges of being rude and unfeeling towards them, even though Flavian is STILL presuming to know and understand Christopher’s motivations and choices despite being completely in the dark about them. The very personhood Christopher wants the others to acknowledge in him is the reason that Christopher is responsible for his own actions towards the castle folk.

And that’s the tea on human responsibility in The Lives of Christopher Chant. (thanks for coming to my ted talk)

[alittlebitofloveliness]

Grew in my heart

Heres part 2! Part 1 is linked here.

*******************

“Is he ever gonna wake up?”

When Pony wakes it’s to a not hushed enough whisper. 

“Course he is dumbass,” that whisper is a lot quieter, “but he’s little and he’s hurt, he’s real tired.”

“He was fine earlier.”

“He was overwhelmed,” the voice corrects, “he was bound to crash sooner or later.”

Ponyboy blinks his eyes open. Soda, Darry, and Johnny are all in a line in chairs watching him, but they quickly pretend to be busy. Doing what, he isn’t sure. He already caught them looking.

“There’s those darling eyes,” Mrs.Curtis’ voice is soft as she smiles down at him, “how did you sleep, honey?”

“Good.” He mumbles through a yawn, somehow still tired, more cozy than he can ever remember being. Somehow though, he still finds himself shy again, and he hides his face in her shoulder until she laughs, peppering his head with kisses and squeezing him gently, coaxing him out of the fabric. He lets himself enjoy it. It won’t last, he knows, but he can let himself pretend, have some good memories to hold close to his chest when he ends up alone tonight in a stranger's house, on a lumpy sofa in a yet another spooky, cold basement. 

“Curtis family?” Suddenly, the door to the office across from Ms. Summers opens and a lady with curly hair Ponyboy has seen a few times in the past when he’s been in the waiting room sticks her head out. She smiles the way Ms.Summers does, in a way that never really reaches her eyes, “Sorry to keep you waiting. I’ve got the paperwork all ready here, I just need the mother and father’s signatures, and then you just need to get it signed by a judge to make everything official.”

“We’ll be right back,” Mrs.Curtis promises them all, standing up and placing Ponyboy down on her chair but not before kissing his cheek almost absentmindedly, the way he’d seen moms at the park near Mr.Fuller’s house do with their babies sometimes, “be good boys for me.”

“Darry, keep an eye on your brothers, will you?” Mr Curtis adds, and Darry nods easily from where he’s lounging in his seat, reading a magazine.

“Does Johnny need to come in too?” Mrs.Curtis wonders as she follows the social worker into the office.

“He can if he wants to, but it’s not necessary for this part.”

“Well Johnnycake?” That was Mr.Curtis, looking at Johnny like he was the whole dang world, and Pony feels the same hatred from earlier bubbling up inside him, which definitely wasn’t fair, especially after Johnny and Mrs.Curtis and all of them had been so very nice to him all day. “Whaddya say? You wanna come with us or wait here with your brothers? We won’t be long.”

Johnny kind of shrinks with everyone's eyes on him. Pony knows the feeling.

“I’ll stay out here.”

“Ok kiddo,” Mr Curtis ruffles Johnny’s hair and follows his wife into the office. 

Even though he has no reason to be worried, the sight of the closed office door with its faded paint and frosted windows makes Ponyboy’s heart sink. Logically he knows its stupid, that something good is happening behind it, that it’s making it so Johnny can get adopted, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s the same door that closed behind his mother when the state made her sign away custody of him, and that it’s the same office every foster parent who ever returned him ran to as soon as they stepped inside the child services centre.

“Hey,” Johnny nudges him gently, keeping his voice low so Soda and Darry- who appear to be arguing, though Ponyboy can’t tell what about- can’t hear, “you ok?”

Johnny’s got eyes that are inky black and a scar on his head that says maybe he’s got a past life a whole lot like Pony’s current one.

“I-I don’t know.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Pony breathes. He glances at the shut door again. 

“That’s okay.” Johnny promises, simple and sure and kind. “You don’t have to know.”

Pony can tell then that Johnny really does understand, maybe more than anyone has ever understood before.

They lapse into silence. Soda appears to be trying to convince Darry to read out the advice column of the magazine, while Darry is doing his best to ignore him and read one of the sports articles. 

“Johnny,” Pony murmurs while Soda is dramatically wailing about the merits of Dear Abby and the plights of many he needs to weigh in on, “can-can I ask you somethin’? You don’t gotta answer if you don’t wanna.”

“Ok.”

“Did they take your mom away too?” 

Johnny doesn’t say anything but his eyes flash dangerously and Pony finds himself trying to explain.

“It’s only- they took my mom. First they took her away in a different police car, and then they took her into Ms.Summers’ office and then she was gone and I wasn’t allowed to see her anymore.”

Johnny raises a hand to his mouth, chews anxiously on his thumbnail.

“Yeah,” He admits softly after a minute, “yeah they took her. My dad too.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” 

Ponyboy kicks his legs, trying his best not to glance at Johnny. He often had trouble meeting people’s eyes, but that went double anytime he was uncomfortable.

“What about your dad?” Johnny asks after a minute, looking anywhere but at Ponyboy.

Pony blinks. “What about him?”

“Did they take him too?”

“No,” Ponyboy shakes his head, “he’s in jail. I don’t even know what he looks like.”

“I’m sorry.”

“S’okay.” Ponyboy shrugs. It really is too. He didn’t spend much time thinking about his dad, mostly because he usually forgot he ever had one. 

“Pony?”

“Yeah?”

“You ever miss your mom?”

“Yeah,” Pony admits quietly. It feels blasphemous, even as he says it, but it is true, “sometimes. But I still don’t ever wanna go back to living with her ever again.”

Mom was cold and mean with her vicious hands and quick temper, for all she could be nice sometimes. She’d pressed his hand to the hot stove once and threw stuff at him everyday, even if she did read him bedtime stories a few times a week. He’d had worse foster parents since they took him away, but not by much, and those people weren’t his mom. It made sense they didn’t want him. It never made sense why she didn’t.

“Me neither,” Johnny agrees.

