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thezombieprostitute · 3 days ago

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The Arrangement - Ending

Summary: Jake's done a lot of things to keep his sister, and then his niece, safe from his parent's influence and manipulation. If he wants to keep them safe, he has to marry you.

Word Count: ~1.8k

A/N: Reader is female. No other physical descriptors used.

Warnings: Bad parents, Body shaming, Talk of abuse, Talk of human trafficking. Let me know if I missed any!

Part 15

Series Masterlist

The parents were enjoying their evening. Montgomery and Carol had invited William and Cordelia to join them for drinks at their favorite restaurant to celebrate the progress being made. Not only was the penthouse getting turned into a better hosting space, but the kids had been caught being intimate! Surely a pregnancy announcement was due at any time.

"We should probably start up some rumors now," Cordelia proposes. "If anyone has their doubts, it's because the pregnancy is so well hidden from her size."

"And it'll excuse how much food she's eaten at these events," Carol rolls her eyes. "The number of friends I've had tell me how crass she is about her eating! How does she not see it hurts our image as parents?"

"I've heard it's not just her now, either," Cordelia whispers. "Apparently, others have started engaging in such lowbrow behaviors."

"Kids these days," William shakes his head. "Though that does remind me, how are things with the..."

Montgomery picks up on his meaning. "He's been transferred to an assisted care facility. They run a tight ship and no one will be allowed to visit, nor will he be allowed out, without our permission."

"Excellent," William nods. "No expense spared when it comes to protecting our image."

"Cheers to that," Montgomery raises a glass for a toast, the others joining him.

Their continued chatter is interrupted by the arrival of two well dressed men. The slightly shorter one with close cut hair speaks first.

"Excuse me folks, I'm agent Nick Fowler with the CIA." He pulls out his badge to verify. Pointing to the other man he continues, "this is agent Jonathan Pine with Interpol." Pine also shows his badge. "We need you to come with us."

"What's going on?" Montgomery blusters, drawing attention.

"We'd prefer to handle this quietly," Pine responds. "If you'll simply come with us we---"

"We're not going anywhere until we know what this is all about!" Cordelia snaps. All eyes are now on the table.

Fowler clears his throat and announces, "the four of you are under arrest for attempted murder, money laundering and human trafficking. You'll all need to come with me."

William is immediately red in the face. "This is preposterous! We've done nothing of the sort!"

"You have the wrong people," Montgomery insists. "Let me see the warrant!"

Pine hands over the document and, as he reads, Montgomery's expression goes from enraged to shocked.

"We are allowed to contact our lawyers, yes?" is all he's able to say.

"This isn't good at all," their lawyer tells them.

"But we didn't do any of these things!" Carol shrieks, Montgomery having given up on trying to calm her.

"The evidence says otherwise," they point out. "It's your name on the penthouse, the address of which was found in the ledger of a known human trafficker that was recently arrested. Their books also show money laundered between your company and Jensen's and then sent to known fronts for drug dealers. Your own children are willing to testify against you."

"What?!" Montgomery is caught off guard. "We never did anything to them!"

"Did you, or did you not, force your daughter into marriage?" the lawyer sighs, knowing the answer.

"Well that isn't...that's not...It's how things are done!" Carol yells, slamming the table.

"Not legally," he answers. "Additionally, your son has signed a statement admitting to his own part in the forced marriage, as well as the Jensen's threat of kidnapping an underage girl for the purposes of marriage. He also says that a friend of his from the party admitted to being paid to give him his car keys and encouraging him to go drive. While the friend is currently being hunted down, the two of you are the primary suspects."

"It's hearsay!" Montgomery bellows. "We can easily say it's just our greedy children clamoring for our fortune."

"Jensen's lawyer has contracts indicating otherwise. The contract was drawn up for their son and the details are...incriminating. And even if that contract were to go missing, their son has, reportedly, offered up his own copy of the contract into evidence. That contract is enough to really cut the jury's disbelief of any other evidence associating you with the criminals you're charged with helping."

He tries to go over their legal options, but it isn't long before the two are turning on each other.

Things aren't going any better for Jake's parents. They turned on each other even faster, shouting loud enough that lawyer-client privilege wouldn't be able to protect the secrets they accused each other of. Agents Fowler and Pine are sitting within earshot, taking notes along with DA Barber who was gathering evidence for civil and criminal charges at the city and state level.

Pine had to admit, when Clay had called in his favor, this wasn't what he expected. But given what they've been learning, even if the evidence Clay's team had planted didn't stick, there'd be plenty of other things to keep these people in prison.

It was a good thing Barber had asked the guards at the jail to keep an eye on them. Carol and Cordelia not only ended up accusing each other of more things for Barber's people to look into, but they ended up having to be put in separate cells because they kept attacking each other. The last attack caused Carol to have to be seen by the nurse while Cordelia ended up with a black eye.

The four of them know there's nothing they can do, especially with how much they've already admitted to while arguing, as their lawyers continued trying to calm them. All they can do is wonder how they lost control so quickly.

In the end, it really hadn't taken much for you to convince Travis to throw your parents under the bus. He needed a target for his anger and, considering how quickly they turned on him, he was only too happy to send them to prison. Especially in exchange for a reduced sentence for his own crimes that came to light in the discovery phase of the lawsuit. And he only had to lie about his keys.

The Losers waited until after your own testimony, signed statements, and other legal filings were done before filling you in on the whole plan. You were grateful for that, unsure of your ability to lie, even by omission. it turns out they were working on a plan even before the wedding.

"Takin' out Travis was essential to do right away," Clay explains. "If he was dead or otherwise incapacitated, Jadah wouldn't be of nearly so much interest to her grandparents and the pressure would ease up right away. Aisha snuck his keys into his pocket while he and his friends were partying. After that it was all about findin' all the money both families had and Jake gettin' it to look like it was goin' to the wrong people."