“It’s different though,” Pony points out, “you got the Curtis’ now. No wonder you don’t wanna go back.”

“It ain’t different,” Johnny glares, and suddenly he looks like every kid in every group home Pony’s ever met, mean and defeated, “it don’t change the fact she didn’t love me even when I wanted her to.”

“Hey you two,” Darry’s suddenly in front of them, hands on his hips and a frown on his face, “how come you’re arguin’?”

They both hesitate.

“I was bein’ mean,” Pony admits, shamefaced, looking straight at Johnny, “You’re right it ain’t different. I’m sorry Johnny.”

Johnny’s eyes stay hard for a second until they melt back to something soft.

“It’s okay.”

He understands. Pony sighs, relieved.

“Ok,” Darry looks confused, “ well. Glad y’all are good.” 

He sits down again.

Pony can’t help it. He giggles.

“What’re you laughin’ at, huh kid?” Darry sounds mad but he’s smiling as he says it, so Pony thinks maybe he’s only pretending to be.

“Your face.”

“My face?”

“Yeah,” Pony says, “you look funny.” He demonstrates, pulling an exaggerated version of Darry’s puzzled frown, and Johnny laughs.

“Funny huh?”  Darry exchanges a grin with Soda, Johnny perking up beside him, eyes lighting in understanding, “we’ll show you funny.”

The next thing Pony knows he’s being tickled to death, all three older boys teaming up against him until he’s squealing and red faced from laughter, begging for mercy.

“What on earth is going on out here?”

Pony freezes. Darry, Soda, and Johnny all do too.

Ms.Summers has emerged from her office, hands propped on her hips, eyes blazing. She looks mad. Proper mad. The kind of mad adults get before they slap him or send him to bed without food.

Without really meaning to, Pony scoots a little behind Darry.

“Sorry ma'am,” Darry steps a bit more in front of him, putting himself in front of Soda and Johnny too, and gives Ms.Summers a winning smile, “we were just playin’ around. We didn’t mean to get so loud. We’ll be more quiet from now on.”

“See to it that you do. Where are your parents?”

“Signing some paperwork with your colleague, ma’am.”

“Hm,” Ms. Summers huffs, “well, behave yourselves until they get back. Ponyboy, if you can’t be good you’ll have to sit in the corner again without your new friends. Do you understand?”

Ponyboy forces himself to meet her gaze. She never liked it when he was impolite, and that meant he had to look at her when he was speaking.

“Yes ma’am,” he manages, just barely above a mumble. Ms.Summers hates mumbling.

“Good.” She gives them one last severe look and closes her office door with a snap.

As soon as she’s gone Soda starts snickering.

“Did you see her face?” He pulls an exaggerated frown, eyebrows scrunched down and cheeks puffed out a bit, and props his hands on hips the way Ms.Summers had a second a minute ago.

 “Stop bein’ loud!” He mocks in a high falsetto, a poor approximation of Ms.Summer’s actual voice, “no havin’ fun on my watch!”

Pony laughs. He’s learning that Darry wasn’t wrong earlier when he said Soda was just like that. 

“Ok, ok, settle down,” Darry chides, but even he cracks a grin, “c’mon and sit again, and I’ll read out that stupid advice column.”

“It’s not stupid!” Soda protests, but he obeys, pulling Johnny down beside him. It seems almost reflexive, Soda dragging Johnny around absentmindedly and the shorter boy following him without question. 

“You too kid,” Darry nudges Pony gently, “come sit.”

Pony sits and tries to listen to Darry’s soothing baritone, but finds he can’t quite focus on the story. Instead, he worries. 

Mrs. and Mr. Curtis are still in the social worker’s office but he can’t imagine they will be for much longer, and when they come back out the papers will be signed and Johnny will officially be theirs, and they’ll leave.

Ponyboy really doesn’t want them to leave. Not Mrs.Curtis, who’d held him in her arms and let him sleep on her lap, or Mr.Curtis, who never looked scary even when he was stern, and whose eyes were always laughing, even when they shouldn't be. He doesn’t want Soda and his effervescent energy to leave, returning the waiting room to the same, stuffy, suffocating place it always was before today. He doesn’t want Johnny to leave, even though he’s happy for him, because Johnny wasn’t mean but he also understood things, and that was something Pony had never found in any other person, ever. Most of all, he doesn’t want Darry to leave, because Darry just saved him from Ms.Summers like some sort of superhero, and because he’d never been mean to him. Every other teenager Pony came into contact with hurt him or ignored him, but Darry Curtis hadn’t, not once.

He knew this would happen. As soon as he put down his book and went over to play cards he knew he’d get attached. He can feel hot tears prick at his eyes but he blinks them away rapidly. He’s not some stupid little baby. He is not going to cry just because one family was nice to him for one day and now he doesn’t ever want to see them go. That’s stupid.

Maybe he should go back to the corner. Tell Darry he isn’t feeling well and hide behind Great Expectations until they’re gone. It might hurt less if he could do the leaving first.

He’s still psyching himself up to move away from Darry’s soothing voice when the social worker’s door flies open. Instead of the Curtis’ leaving though, the curly haired social worker hurries out, casting a curious glance in their direction as she knocks on Ms.Summers’ door.

“Keisha, could you give me a hand with something, please?”

“Of course.” Ms.Summers emerges from her office looking equally as puzzled, and follows her coworker into the other office.

Johnny and Pony exchange a look. He can see the alarm in the older boy’s black eyes and wishes he could reassure him, but anything he said would sound false to his own ears. Any kid who’s ever been in the foster system knows that things go badly when the social workers start acting like that.

“What’s goin’ on?” Soda sounds scared, looking up at Darry with wide, frightened eyes, “they ain’t…I mean, they promised Johnny could stay for good, right Dar? They said they got the papers and everythin’.”

“Everything’s fine,” to his credit, Darry sounds so sure Ponyboy could almost believe him, “Johnny’s ours for sure, that ain’t in question.”

He ruffles Johnny’s hair, and the dark haired boy manages a weak grin, but Ponyboy can still see the panic he’s trying to hide in the way his hands are trembling, tucked under his thighs. He doesn’t believe him, not really. Pony doesn’t either. Pretty lies are and always will be just that: lies.