"I would have been able to do that a lot faster but there were so many public appearances," Jake grimaces. "Then again, if I hadn't gone to those, I wouldn't have had as much time with you." You smile softly at him as he intertwines his fingers with yours.

"After that, we just had to fine tune the dominoes so none of 'em would fall on you and then put in a phone call to an old buddy o' mine at Interpol."

"Apparently all it took was a couple of agents showing up at the restaurant to get things going," Aisha shrugged. "People talked, investors and allies got spooked. Ended up creating even more of a mess than we predicted."

"All the more reason I'm glad we took the extra time to keep you safe," Jake adds.

"I don't think you're ever gonna get any of your family's money," Clay speculates. "But we've got enough funds to help you get back on your feet."

"That's so much more than I ever could have expected," you smile. "I really thought that, if anything ever happened to my parents, I'd be forever on my own and left with nothing. So thank you, all of you, for helping me."

"You were as much a victim in this as Jake," Aisha points out. "Probably even more so because you actually had to live with them for your whole life. Which reminds me, we're getting you into therapy, ASAP, and you will not argue with me about it."

"Wouldn't dream of it," you assure. "I know I'm going to need all the help I can get with...processing everything."

A couple of years later you find yourself affixing the hammerhead shark cake topper to your wedding cake. Jake had tried to argue for purchasing a cake, not wanting you to overwork yourself since you'd insisted on cooking for the event as well. You countered that it was such a small wedding, there really wasn't that much work to do. But he could help you out by taste-testing all the food.

You'd both decided to wait until the dust had settled from your parents' arrest before you got married. Neither of you wanted any lingering legal problems to get in the way of the wedding and marriage you wanted. You and Jake did end up getting some of your parents' assets. You'd used a good portion of yours to try to help Travis get a fresh start away from his old life, including you.

And you'd started your own life as well. You were now employed as the donations manager for an aquarium. It wasn't a dream job, but it does let you see sharks every day and your background in ecology helps you sell people on making donations. You're even able to help acquire grants and get to give tours of the shark areas from time to time. Which, in turn, made it easy for you to have your wedding held at the aquarium, a real dream come true for you.

Jake's family had also been very good for you. You never knew family could actually be loving and supportive, you thought it was all a fantasy sold by movies and TV. The only "friction" was Jake being worried Cougar would steal you away but you were quick to reassure him you prefer adorkable sweeties to silent sexymen. You even made it a point to hold Jake's hand whenever Cougar was around. Eventually it sunk in for Jake that he really was the one you wanted. And that's when he got on one knee for a "proper proposal."

And now you're here, the two of having a dream wedding with only the people you actually care about. Jake tears up while reciting his vows and you don't think twice about letting your own happy tears flow. The photos from your wedding are full of genuine smiles and loving kisses. You've never felt safer or more loved and accepted than you do with Jake. And, for the first time in your life, you're not afraid of the future.

A/N2: Thanks to everyone who's been reading along with this series! It's been a fun ~16k words of writing and I'm happy to have shared them with you. And, as with all my other stories, asks about this story will forever be open.

Series Masterlist

Tagging: @alicedopey; @ashdoctor; @delicatebarness; @ellethespaceunicorn; @embarrasingmf; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @irishhappiness; @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory; @kmc1989; @lokislady82; @missaprilt23; @peaches1958; @ronearoundblindly; @thiquefunlover63; @watermelonslut

#jake jensen #jake jensen x reader #jake jensen x female reader #arranged marriage au #jake jensen x you #jake jensen x f!reader

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phantombegruvia · 2 days ago

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SFTH MURDER MYSTERY - PART 2 [AMANDA POV]

part 1 << part 2 >> part 3 MASTERPOST

*CW for somewhat graphic detail of a dead body and child death

[WAYNE MANOR LOBBY - 15:45]

A whole lot just happened, Amanda realises. This other guest, Tarquin apparently, just burst into the lobby and announced the death of both the event host and the butler. And now, they were locked inside the manor, all possible exits blocked off by metal shutters.

There was also Esmeralda who was an event in herself, she was so stunning and there was something so.. mystical about her - and Amanda was getting off track.. she should probably tune back into reality.

John Jacob was actively trying to pull the shutters up, Amanda watched him grow more and more frustrated when he continued to fail - he then kicked the shutters, cursing.

“I've seen death before,” Tarquin’s words were shaky, “a whole lot of it.. but this - this is something different.”

“What do you mean ‘different’?” Margaery asked, she and Rumpled had taken either side of Tarquin. Rumpled attempted to calm her down, while Margaery tried to pry answers out of him. The rest of the guests stood around, listening to the conversation. The majority of them were scared or shocked or both, and an odd few were.. not.

“I don't know..” Tarquin placed his head in his hands, “I lost a lot of my crew out on the sea,” (Amanda saw that Poppy perked up, almost unnoticeably), “I cared, obviously, but I knew the dangers of my, er, job. The only loss that struck me was the death of my beloved, Amanda.”

Amanda couldn't help but feel a little weirded out by the use of her name, despite knowing that he wasn't referring to her. Just hearing a man use her name after the word ‘beloved’ made her internally cringe a little.

“What happened to her?” Helter asked, hesitation evident.

Tarquin's breathing hitched ever so slightly, “she was murdered,” he paused, “and I'm pretty sure that Wayne and his butler were also murdered.”

A very uncomfortable silence fell over the group.

“Why do you think that?” Margaery asked.

[WAYNE MANOR OFFICE - 16:08]

Not everyone chose to come to see the murder, but when Esmeralda said she would go, Amanda, in a stupid act of desperation, agreed to go as well.

Tarquin had led the group of six to the office, offering a quick warning (“it's not pretty.”) before opening the door. And he was right, it certainly was not.

Bruce Wayne was slumped unceremoniously over his desk, the desk itself was covered in blood; the liquid oozing over the edge, creating a puddle on the floor. Amanda always saw the man in the news, and he looked so much more different in person - obviously, he was dead. His skin had grayed slightly, and his eyes had dulled. The most obvious change, and possibly the most striking, is also what seemed to be the cause of death - a batarang that was lodged deep in his skull.