“Y’know…” Darry looks at the closed office door, something like realization dawning, “I think things’re gonna be more than ok actually.”

“What do you mean?” Soda wonders. 

Darry shakes his head, suddenly fighting a grin. It’s such a stark 180 from the worry he was trying to hide a second ago it’s a little startling.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Darry!”

“Seriously, little buddy, don’t worry about it.”

“You oughta tell me,” that was Johnny, voice small, “if you know something I don’t. It’s my life we’re talking about here.”

“You’re gonna be just fine Johnnycake,” Darry promises, “I mean it. We all are.”

They will be. Pony is glad for them, as much as he can be- which currently isn’t much, with the envy and the loneliness battling for dominance in his gut. 

“All of us.” Darry looks right at him, blue green eyes bright, “that means you too Ponyboy.”

He’s trying to be nice. Ponyboy knows he’s trying to be nice, but it still stings knowing their fine is so much better than his own. Their kind of fine meant love and safety and warmth. His meant survival and a half decent dinner. Sure, they’d all be fine. But not the same.

He’s saved from having to say anything by the office door opening.

“-tell him.” Mrs.Curtis is saying, Mr Curtis beside her with a thick manilla envelope and a smile shining brighter than the sun.

“There’s my boy,” Pony thinks Mr Curtis looks like a boy himself, his handsome face young, open and  joyous as he crosses the room in three steps and sweeps Johnny into a bear hug, picking him up and swinging him around, “how does it feel to officially be Johnny Curtis, huh?”

Soda perks up.

“It’s official?”

“Signed and sealed,” Mr. Curtis presses a kiss to Johnny’s hair and sets him down, but keeps an arm around his shoulders, “just gotta file these with the judge downtown.”

Soda cheers, and Darry lets out a whoop, both of them swarming Johnny and Mr.Curtis, half tackling them until they’re all wrapped up in one group hug, and it’s the best thing Ponyboy’s ever seen and all he wants to do is cry.

A touch on his head has him flinching away before he realizes it’s just Mrs.Curtis gently carding her fingers through his hair, watching her husband and three sons fondly before looking down at him.

“They’re real special, aren’t they?”

“Yes ma’am.” Pony agrees. 

She hums, and Pony can’t help but lean into her gentle touch. They’ll be leaving soon. She’ll be leaving soon. It’s okay, he thinks, to enjoy her kindness as long as possible. He’d already tried not to, and it hadn’t worked. Trying to ignore Mrs.Curtis’ love was like trying to ignore his growling stomach on the nights he went to bed hungry. No matter how hard he tried to forget it, when he next got a taste of food he couldn’t help himself from eating as much as he could stomach, simply because he didn’t know how long it would be until his next proper meal.

“Y’know,” Mrs. Curtis says, “I think you’re pretty special too.”

Her smile changes, still soft but now there’s a secret hiding in her eyes, and a specific kind of love Pony doesn’t understand pulling at the dimple in her cheek. 

“I talked to Ms.Summers,” she says, and Pony’s heart twists. Ms.Summers has a way of making him into a bother to people who don’t even know him. He doesn’t want Mrs.Curtis to think that, “and she said you don’t have anyone to go home to tonight. So I thought maybe you might wanna come home with me and the boys.”

His heart stops.

“W-what?”

“Well,” she sounds almost casual, but her shining eyes and mischievous grin give away how false it is, like Darry’s had when they were playing cards earlier, an actor on life’s stage, “there’s an extra bed in Darry’s room, now that Johnny and Soda have bunk beds, and some chocolate cake in the fridge I really think you’d like. Besides, Soda and Johnny are always talkin’ about how they wished they had a little brother to teach things to, and I know they had a ball playin’ cards with you earlier. So what do you say? You want to come stay with us for a while?”

He wants to. More than anything he wants to. It sounds like a dream come true, like a storybook come to life. He lets himself imagine it, sharing a room with Darry of all people, eating chocolate cake with Mrs.Curtis, and getting to play with Soda and Johnny who actually liked him, maybe even not having to worry about being slapped all the time.

“Why?” he has to know. It doesn’t make sense why she would offer this. She has enough little boys, with Soda, Johnny and Darry. Why would she want him too? “Why would you wanna take me? You don’t need me.”

She wasn’t like Mr.Fuller, who’d needed an extra hand to help out on the farm, or Mrs. Delvine who had three babies and no husband. Mrs.Curtis has a husband who looks at her like she hung the stars and three boys already to help her out with chores. She doesn’t need him. It doesn’t make sense.

“Oh honey,” her eyes get sad, and Pony hates himself for making them that way even if he doesn’t know what exactly it is that he did, “I think I do need you. I think all of us do. But more than that I think you need me.”

“I ain’t your baby,” Pony reminds her, because it feels like maybe she’s forgotten that, and it doesn’t matter if he feels like he does need her, because she ain’t his mom and she doesn’t deserve to be stuck with him. “You got no reason to be stuck with me.”

“Hmm,” her mouth presses into a thin line, but she doesn’t look angry. Stern maybe, but that doesn’t feel quite right either, “you cried in my arms and slept on my knee, so I think you are my baby now, at least a little bit. I got more babies than just the three I brought with me today, and I needed all of them just as much as they needed me. So.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” she cups his cheek, “there’s Soda’s friend Steve, and Darry’s friend Keith, and Johnny’s friend Dally. And they’ve all cried in my arms and slept on my knee at least once, and they always come stay at my house whenever they need. And they didn’t grow in my belly but they grew in my heart and they’re still my babies anyway. So I think you could be too. If you want.”

If he wants. Ponyboy is used to wanting things, and even more used to not getting any of them, but he can be one of Mrs.Curtis’ babies if he wants. 

“Really?”

“Really.” She promises.

“Ok,” he breathes, “ok, yes, I’ll go with you.”

“We’re keeping Ponyboy too?” Soda whoops, half jumping on Mrs.Curtis in his excitement,  “this is the best day ever!”