“He was killed by Batman?” Amanda couldn't help but ask, it was more of a slip, really.

Margaery hummed, “it seems that way, never really trusted that bloke anyway. Why wear a mask? It just proves you've got something to hide. But I guess that's the whole point, isn't it.”

Juliet tilted her head slightly, “how long has he been dead? It doesn't look recent.”

“Ten days,” Esmeralda stated, “give or take.”

“And how would you know that?” Tarquin pointed, all his earlier panic now replaced with determination.

“Notice the discolouration?” She held up one of the corpse's hands, and showed the group the black splotch on the back of it, “it usually happens when a body has been left unattended after around ten days.” Esmeralda must've noticed the look that the group was giving her, and shrugged, “I've read many books on dead bodies.”

Rumpled squinted, “right,” disbelief evident in his tone. He walked over to the desk, and up picked a small sheet of blood covered paper, he adjusted his glasses, “it's some sort of photograph, seems to be of Ethel.” He muttered under his breath, “what kind of magic did he perform to make it colourised?”

Amanda peered over his shoulder, it was certainly Ethel, but it was blurry and you couldn't make out her face, just the large unsettling grin. Amanda did not trust that woman one bit.

She noticed that there were other photographs and picked another out of the blood (she made her disgust known, “ew.”). She was met with a picture of Tracy, one that reminded Amanda of images somebody would post on Facebook after getting drunk at a bachelorette party. “This one's of Tracy.”

[WAYNE MANOR KITCHEN - 16:36]

The butler's death didn't appear to be a murder. He seemed to have just collapsed on the floor of the kitchen. He was an old man, after all, and Wayne's death might have caused him to have a heart attack.

Esmeralda said that he had died ten days ago, too.

There was no sign of him being killed by someone else, no blood, no wound, no nothing.

Amanda had thought that it was quite sad he didn't manage to drink all his tea.

[WAYNE MANOR LOBBY - 16:49]

Amanda and her group of dead body checkers returned to the lobby where the other six guests were waiting for them to return.

“You're back,” Poppy had said, she seemed happy and relieved to see them, before looking confused, “where's Esmeralda?”

“She was right behind us,” Margaery stated the obvious, “I didn't even realise she was gone.”

Neither did Amanda, and it worried her.

“Bruce Wayne had been murdered,” Rumpled announced to the group, “we think that the Batman is a possible killer. We also believe that the butler had suffered a heart attack after seeing Wayne's body.”

Esmeralda had reappeared, swiping her thumb over her lips. Amanda tried not to think about the heat that rised to her cheeks when she saw it, and she hoped that her blush wasn't noticeable.

“Why do you think that Batman killed him?” Derek hesitantly asked, “he's a hero, he helps people. He doesn't kill.”

“Wayne had a batarang in his head,” Margaery plainly stated, "seems pretty incriminating to me."

“Who's Batman?” John Jacob raised his hand to ask.

“A Scottish hero!” Poppy said from next to him, “or, well not-hero, now.”

There was a loud THUD coming from up the upstairs banister. The guests looked up to see what made the noise.

A young boy, possibly twelve years old, climbed onto the banister rail, “hi!” He waved at the guests, shouting to them all, “I'm Dickie! I'm an acrobat and Bruce says I can perform for you tonight!” He stood on his tiptoes on the rail, holding his arms out either side of him, “though, I have nae seen him in a while, he does tend to disappear from time to time.”

Amanda was scared that the kid was going to fall off and plummet to the floor.

“You see that there?” He pointed to the chandelier just above them, “I'm gonna jump to it! You ready?”

Amanda was suddenly filled with panic, much like most other guests, and joined in the chorus of no’s and disagreements.

Dickie didn't listen, and instead jumped. He did a few flips in the air, which were admittedly impressive for a kid his age. He reached the golden chandelier, cheering.

This did earn a round of applause from the guests, but that was cut short when the chandelier suddenly jolted, before fully coming off of the ceiling.

It happened in slow motion. The kid released the chandelier, but it was too late, his body made a sickening crack when it made contact with the floor. To make things worse, the bottom of the chandelier was pointed sharply, and it impaled his chest.

"Oh good, I found him a little annoying anyway," Juliet broke the silence that followed.

#shoot from the hip murder mystery #I just went straight into the deep end here and I should apologise profusely.#am i going to?#no.#I imagined Scottish Robin (Dickie)'s death to be a somewhat mirror of his DC counterpart's parent's death #so theres some information for you there #anyway!#uh..#i was so happy when the wheel gave me the Amanda POV because.. YES.#I also spun the wheel for who would be the one to try and open the shutters #and for who would be the 6th member of the 'dead body checkers' as Amanda put it #somebody also pointed out that B&B was set in 2008-2012..I was not aware of this..#so for my sake Helter is from present day #oopsie #also spun the wheel for the two photos they would pick up!#sfth #shoot from the hip #shootimpro #sfthposting

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reckless-deprivation · 3 days ago

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Can we get some yuji being ur best friend fluff?? I'd like to see yuji hanging out with the reader (gn) at a gas station!! Lots of messing around and shenanigans... hehhee!! I don't wanna say 2 much bc I want u 2 have ur fun, but js know I think the reader should be a mischievous trickster!! Thank u sm for ur work <3

I'm new... and this is my 1st req...

-🌬

I cannot express the joy and whimsy I felt when reading this request (ㅅ´ ˘ `) Yuji is genuinely so underrated in his own show I can't- I've written a couple scenarios about how it would be to be Yuji Itadori's best friend! Reader is kept gender neutral and it is not mentioned whether they have a cursed technique or not. Only Yuji is mentioned and Megumi and Nobara as well as other students and teachers from Jujutsu tech aren't mentioned for the sake of keeping this as open as possible •ᴗ• Word count - ~1.4k Jjk masterlist!

Bestest of friends

.・。.・゜✭・.

"Yuji, you piece of shit!" You yelled out in fury, dropping your controller as the Mario Kart winner screen rolled in with Yuji's winning character, Donkey Kong, cheering.

"Not my fault you're BAD!" He laughed, hands behind his head in a mocking manner, an award-winning smile plastered on his face like he just stopped a world war (in your mind, he just started one).

"I'm not bad! My hands were just clammy." You defended, crossing your arms and pouting like a child as the screen taunted you. "And you cheated."

"Me? Cheating?! How could you accuse me of such blasphemy!" He pretended to be offended, mimicking a poor British accent as he clung to your side in desperation. "Please don't hang me like a witch at the stake for such accusations, I'm innocent!"

You only laughed, the anger leaving your system the moment he started up with his usual teasing, "Yuji! Watch the-"

And just like that, the popcorn bowl had been knocked over, spilling all the popcorn on your carpet. You stared at the mess you had just made, heads turning in sync towards each other as you heard the front door open, signaling that your mother was home.

"Cover the evidence!" You whisper-yelled, jumping to the ground and trying to pick up the astray popcorn while Yuji covered the larger pile with his hoodie.

"You two having fun?" You heard your mother yell, both of you yelling 'Yes!' in unison, voices hurried as you desperately tried to pick off the kernels from the carpet.

It all felt like a horror game, the Sonic drowning sound if you will. You could hear your mother's footsteps, desperately searching around for flyaway kernels. When you thought you were safe, Yuji spotted a kernel right in the view of where your mom was supposed to appear. Like the dramatic moment it was, he dived for the kernel, letting you hold his hoodie to cover the larger pile you were going to clean up when your mother was out of sight.

With a loud thump, Yuji managed to catch the flyaway kernel right as your mom entered.

"... Yuji?" Her brows furrowed, setting her bag down onto the coffee table. Yuji only smiled, cheerfully exclaiming your mother's name as he tried to act nonchalant.

"Just a last-minute stretch, you know how it is." He awkwardly chuckled, pretending to stretch on the ground with an awkward smile.

"Alright..." She sighed, exiting the room. "I'll be in the shower, you two!" She yelled; the moment you heard the bathroom door closed you let out a sigh of relief.

"That was close-" You were cut off as your mother yelled your name, your blood running cold as you prayed it wasn't anything bad.

"I told you to put the dirty clothes in the wash!" She exclaimed. You sent a glare to Yuji's direction when you heard a snicker, replying with a grimace.

"Sorry, mom! I'll do it later-"

"RIGHT NOW!"

Both you and Yuji shot up, rushing to the bathroom to do what your mother told you.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

"I beg of the!" You sobbed, clinging to Yuji's pant leg in desperation as you pointed at the newly opened ice cream shop. He rolled his eyes, tugging his leg back and out of your grasp.

"No way, dude! That place is expensive as hell!" He groaned. Growing more and more annoyed by the minute from your consistent whining.

"Please, Yuji! I must taste the gates of heaven; my life would be incomplete otherwise-"

"Jesus Christ! Fine!" It was honestly funny how easily Yuji seemed to cave. A wicked smile made its way onto your face, swiftly getting up and grabbing his sleeve, leading him to the new and expensive ice cream shop.

It was an array of pastel colors, decoration intending to be both pleasing to the eyes and childish. You couldn't help but grow giddy as you neared the counter, the chatter from the customers and laughter of children making you feel like you were in heaven.

"Hello! What can I get for you?" The cheery woman at the front counter asked, her best customer service smile gracing her features. You watched the display, awed at the display of different flavors you've never even seen in your regular ice cream shop. Coffee fudge swirl, Goat cheese cashew caramel, cinnamon toast, so many flavors to choose from - yet you couldn't seem to decide.

"One scoop of strawberry, please." Yuji's words made you pause your momentary amazement, turning to him with a look of betrayal. Yuji's brows knitted in confusion at your expression, grabbing the cone and paying. "What?"

"Are you serious? All of the flavors you could dream of at your display, and you choose strawberry?" It was flabbergasting, truly. Yuji rolled his eyes, licking his scoop while you watched him like he had sinned.

"What? Strawberry is awesome." He protested, eating his scoop without another care in the world. You only grew more and more offended with each word that left his mouth.

"Yeah, but you could've chosen anything else-"

"It's just ice cream, relax."

...

Safe to say you got kicked out before you could buy a scoop.

You pouted on the sidewalk, knees to your chest as you glared at the concrete. All of that, only to get kicked out before you could taste the sweetness that is ice cream. Yuji sat beside you, sprawled out without a care as he ate his ice cream. Even though he felt bitter for your pointless argument, he couldn't help but feel a little bad. You're the one that made him go, and you ended up without anything.

"... Hey." Yuji called out, you slowly turned your head to him, brows furrowing as you flinched back when he shoved his half-eaten cone in your face. "You can have the rest, I'm not hungry." He smiled.

You only huffed, taking the cone and staring at it for a few moments before taking a bite. Comfortable silence consumed the two of you, the tweets of birds and whistling of the wind leaving the atmosphere more appealing.

"... You're right, this strawberry is good."

"Oh, fuck off."

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

The rain was heavy, really heavy. The only thing you and Yuji could do was stand under a bus stop, your broken umbrella held in your hand as you watched people pass by without a struggle.

You and Yuji were stuck.

"Why don't we just book it to your place?" Yuji groaned, hands shoved in his pockets as he sat down on the bus bench.

"I don't feel like getting soaked to the core, Itadori." You sighed, taking a seat next to him as you watched the relentless rain. It didn't look like it was going to stop any time soon...

"What do you want to do to pass the time, then?" He sighed, looking around for any form of entertainment he could get on the wretched bus stop.

You sighed, opening up your bag to see if you could find anything entertaining. Luckily for you, the pack of uno cards you put in your bag all those months ago proved itself useful. And mom said you needed to clean out your bag... Despicable.