“I knew it,” Darry claims, shaking his head at his parents but grinning all the same, “I knew as soon as that other social worker got called in there that you two just couldn’t leave him here if you tried.”

He knuckles Pony’s hair and grins down at him, inviting him to share the joke. Pony thinks he might actually be dreaming, because he still can’t quite bring himself to believe this is happening, that he’s gonna stay with the Curtis’.

“I’m real glad you’re coming with us,” Johnny murmurs in his ear, as Ms.Summers hands Mr.Curtis  Pony’s file and his meagre backpack of belongings, before bidding him a perfunctory farewell.  Ponyboy can’t help but agree. He’s real glad he’s going with them too.

It won’t last forever. Hell, it might not even last a week. They could get sick of him or he could get moved anytime, but as Mrs.Curtis takes his hand, and he follows the Curtis family out of the family services office and towards his latest new life, Ponyboy Hewitt lets himself believe for the first time that maybe, somehow, this fairytale might last. 

[violettwrites]

tp!daryl — your relationship with his older brother

a/n: i fear i am world building i am so sorry 😭 but !! i have a love/hate relationship with merle and everything he does, so here’s my take on his relationship with reader.

yes i had to go scour the internet to find a photo of young(ish) merle, and this is the best i got so !

as always, if you enjoy my stuff, don’t forget to like, reblog, and/or comment !

my ask box is open for requests, or even if you just wanna have a chat !

➸ tp!daryl masterlist

➸ regular masterlist

resources: divider by @adornedwithlight

your relationship with merle dixon was like being caught in the middle of a storm— chaotic, wild, and unpredictable. daryl, on the other hand, was your anchor. he’s your best friend, the one who grounds you when everything else feels like it’s spinning out of control. he’s quiet, steady, and always there, even when words aren’t needed.

but merle, daryl’s older brother, is everything daryl isn’t— loud, abrasive, and constantly stirring up trouble. from the moment you had met him, merle had always been a thorn in your side, always teasing, always pushing your buttons. he thrives on getting under your skin, and you swear it’s become a sport for him. wether it’s his crude jokes or his constant attempts to get a rise out of you, merle has perfected the art of annoyance.

you had first met him not long after meeting daryl, only being young and a scrawny little thing. he was much older, with a cigarette between his lips, and a beer bottle in hand. at first, you were almost sure he was daryl’s dad, but when daryl had mumbled the words “this is my big brother, merle.” well, you were a little shocked to say the least.

“yer the (l/n) kid, ain’t ya,” he spoke, the same southern twang in his voice that daryl had, just a tad more mature. if you could call merle mature. “ya look like ya eat scraps, girlie ! what’s wrong with ya !”

and that was how you met merle dixon.

you’d spent a lot of time with both daryl and merle growing up, shoved between the two of them in the old truck merle drove around, hands pressed between your thighs in attempt to make yourself smaller, all three of you staring out the front windshield of the truck. or squished on the couch together between the two brothers, watching whatever shitty war movie was on the tv. you eventually learned why you were always shoved between the two of them.

to stop them fighting.

you remember the first time you ever witnessed daryl and merle get into a fight. watching daryl tackle merle to the ground, dust kicking up about them as they rolled around on the dirt. profanities being thrown around along with fists. you were stunned, not knowing what to do until you’re grabbing onto someone’s elbow, trying to pull them off the other. until you’re elbowed in the face yourself.

and that was the story of how merle dixon gave you a blood nose for the first time.

“merle you fucking idiot !” daryl shouted at him, crouching down next to you, an arm around your shoulder while you cradled your nose. you had tears in your eyes, not because you were upset, but because he whacked you right on the nose and it just fucking hurt.

daryl claimed it needed to be fair, that you deserved to hit merle back, to make it even. merle, of course, protested. “i ain’t done nothin’ wrong ! girlie over here got in the way ! it’s ‘er own fault !”

you were just thirteen when you got to punch merle in the nose for the first time.

you had seen merle in several different states during your time at the trailer park. happy, sad, drunk, high, manic, depressed— you name it. he had most likely felt it. you had seen him trip down the steps of their trailer, face planting into the mud when it was storming. you had also watched him almost fall into the fire pit one night, drunk as a skunk. the only reason he didn’t end up in the fire was because daryl was quick to push him the other way.

daryl claimed he hated merle, but he obviously cared.

merle was often the one to drop the both of you off at school. pantera blasting through his shitty truck speakers as he told the both of you to “get the fuck outta my truck and go do some learnin’ !”

he wouldn’t stop listening to pantera. it was his favourite band.

you had been teased relentlessly throughout the years by merle. he’d often call you names like girlie, pipsqueak, bag o’ bones— the list was endless. however, when you got to that age where you were turning into a “woman”, the nicknames changed. sugar, sweetheart, doll face. you couldn’t escape it.

but there was one thing he never did, and it was lay a finger on you. unless you obviously count the time he elbowed you in the nose. but you agreed. that was an accident.

you were never afraid to bite back. you had that feisty nature from growing up with those two boys, and you always had a comeback. no matter what. even if it was telling him to “shut the fuck up.” that was a big part of your vocabulary growing up.

he treated you like his own— he protected you like his own. you never thought you’d admit it, but you did care about merle. his chaos never seemed malicious. it was more like he was trying to break down your walks, see what you’re made of. and while he drives you insane, there’s a strange sort of balance in your lives. daryl’s your rock, your calm. but merle, in his chaotic way, forces you out of your comfort zone. he keeps your sharp, on your toes.

even if he pissed you off to no end.

[kana-daydreams]

hide 'n seek || sanemi | fluff | 1.1k

°*:･ᰔafter a few days of meticulous planning, you and zenitsu finally grasp the opportunity to execute your long-awaited plan—to escape the clutches of sanemi’s rigorous, soul-sucking training—or so you thought.

tags: demon slayer!f!reader. 18+ reader . established relationship. minor spoilers (hashira training arc—anime)

kny masterlist

In the hush of the serene midday that envelops the Wind Hashira's estate, a sudden sharp shriek pierces through. And the few birds perch on a nearby wall that had been basking in the accompanied comforting respite, scatter away at its ear-shattering volume.