"Check it." You grinned, waving the uno in the air teasingly. Yuji smiled, sitting up straighter as he turned his body towards you.

"That's what I'm talking about!"

...

The rain had stopped by now; passersby stared at you two in concern as you yelled profanities at each other. Each thrown card made you hate each other more and more.

"You can't fucking do that, Yuji!" You protested, watching as the guy threw all of the sevens in his deck.

"I sure can!" He spat back, slinging to his cards with a glare, you glared back with equal intensity.

"Well, it's my uno and I say that isn't something you can do!"

"Bullshit! That's my pack of uno you borrowed!"

"And it was in my bag, dipshit!"

"Oh, you little-" Yuji's phone buzzed, causing your bickering to momentarily stop as he reached for it with a grumble. His face fell as he saw the several missed calls from his grandpa, followed by angry texts.

"... Oh no."

"What?" Yuji looked at you in horror, the previous argument completely forgotten.

"We are so dead." He breathed out, showing his phone to you. Your eyes widened, immediately reaching out for your phone only to see the same thing - multiple missed calls from your mother followed by angry texts.

"Shit."

"... I still think my rules are better."

"YUJI!"

#jjk #jjk x reader #yuji itadori #yuji itadori x reader #yuji itadori x you #jjk itadori #itadori yuuji #x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujustsu kaisen x reader #best friends

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paintalyx · 2 days ago

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thank you for your theories and insight, it was a good read!! should you do more in the future (and i really hope you will) , feel free to give me a heads-up again! :D

i didn't delve into sainy pastry order lore yet (as i mentioned on my blog before, i've only played the game for about a week at the point of writing this), so the possible connection between them and silent salt surprised me! thematically, it makes perfect sense to pick church as an establishment (particularly one that worships the witches as gods) and use it to oppose the idea of freedom that white lily is supposed to represent

also, i really hope that you are right about silverbell and mercurial knight, i grew quite fond of them while playing beast yeast chapters! i think there's also room for elder faerie to make a comeback in some manner, as he is still a playable character? i don't have much evidence to support this, other than wishful thinking. (perhaps he'll come to life once white lily ascends? not sure if that'll cheapen his death)

finally, forgive me if i am missing anything, but would you mind elaborating some more on the relationship between silent salt and shadow milk, or at least your interpretation/speculations for it? the thought of them paralleling white lily and pure vanilla sounds so neuron-activating to me

i need someone who's combed through the entire crk story so far to recommend me analysis/theory posts regarding white lily. dms, asks, i don't care. i simply need to absorb everything there is about my shiny new blorbina

#rb #crk #crk theories #crk spoilers #just in case #white lily cookie #silent salt cookie #kissing you on the forehead platonically tumblr user bearerofautism

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benevolenterrancy · 8 months ago

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alright folks, I'll probably finish SVSSS v4 by this weekend (pray for me) and then I'll be done all of MXTX's books and I have no idea which series to try next... So!! I'm going to pose the question to people that might have more experience in the genre! These are ones I've either incidentally acquired or been recommended

#help me out i'm indecisive and not well informed about the genre i don't even know if they're all technically the same genre #i started mdzs in 2022 #i just finished tgcf at the start of the summer #and now i'm working through the last of svsss #i've been reading mxtx books for two years and guys i'm so not ready to be done (；′⌒`)#i'm exerting so much self-restraint by not giving up and restarting mdzs #but i've ended up with a surprisingly large stack of books over the years and i should try something new #for apothecary diaries i'm actually on book 2 i read the first back in may and wouldn't mind continuing it it's funny #as a rule i'm not huge on isekai's but svsss has warmed me to them and disabled tyrants sounds hilarious i'm intrigued #i think beware of chicken is actually by a canadian author...? but it seems to fit the genre and i had a friend passionately recommend it #so i've picked it up and should read it at some point #the other 3 i know basically nothing about buy i found the first books cheap at a used book sale and grabbed them on a whim #bene speaks

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dragoninahumancostume · 1 year ago

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I hate it when it's like 2am and I get a wave of one of the feelings on the sad spectrum and my chest starts to hurt

#My mom got pissed that I kept picking the wrong book when I asked her for the first of the saga that I found on the library #Okay so there's this elven blood book but I only found the third one of the saga in our house library so I asked for the first one #And my mom saw me reading Game Of Thrones a couple hours before and so she thought I was asking for the first one of Game Of Thrones #And she kept pointing at the book saying “With the black cover! Next to the yellow letters!” and I thought she knew what book I meant #But she didn't so she kept pointing at Game Of Thrones and was getting more frustrated by the second #And so was i because I knew that wasn't the book I meant and I thought she did #This is just to say “my mom should be sleeping more because she's constantly tired and needs to rest for my patience's sake”#I get that it's summer and it's hot at night but she's sleeping at 2am or later and neither my sister or me can sleep if she doesn't #And my sister is a child so ya know brain develop and having a phone so young already screwed her up enough #So she should at least get some full night rest #And I can sleep late by myself perfectly fine and in fact I've been doing it since I have memory. I don't need my mom's help for this #Tldr my mom is already easily upset and lack of rest makes it worse. For me i mean. Atp I just roll my eyes and count to 10 to not yell back

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elletromil · 4 months ago

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So I do a lot of book suggestion with my public libraries because, well, I'm a big reader and I can't buy all of the books, no matter how much i might want to.

Anyway, it always completely baffles me when, with series - especially when its in ebook form where you can see fairly easily on Libby whether or not there is another installment after the one you're currently reading - *I* have to suggest the next book for it to be picked up.

And not in a 'why is the librarian not buying it' way, but rather in a 'why are people not asking for it????'

For exemple, I've been reading a series of like 5-6 books total. I suggested my library get the first ebook, suggestion got accepted, i read the book and liked it well enough. About 10-ish people were in the hold queue. Of course that doesn't mean they actually liked it but whatever.

I suggested the second book, and because of the nature of ebooks reservation, some people got to read it before me. Ok fine. I read it, about 6-7 people are on the hold queue when i finish it.

Guess what? No one asked for the third book.

For EVERY book in the series, i had to ask for the next one and i'm just...

For people to read it before me, they had to have an alert on the book so they would know when it becomes available at once. Cuz obviously I have those alerts, but even just checking 5 minutes after the notification, there would be at least 2-3 people with a hold on the book already.

And its not even a 'oh, the library will get the ebooks at a certain time every months/few months so that's why it wasn't available yet'

I finished the second to last book of the series recently. It had been available since like october-ish. I had actually started back then, but since I'm not a fan of reading ebooks, I couldnt finish the book in time, so into the hold queue I went.

I know that public library. I know how often they get their ebook. If anyone had asked for the last book, it would be available already.

It wasn't.

Do people not know they can suggest books? Is the process too obscure for them?

Anyway, there is no point to this post except to say, my good peeps, you can make books (or dvds or games or whatever kind of item your public library offer) suggestion! You usually can do it online!

If you can't find where exactly, usually just googling 'purchase suggestion' or 'reccomand a title' with the name of your public library will get you to the right page

And if you're still not sure, you should ask your librarian, they'll be happy to tell you how!

#in my experience 95% of the time they'll get the book #when they can't it's either because the book is too old #or its self-published or something #or they have the first couple books of the series but no one else is checking them out #and like sure i get from a place of privilege because book banning isnt a thing in quebec (at least as far as i know)#but still #clearly if 5 out of 6 books of a series is already available #the librarian already doesn't care that its a queer werewolf romance series #anyway yes my good peeps please suggest titles at your public library!#its one way to let your librarians know what kind of books they should be buying #i don't have to do as many queer romance books suggestion as one might think #and if they already have a book from an author its usually a safe bet that they'll get their new one too #anyway #that's it #public libraries #books

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bitters-n-sweets · 27 days ago

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take a break — michael "robby" robinavitch x fem!reader Robby is finally on vacation in Bali. He can't quite turn off the part of him that stays alert, but then he meets someone who somehow silences all the noise.

warnings: angst. smut 18+, minors go away. this feels very romantic to me. i loved writing this. i never intended to include smut in this actually, i find it challenging, but it felt like a great addition to the story. pls be nice :") [p in v sex, no protection—don't do this kids, oral!fem receiving, fingering, swearing] not proofread. 4.4K words -- i think this is also the longest fic I've written so far masterlist

It just finished raining, and the air feels sticky with heat and flowers. Robby's on his third day of vacation in Bali, and he's yet to do anything on this island they call paradise. No tours, no yoga by the beach, not even a swim.

It's beautiful here—almost painfully—but he keeps checking his phone like someone might page him. Old habits. No one’s paging him. Time zones are a buffer, and besides, he’s on the other side of the world. What could he possibly do?

He’s halfway through drinking from his coconut, perched on a wooden lounge chair by the beach, when he hears a voice beside him, amused and warm.

"You look like you’re trying to solve a math problem with your drink."

He looks up. You’re barefoot, sun-kissed, wearing loose cotton pants and a tank top, your hair a little wild from the humidity.

Robby blinks. "Is it that obvious?"

You motion to the seemingly permanent frown on his face.

Robby's seen you around the resort before. Always by yourself, with two books in one hand and a drink in the other. He thought about saying something multiple times, but always chickened out. Something about you felt... unapproachable. Not in an intimidating way, more in a you’re living fully and I’m not sure how to do that so I don't want to possibly ruin it for you way.

Now you both sit in silence, while Robby continues to check his phone again and sighs. That's when you hand him your book. "Here."

He blinks down at the cover. A Man Called Ove.

"One of my favorites. You should read it." You say, "Better than constantly checking your phone and regretting it a second later."

Robby snorts. You have a point.

"You lend books to strangers a lot?"

"If they look like they've been through some rough shit, yes."

That startles a laugh out of him—genuine, low, a little rusty. "I’m Michael. Robinavitch. You can call me Robby."

You offer your name in return, then nod toward the book. "Give it a chance. Let me know what you think."

"What makes you think I'll give your book back?"

You smile, stepping toward the path back to the resort. "I've seen you around the resort. And if you don't, I'll hunt you down."

You're feeling particularly exhausted today. One, because you just went out surfing for the entire day yesterday, but also because today, you were supposed to be walking down the aisle with the most beautiful dress, about to marry the love of your life. Instead, you're in a hotel room halfway across the world, alone, and feeling like shit.

Well, you suppose the day wasn't half bad. You finally managed to talk to the broody, quietly handsome guy who looks like he’s seen too much and somehow still comes off calm and steady. A smile tugs at your lips. He’s more charming than you expected.

Bali was not a place you thought you'd visit alone. You always imagined you'd be here with your ex-fiancé, drinking and watching the sunset. So you decide it's time to take care of yourself, wear that sundress you've been saving for a special occasion, and head to the resort's bar.

You sit down at your table, putting your book down and picking up the menu, when someone clears his throat, standing next to you.

Robby.

"This seat taken?"

You try to hide your smile. "Be my guest."

He smiles and sits across from you, putting his your book down on the table. He looks good—too good. He’s traded his usual loose t-shirt for a navy polo that clings in the right places, and linen pants that make his long legs look impossibly relaxed.

"You clean up nice." You say.

"You look beautiful." Robby counters, "Can I ask what's the occasion?"

You chuckle nervously, not ready to share the sad part of your life yet. Thankfully, you're saved by the waiter coming to take your order.

"Do you drink Rosé?" Robby asks after ordering your meals. And you nod, surprised. "Great, let's open a bottle of dry Rosé." He says to the waiter.

You raise your brows once the waiter leaves. "Didn't take you for a wine guy—let alone a Rosé? You're full of surprises, Michael."