“For the second time, where is she?” demands a male voice, deep and menacing like its owner’s fear-inducing wide eyes.

Then, as if on cue, crouched low and barely concealed behind that very wall, you sneak a cautious glance at the three familiar figures gathered a few paces ahead of you.

One of those figures being Sanemi’s whose purple eyes glower down at the quivering frame of Zenitsu huddled close to Tanjiro, seeking the boy’s protection from his impending doom. And who seems about ready to pass out from the stifling aura the Wind Hashira exudes. 

A sheepish expression colours your features as you observe the scene. One in which you could have easily been like Zenitsu on the receiving end of Sanemi’s nearly incurable anger. 

“Forgive me, Zen. I had no choice,” you whisper an unheard apology as you recall the prior moment of your treacherous act. 

An act you were sure Zenitsu may never forgive—unless you promised him your hand in marriage—and would forever taunt you with. The time when you’d hightailed it leaving him, your partner-in-crime, for dead in an exchange to save your own skin when you both caught wind of Sanemi’s thundering stomps growing eerily close towards the hiding place you two had sought refuge away from him—and his gruelling, barbaric training.

You clench your eyes, murmuring another apology, interrupted when your entire body suddenly jolts.

An involuntary reaction stirred by Zenitsu’s deafening shriek that escapes through his chattering teeth and past his quivering lips for the umpteenth time.

“Tell me where she is?!”

“I don’t know where she is!” Zenitsu snivels, feeling his soul slipping away from his worn body, inch by inch, at Sanemi’s threatening glare.

Sanemi narrows his eyes at his words, his annoyance surfacing in the form of a protruding vein etched into his face.

The frown he adorns curves lower. 

Was this kid tryna provoke him?

First he had the balls to sneak away with you, his woman, from training like a pair of eloping lovers. And now, he had the audacity to play him for a block-headed mule?!  

More veins decorate Sanemi’s face and his fingers curl into a fist. He snatches Zenitsu by the collar of his uniform in a vice-like grip, tearing him away from a hesitant Tanjiro, and hoisting him up to his level.

 “Oi,” Sanemi starts with a growl. “Spit another lie at me again, and training will be your least worst nightmare.” Zenitsu's breath hitches, shrinking back at the promised threat.

Immediately, his honey-brown eyes riddled with absolute fear flickers hesitantly around him.

They search for you.

You, who thought it would be best to remain a spectator of the scene in lieu of fleeing from the impending danger.

Zenitsu's inspection spans no longer than a minute, when his honey-brown eyes lock on to you. And you curse at your delayed inaction of not making a run for it.

Instead, you motion with a finger pressed against your lips and plead with doe-like eyes for him to keep his trap zipped.

Eyes wide, Zenitsu continues to look at you.

He blinks once. Then twice.

And lifts a weak finger, pointing at you.

Mother-fuc—

Sanemi’s petrifying gaze snaps in your direction. And you practically teleport, vanishing like a magician’s final act.

Beads of sweat dot your face as your already tired legs, exhausted from training sprint away from the scene as if one hundred man-eating demons were tailing you, their premium main course. 

You weave through a series of corners of the large estate, all while you murmur prayer after prayer for a successful escape.

Prayers, unfortunately for you, that go unanswered when you swerve around a corner, colliding face-first into a solid chest.

The whiplash of the impact sends you stumbling back. Though, before you can form a union with the ground, a hand shoots out, grabbing a hold of your wrist.

“Where do you think you’re running off to, you brat?!”

Your eyes that had instinctively clamp shut, shoots open to peer up at Sanemi looking down at you with his usual grim expression.

You glance down at his hand wrapped around your wrist, keeping you secured in place, then back up at him. 

“I-I...” you fumble in an attempt to find the right words to aid you in your defence. “I just needed to uh…um, stretch my legs a bit,” you lie through a toothy-smile. “I was planning to return to the dojo right after, I swear.”

Sanemi huffs at your weak attempt of a fib.

“Yeah, right. I’m taking you back to the dojo, and this time—” he leans down to your height, his lips stretching into an almost sinister smile “—if you try to ditch again, you’ll be having another playdate with Obanai's pet snakes.”

You flinch, shrinking back with a shudder as you recall the terrifying and slithering serpentine hardships you’d had to endure before given the okay to proceed to Sanemi’s training.

You slump your shoulders in defeat. “I promise I won’t run away from training again," you whimper, fighting the urge to break down in tears like a petulant child who didn't get their way, right there and then.

“Good,” Sanemi says, releasing your wrist before he turns around and starts heading in the direction of his dojo.

A prolonged silence settles between you two during your trek, your trudging footsteps trailing behind Sanemi's.

It bothers him: your unusual silence, and the cause of it.

He was more than aware that his approach to training was extreme. But it had to be, for your sake, and the others.

To grow strong enough to defeat Muzan and his army of demons, and most importantly—to protect yourselves.

He didn't want to witness any more lives perishing in this demon-infested land, especially yours.

You, someone who he never thought would become his beacon of light amidst the darkness that plagued this god-forsaken world.

Sanemi spares a glance behind him to see your gaze downcast, your face bearing a sad pout.

The sight makes his rigid expression soften. And you’re not aware when his footsteps slow to a stop until you lightly bump into his back.

You raise your gaze, confused on why he’d suddenly stopped.

“Sanemi?...Are you okay?”

Sanemi doesn’t respond for a good minute, his silence brewing worry inside you.

You slide out from behind him, attempting to catch a read of his expression from the front, but he turns to avoid your gaze.

“Do...you want to have some tea?” he eventually speaks. "Us, together, I mean?"

You blink in surprise at the question. “Tea?”

Sanemi nods before turning to meet your eyes and you notice the faint hue of red painting his cheeks. “Yeah. And that dessert you wanted to try last time?”

“What about training?”

“We can take a break. For now."

Your lips pull into a beaming smile as you reach a hand towards his own, twining your fingers with his. And Sanemi welcomes the pleasing comfort of your hand embraced in his with a gentle squeeze.

“Sure, l'd like that.” Sanemi nods, a small smile adorning his face at your content expression as the two of you make your way back to his dojo.