"You sound like my mother when you call me like that." He groans.

"'Michael'?"

"Yes, and she also mocks my drink choices."

You laugh. "So what's the story?"

"A friend gifted me a dry Rosé one time as a joke. I didn’t want to waste it, so I drank it. Turns out, I liked it more than I wanted to admit. But keep that between us."

You hum, "Ah, yes, can't have you ruin your naturally broody aura."

"Me? Broody?" He snorts like it's ridiculous. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You absolutely are."

With the food almost immediately devoured, you're left with wine and each other's company. The ocean hums in the distance, with the breeze prickling your skin. Robby’s gone quiet, admiring the view, the half-full glass of rosé resting loosely in his fingers.

"So, how do you like the book so far?"

He exhales, tipping his head back. "I wasn’t ready to love it. But it... got to me."

You grin. "Ove grows on you, doesn’t he?"

"Yeah," Robby murmurs. "Grumpy bastard made me feel things I wasn’t in the mood to feel."

You laugh. "That's the point. He's angry at life, but still shows up for people. Even when he doesn’t want to."

Robby nods, quiet for a second. "I think I know what that feels like."

You glance at him, surprised by the honesty. His jaw is tense, but his eyes are soft. You wonder if you should ask—but something tells you this moment is already fragile, and curiosity might crack it too soon.

Instead, you wait.

"I'm an ER doc." Robby swirls the wine in his glass absentmindedly. "Lots of chaos. Long hours. Lots of traumas, deaths… I used to think I was built for this line of work. The pressure, the adrenaline... the fixing things. And sometimes I still do. But lately…"

You don’t speak. You let him go on, because he needs to.

He takes a deep breath. "Lately I’ve been wondering if it's all catching up with me. Like—I walk around carrying everyone else's worst days, and I don’t even notice the weight until I sit still." He continues. "I’ve seen kids come in with gunshots. Mothers who collapse from exhaustion. People screaming for someone to save them, and you just have to keep moving like it doesn’t get to you. Like you’re above it. But you’re not. Not really."

Robby then takes a sharp breath. "Sorry. I'm not usually this..."

You offer him a small smile. "Broody?"

That earns a faint smile, but it doesn’t erase the weariness from his expression.

You figured it's only fair you share your story, too.

You put your wine glass down, your finger tracing the rim. "I was supposed to get married today."

That catches him off guard. His eyes widen, gently. "Oh. Today? As in—today today?"

"Yeah," You laugh under your breath, "Booked the venue and everything. Until 6 months ago, I found out he was cheating on me with one of my bridesmaids. Classic."

"Prick," Robby mutters.

"Right? So I pulled the plug on the wedding, and I've been traveling the world ever since. Running away, I guess. I was so caught up in the relationship that I think I lost part of myself." You sigh. "So now, I'm re-finding myself. Yay."

Robby chuckles. "And how's it going so far?"

You smile, "Let's just say I'm glad I'm not spending today alone."

He mirrors your smile, lifting his glass to cheer. "Me too."

"Walk with me?" you ask, gesturing toward the beach after you've finished your wine.

Robby doesn’t hesitate. "Lead the way."

You both kick off your shoes by the beach entrance and walk slowly along the shore, the water brushing your feet gently. You can feel the wine in your system now. The salty air hits your skin and lets your hair flow freely. Robby has never seen anyone more beautiful. He's glad it's dark out now, or you would've seen him blush.

You glance at him, and he’s already looking at you. Half-lidded, faintly flushed from the wine and maybe something more.

"I don’t usually let myself relax like this." He murmurs.

"And yet here you are, walking barefoot on a beach with a stranger, wine-drunk and poetic." You laugh lightly.

"Stranger?" He repeats, stepping in front of you gently, making you stop.

"No?"

"Feels like I've known you longer." He smiles lazily.

Your heart kicks up a notch, not sure what to say, so you just smile, turning to look towards the sea. The breeze has picked up, cooler now that the sun has long dipped below the horizon. You cross your arms, trying not to shiver, but the goosebumps along your arms give you away.

Without a word, Robby steps behind you. You feel his warmth before you feel the touch—his hands gently brushing your arms, then slowly wrapping around your waist. His chest is solid and steady against your back, and you let yourself lean into it, just a little.

He’s quiet, but you can hear the soft rhythm of his breathing, feel it where your shoulders meet his. The sea hums in the distance, but all you can think about is how your heart is racing—and how you can feel his breath on your skin.

"You're unlike anyone I've ever met." He says.

You chuckle and glance up at him, suddenly meeting his eyes. "That's the Rosé talking."

"Maybe," he says, almost to himself. "Or maybe I just really want to kiss you."

Your breath catches. That weightless feeling flutters in your chest, and the world seems to narrow to just the space between your mouths. He waits for your permission—doesn’t lean in right away, doesn’t push. Just watches you, his fingers still resting lightly on your waist.

So you give in. You lean up and close the space between you. It's slow, exploring new ground, like you're testing the heat between you. Robby’s lips are soft, warm, and his beard grazes your skin in the most deliciously distracting way. His hand slips around your waist, pulling you closer as he deepens the kiss, and you find your fingers brushing the edge of his jaw.

The kiss lingers on your lips even after it ends, like you don't want it to be over. Robby pulls back just enough to look at you, still hazy, still drunk on the moment. His hand is still snug at your waist, like he’s afraid to let go too quickly.

"I don’t want to overstep," he whispers, "But if I asked you to come back with me… would that be okay?"

You hesitate for a second, because something about this feels different than just a vacation fling, but you can't talk about it yet. You don't want to.

"I was hoping you’d ask," you murmur against his lips.

That earns you a smile and another short make-out session that leaves you breathless.

"Are we leaving or what?" You ask in between kisses.

He chuckles, "So impatient."

He takes your hand, lacing his fingers with yours, and you walk together barefoot, tipsy, and a little giddy from everything that’s happened tonight. The resort glows softly in the distance, lanterns swaying with the wind.