© 2024 kana-daydreams

[movingmusically]

Caught Feeling - part 1

Summary: A reserved woman, craving something different, enters a bar and meets Hank, a confident bartender. As their connection deepens, she steps out of her usual quiet self, embracing a night that changes everything.

Note: This is the first writing I’ve ever posted, but after seeing the set pictures yesterday I had to get something down.

The truth is, I don’t really know what possessed me to walk into Paul’s tonight. I’m not the kind of person who normally does things like this—spontaneous, bold, risky. That’s never been me. I’m more the type to stay in, read a book, maybe watch a show on TV if I’m feeling adventurous. I keep to myself, blend into the background. It’s comfortable there. Quiet. Predictable.

But tonight felt different.

I couldn’t take another quiet evening alone, another routine night where nothing happened. Work had drained me, like it always did, and my mind felt clogged with the same old thoughts, the same old worries. So instead of heading home like I usually would, I found myself walking in the opposite direction, pulled by something I couldn’t quite explain.

And that’s how I ended up here, in this smoky, dimly lit bar I’d passed a hundred times but never stepped foot into. Paul’s wasn’t exactly my kind of place—it was gritty, loud, filled with regulars who all seemed to know each other. The kind of place where I would normally feel out of place. But tonight, I didn’t care. Tonight, I wanted to be someone else, someone who didn’t fade into the background.

The second I walked in, I felt the weight of the room shift. It wasn’t so much that people noticed me—most were too engrossed in their drinks or conversations—but I felt different. Out of my element. My nerves buzzed under my skin, that familiar urge to turn around and retreat bubbling up inside me. But I stayed.

Then I saw him.

He was behind the bar, leaning casually against the counter like he owned the place. He had blonde hair, slightly messy and curling at the base of his neck, and a worn baseball cap pulled low over his forehead. But it was his eyes that caught me—blue, sharp, and piercing, like they could see straight through me.

For a moment, I thought about looking away, but I didn’t. Our eyes met, and a slow, lazy smile spread across his face, the kind of smile that made my stomach flip. He didn’t say anything, just held my gaze for a beat too long before going back to pouring drinks.

Something inside me stirred—a mix of nerves, curiosity, and something else. Something I hadn’t felt in a long time. I wasn’t the type to flirt with bartenders or sit alone in a place like this, but tonight, I wanted to see where this could go.

I made my way to the bar, sliding onto a stool and feeling oddly aware of every step, every movement. The alcohol bottles gleamed behind him, and the scent of the room—smoke, wood, a hint of something sharp and musky—wrapped around me. He glanced up again as I sat, and that smile returned, like he was waiting for me to say something.

“What’ll it be?” he asked, his voice low and rough around the edges.

Normally, I’d have some rehearsed response ready, a safe drink order to keep me grounded, but tonight I didn’t want safe. I hesitated, then looked him in the eyes. “Whatever you recommend.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused, and his smirk deepened. “You trust me to pick for you?”

I nodded, suddenly feeling a little bolder, the nervous energy shifting into something lighter. “Yeah. Surprise me.”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head in mock disbelief, and reached for a bottle. “Alright, you asked for it.”

As he poured, I couldn’t help but steal glances at him. He was the kind of guy who moved like he was in control of everything around him, effortlessly confident in a way that drew people in. He slid the drink across the bar with a smooth motion, and when his fingers brushed mine for just a second, I felt a small jolt of electricity shoot up my arm.

“Here you go,” he said, leaning against the bar with that same easy grin. “Let me know what you think.”

I took a sip, the alcohol smooth and a little sharp as it hit my tongue. It warmed me from the inside out, just enough to ease the edge off my nerves without clouding my mind. I wasn’t drunk—not even close—but I felt a little freer, a little braver than I had when I first walked in.

“Not bad,” I said, matching his grin with one of my own.

His eyes flicked over me, curious. “Good to know.”

For a moment, neither of us said anything, but the air between us felt charged. I could feel the pull, the chemistry building between us, and it made my heart race in a way I hadn’t expected. Normally, I’d be tongue-tied, fumbling over my words or retreating into myself, but here, with him, I felt different. Like maybe I didn’t have to be the quiet, shy girl tonight.

“So, you come here often?” I asked, hoping I didn’t sound too cliché.

He chuckled, running a hand through his blonde curls as he glanced around the bar. “I guess you could say that. I work here most nights. Name’s Hank, by the way.”

Hank. It suited him. Strong, simple, with just the right amount of edge.

“I’m—” I started to introduce myself, but before I could finish, a regular at the end of the bar called out, interrupting us. Hank shot me a quick smile, one that promised he wasn’t done with our conversation, and turned to grab the man’s drink.

I watched him as he moved, noticing the way he carried himself, the ease with which he handled the bar. There was something about him—something magnetic. I’d never felt this kind of connection so quickly, and it left me buzzing.

As the night wore on, the bar slowly emptied out, but Hank kept coming back to me, each time with a little more focus, a little more intensity in his gaze. He’d serve another customer, laughing at someone’s joke or flipping a rag over his shoulder with effortless ease, but his eyes always drifted back to me, like he couldn’t help it. Each time he came over, it felt like we were picking up a conversation that had never really paused. It wasn’t about the words as much as the attention—his focus, the way he leaned in slightly, like there was nothing else in the room that mattered.

I felt the alcohol warming me, loosening my usual hesitation. The buzz wasn’t enough to blur anything—I was still very much in control—but it made me bolder. More comfortable in my skin than I’d felt in a long time.

Hank slid another drink toward a regular at the far end of the bar, then came back to where I sat, resting his hands on the counter. He gave me a crooked smile, a kind of companionable look that made me feel like maybe we’d known each other longer than just tonight.

“So, what brings you to Paul’s? You don’t exactly blend in with the usual crowd.” His tone was easy, conversational, like he was genuinely curious.

I shrugged, glancing around. “Just needed a change of scenery, I guess. This isn’t exactly my usual kind of place.”

He chuckled, leaning against the bar, his blue eyes flicking up to the TV screen for a moment where the end credits of the Giants game were rolling. “Yeah, I kind of figured. You’ve got that look—like you’re used to being somewhere else.”

“Somewhere else like… where?” I asked, curious what he saw in me.

He thought about it for a moment, his expression thoughtful. “I dunno. A café, maybe? Somewhere quiet. You strike me as someone who likes peace.”

I smiled at that. “You’re not wrong. I’m usually more of a coffee shop girl than a bar regular.”

“Let me guess,” he said, resting his chin on his hand, “you’ve got a favourite corner seat, always reading something, probably with a notebook you scribble thoughts into. And you drink black coffee. No sugar.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, the sound surprising me with how relaxed it felt. “Okay, close. But I take a little sugar.”

His smile widened, and he tilted his head. “Noted. So what’s got you here tonight, then? A coffee shop doesn’t seem like a bad place to be.”

I glanced down at my glass, feeling the edge of vulnerability creeping in, but there was something about Hank that made it easy to talk. “I don’t know… I just didn’t feel like being alone tonight. Work’s been… exhausting, and I just needed to get out of my head for a while.”

Hank nodded, his eyes softening a little. “Yeah, I get that. This place is kind of a sanctuary for people like that. You wouldn’t believe the stories I’ve heard over the years. Some people come here just to get away from whatever’s weighing them down.”

I looked at him, suddenly more curious about the man behind the bar. “What about you? Why do you work here?”

He leaned back slightly, glancing around the room as if he hadn’t really thought about it before. “I guess… it’s the people. There’s something about this place that keeps me coming back. It’s real, you know? Nobody’s pretending to be someone they’re not.”

I nodded, understanding that more than I expected. “I like that. People here just seem… honest. Raw, almost. It’s refreshing.”

His eyes flicked back to mine, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, it is. You seem like someone who’s pretty good at keeping things together. Like you don’t let people see the raw parts too often.”

I blinked at that, surprised at how easily he seemed to read me. “Yeah… that’s true. I don’t usually put myself out there.”

Hank’s smile softened, and he folded his arms on the bar, leaning in just a little more. “Well, you’re doing a good job of it tonight. Stepping into Paul’s alone—that’s not nothing.”

I felt a warmth rise in my chest, not from the alcohol but from his words. He wasn’t teasing me or trying to flirt—he was just saying what he saw. And somehow, that meant more. “Yeah, well… tonight feels different. Maybe I needed something that wasn’t… me.”

He nodded slowly, his gaze thoughtful. “Sometimes that’s exactly what you need. Something different. Something unexpected.”

There was a pause, and I could feel the quiet stretch between us, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt like we were on the same wavelength, both of us enjoying the simplicity of the conversation without the need for games or pretense.

“You don’t seem like you’re trying to blend in tonight, though,” he said after a moment, his voice lighter now, a bit of a smile creeping back onto his face. “Sticking around all this time, you must be enjoying yourself.”

I tilted my head, a little smile of my own tugging at the corners of my mouth. “Maybe I am.”

Hank’s smile grew as he picked up a bottle and started to clean up the bar a bit, but he kept talking, his focus still partly on me. “You know, people come in here with all kinds of expectations. Some want to disappear, some want to be seen. What do you want?”

I thought about it for a moment, my fingers tracing the edge of my glass. “I’m not really sure. Maybe just to feel… different. For once.”

Hank nodded, wiping down a glass as he considered my words. “I get that. Sometimes you just want to shake things up, step outside yourself for a bit.”

I glanced at him, feeling a strange sense of relief that he understood. “Exactly. It’s like I just needed a change. To feel something different.”

He placed the glass down and leaned back on the bar, his blue eyes steady on mine. “Well, I think you’re doing a good job of that. You seem pretty different from the girl who walked in here earlier.”

I smiled at that, realising he was right. I did feel different—bolder, freer, more like the person I wanted to be, at least for tonight.

“Thanks,” I said softly, feeling a little more at ease.

Hank gave me a nod, his voice quiet but sincere. “Sometimes you just need a night like this, right? Something out of the ordinary.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, looking down at my nearly empty glass before glancing back up at him. “And I don’t regret coming in here tonight.”

He smiled, a genuine warmth in his expression. “I’m glad you did.”

By now, it was late, and the crowd had thinned to just a few regulars. The Giants game he’d been glancing at throughout the night was long over, and the bar felt quieter, more intimate. Hank wiped down the counter, tossing the rag over his shoulder as he looked at me again, those blue eyes dark and unreadable.

“You wanna get out of here?” His voice was low, the words hanging in the air between us like a challenge.

I blinked, my heart skipping a beat. Normally, I’d hesitate, second-guess myself, but tonight, I didn’t feel like that person. I felt alive. Bold.

“Yeah,” I said softly, “I do.”

The cool night air hit my skin the moment we stepped outside, but it did little to cool the fire that had been burning between us all night. The alley behind the bar was dimly lit, shadows stretching across the walls, but I barely noticed. All I could focus on was him—the way his broad shoulders moved, the way his hands flexed at his sides as if he was holding himself back.

We stopped just outside the door, and before I had time to second-guess myself, he turned to me, stepping in close. The space between us disappeared in an instant, and I felt his hand at my waist, pulling me gently but firmly against him. My breath caught in my throat, and for a split second, all I could do was look up into those mesmerising blue eyes, my heart pounding in my chest.

Then he kissed me.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t slow. His lips crashed against mine, urgent and hungry, like he’d been waiting all night for this moment. His hands gripped my waist, pulling me closer as his mouth moved against mine, and I kissed him back just as fiercely, my fingers instinctively finding their way to the base of his skull. His hair was soft, curling around my fingers as I tangled my hands in it, pulling him closer.

He let out a low, guttural sound, the kind of sound that sent shivers down my spine and made my knees weak. His hands slid up my back, his fingers digging into my skin as he pressed me against the brick wall behind us. The roughness of the wall was a stark contrast to the heat of his body, and I arched into him, wanting—needing—to be closer.

My hands stayed tangled in his hair, pulling him down harder as his lips moved to my neck, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along my jawline.

This wasn’t me. This wasn’t the shy, quiet girl who kept to herself, who avoided risks. But right now, with Hank’s body pressed against mine, his lips on my skin, I didn’t care. All I cared about was him, the way he made me feel—alive, bold, free.

And I wasn’t about to stop.

His breath was hot against my skin as his lips moved lower, trailing down my neck, and I could feel every nerve in my body igniting. I tugged at his hair again, just enough to pull him back to my mouth, and when our lips met, the kiss was even more intense—desperate, as if we both knew this moment was everything we had been building up to all night.

I could feel his body press harder against mine, his hands roaming over my waist, my hips, pulling me even closer as though the small space between us was unbearable. My back hit the rough surface of the brick wall again, but the discomfort only heightened the sensation. The world outside the alley faded away—there were no more sounds from the bar, no distant cars, just the pounding of our hearts and the shared heat between us.

When he finally pulled back, his breathing was ragged, and he rested his forehead against mine, his blue eyes searching my face in the dim light. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he murmured, his voice low and thick with desire.

I swallowed, my breath still catching in my throat. “I think I do,” I whispered back, unable to stop the smile that tugged at my lips.

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through his chest. “I thought I had you all figured out, but… you keep surprising me.”

“I’m surprising myself,” I admitted, my fingers still tangled in his hair, feeling the warmth of his scalp beneath my touch. “But I like it.”

He pulled back just enough to look at me fully, his gaze softening for a moment, as if he was trying to read me—trying to make sure I was still in control, still wanting this as much as he did. And I was. More than I’d ever imagined.

“What now?” His voice was a little quieter, a little less hurried, but still laced with that same intensity.

I didn’t need to think about it. I leaned forward, pressing my lips to his again, this time slower, more deliberate, savouring the feel of him, the taste of his mouth. “I don’t want this to stop,” I whispered between kisses, my hands sliding down to grip his shoulders, feeling the tension in his muscles as he held back.

He groaned softly against my lips, his hands gripping my hips tighter. “It doesn’t have to.”

The way he said it, so sure, made my heart race even faster. We were in an alley behind a bar, but in this moment, it didn’t matter. Nothing felt rushed or wrong. It felt like exactly where we were supposed to be. Like I had finally stepped into a part of myself I’d been avoiding for too long. And with him, it felt… right.

The intensity between us burned hotter, and soon, his hands were back on my waist, sliding under my shirt, his fingers grazing the skin there in a way that made me gasp. I could feel the roughness of the brick wall behind me, but all I could focus on was him—his touch, his breath, the way he seemed just as lost in this as I was.

But there was something else too, a sense of grounding I hadn’t expected. He wasn’t rushing. He wasn’t pushing. He was waiting, following my lead, giving me the space to feel, to take in every second of this. And I knew, in that moment, that whatever happened next, it was because we both wanted it. Because we were both ready for it.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered, his lips brushing the edge of my jaw.

“Good,” I breathed, my hands slipping down to his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart under my palms. “Because neither am I.”

And as the world around us continued to disappear, the night taking over, I knew that whatever came next—whether it lasted for just this night or beyond—it would be the best decision I’d ever made.

[literatureloverx]

One of the things I find curious about Fyodor is that in the latest bsd guidebook, he describes himself as the color white like his hometown's snow. Fyodor still remembers his hometown, after all he's gone through and after all this time. And he describes himself as the color white like its snow. That with his character's disconnect from people, makes me very excited for when Asagiri decides to reveal his character's backstory. Of course he probably means snow in a more way of "purity" than sentimentalism for his hometown itself but omg he mentions his hometown which is something enough. Not "like snow" which would convey purity enough but "like the snow from my hometown". Maybe it's because he found his faith there? Maybe he just wants to pay respect to where he was birthed? Idk but there's much to theorize. What are your thoughts?

-🎪 anon

I agree, 🎪-anon!♥️

I don’t know if it’s because he found his faith there, but I think that is very likely and seems reasonable.

However, I also believe he was born into a religious family to begin with. I’ve thought through other aspects as well. Let me break it down for you:

Purity and Fyodor’s inner moral code:

Fyodor describing himself as the color white, especially like the snow from his hometown, speaks volumes. It hints at his complex inner moral code—he engages in dark actions under the belief that they serve a greater good.

This idea of “purity” contrasts sharply with his behavior. But does it?

In my humble opinion, he is well aware that what he does is evil, but his inner moral depiction is influenced by Machiavellian tendencies.

He does whatever he needs to do to cleanse humanity of their sins. Therefore, his actions reflect Machiavellian principles.

In short: the ends justify the means (The Prince by Niccolò Machiavelli).

I’m imagining it like this: God has given him the enormous power of being immortal—never truly able to die.

God also gifted him with an intelligence that is above any other human being.

This means he must be someone important.

This means he is meant to be the rightful hand of God, tasked with creating a world that is worthy of God’s beauty.

Therefore, he wishes to help God’s creations, cleansing them and this sinful world of all their sins.

This is one reason why he says that he likes all humanity equally. Because he really does.

They are all the same to him—fools who could do better. Fools that could be worthy of God’s perfect world.

What fascinates me the most about him is that, even though he is doing all of this out of pure self-assurance and his own complex inner moral compass, he still claims that he is doing it for the whole world. And I believe he does.

I can totally see this being his ultimate end in the future.

His Hometown and it’s significance for him:

By referencing his hometown, he reveals a more humane side to himself.

If you haven't already, l'd recommend you read THIS and THIS posts of mine, where I explained very clearly how I perceive Fyodor's humane side.

It shows that he yearns for connection and perhaps misses the simplicity and innocence of his past.

This duality makes him such a fascinating character, caught between his dark pursuits and the remnants of his humanity.

Imagine feeling like, or even knowing that you're "the chosen one," only to end up isolated, dehumanized, and lonely, with nothing to hold onto but your belief in your God.

You can't die, because the only way for you to do so is by your own hands, which is considered the greatest sin.

You can't die. Not until you take your own life.

How deep must his religious beliefs run for him to be this dedicated to his goal, mentally able to endure and live for hundreds, maybe thousands of years?

This made me so emotional. I want to give him a hug. My precious love.♥️