Once inside his room, you walk in slowly as if it doesn't look exactly like yours. The mood shifts. Robby closes the door behind you, and for a second, neither of you says anything. You just look at each other in the dim light, the tension from earlier about to snap.

Robby takes the first step closer to you, dragging his finger to lift your chin so he can kiss you again. And again. And again. And you sigh into his arms, hands on his broad chest.

"You can stop me any time."

"I won't."

He kisses you again, deeper this time. His hands slip around your waist, then your back, and up to where the straps of your dress rest. You can feel your heart flip when he hooks it on his finger, slowly peeling it off your shoulder, as if giving you time to push him away, but teasing at the same time.

You let the strap fall down your arm, and the other one soon follows. Robby’s gaze follows the motion like he’s watching something sacred, like he's not sure if he's allowed to want this but can't help himself anyway.

His fingers trail over your now-bare shoulder, and you shiver, goosebumps forming on your skin.

You take his hand and slowly make your way towards the bed, sitting down and placing your hands on his waist. You tug at his shirt, hinting you want it off, and he obliges, the shirt gone in one swift motion.

"You’re beautiful," He groans as he leans down to lie on top of you. "God."

You memorize the feel of him: warm skin, a strong chest under your palms, the steady rhythm of his breath stuttering slightly when your hands roam lower to reach his belt. He lets you undo it. Lets you unbutton his pants and pull them down as he peppers kisses throughout your body.

You let out a soft moan when his hand trails up your naked torso, hesitantly, ever so gently caressing your breast, teasing your nipple with his finger, while his mouth makes its way down to latch onto the other.

"Fuck, Robby." Your hand goes up to tug on his hair, earning you a lustful groan, while your other hand grabs onto his arm as an anchor.

Your head is spinning, and something is itching. You buck your hips up to meet his, and now his hand is pinning your waist down.

"You really need to work on your patience." He teases and stops kissing you.

"Can you really blame me?" You daringly take one of his hands, resting it on the slick heat between your thighs.

"Fuck." Robby closes his eyes, pressing his thumb to where he can feel your clitoris is, the sensitive bud poking out and pushing against your panties.

You throw your head back, hips bucking against his hand.

Robby slowly slips the little piece of clothing off, and you watch as his fingers smooth over your slit. He keeps his eyes on you as he lowers himself. You swallow as you anticipate what he's about to do.

"So fucking wet." He murmurs, leaving kitten licks on your clit.

You can only moan while he has his way with you. His hands are holding your thighs open for him, and you try your best to keep eye contact, but it's only making you falter faster. His eyes are dark, lustful, hungry, and you feel like you could cum just from watching him.

He gently sucks on your swollen bud, and you lose your mind when he inserts one finger. Then two. Your slick makes it easy for his fingers to move around and find your sensitive spot, he found it almost immediately, he can tell by the way your eyes roll back and how you clench around him every time.

"Robby—" You sigh with pleasure—a warning, bucking your hips again, and this time he lets you, feeling you're close to the edge. His fingers move expertly in and out of you, curling just at the right spot. Your breaths become erratic, following the pace of Robby's fingers. "Come, sweetheart." He says, almost as a command, and your body arches moments after, breath catching in your throat as waves of pleasure crash through you.

Robby doesn't immediately stop. He pumps his fingers a few more times until you're trembling away, and with a proud smirk, he pulls his fingers out, licks them to taste you—making sure you're watching—before hovering on top of you to kiss you.

You can taste yourself in his mouth, and you whimper, feeling him pressing against your cunt. You're still sensitive, but it feels like you're desperately hungry for more. More of Robby.

Robby tries to pace himself, he doesn't want to rush. He wants to cherish this, drag this out, because he doesn't want this to end. He wants to keep feeling your plush lips against his, your soft touches, your hands in his hair, your body pressed firmly against his.

"Robby," you whisper, your voice barely more than air, "I want you. Please."

And he loses all of his resolve.

Robby bites his lip as he sees your disheveled state. Lips swollen, hair a mess, hooded and hungry eyes, how can he say no to you?

He takes his boxers off, freeing his cock and letting it spring back up to his stomach. You gasp at the sight. He's gonna kill you. First with his gentleness, second with his cock, because you don't think you can handle that.

"Fuck off." You unintentionally comment.

Robby lets out a laugh. "Relax."

"Are you kidding?"

He just shakes his head and hovers over you again, but this time you push him over so he's sitting and you're on top, your sopping wet cunt sitting on his aching cock.

"Sweetheart, you're killing me." He closes his eyes and groans as you drag your hips along his length.

You decide neither of you would last any more teasing, so you take him in your hands, covered in your wetness and his precum, and push him against your folds. Your walls squeeze him as he bottoms out inside you, and you have to hold still for a while.

Robby's hands grip your waist and you're sure it'll leave marks in the morning, but you don't really care. You lift your hips slowly, leaving just the tip before slamming yourself back down, eliciting a moan from both of you.

You're set on a pace, slow, steady, allowing you to have control, but it's not enough. You groan and bury your face in Robby's neck. "Robby…"

"Hm?" He teases, like he knows what you're about to ask for.

"Please," You whisper. "I need…"

He pulls you from hiding your face, a confident smirk on his. But he decides to be merciful this time. Chuckling, he moves so you're now flat on your back again, legs tucked up and pressed onto your sides.

"Tell me if you want to stop, okay?"

You manage to let out a giggle. "Robby, don't worry—" your words are immediately cut off when he reinserts himself, the position makes it feel completely different from before. "—Holy fuck."

Robby starts slow, letting you fully adjust before feeling you clench around him, and he picks up the speed. You feel like the air is knocked out of your lungs, only able to take short breaths as Robby brutally drives into you, making you feel all of him.

You can't even moan anymore, your mouth just hangs open as you put your arms around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss you can't properly do. Strings of fuck—Robby—so deep—fuck—you feel so good are the only things you can muster as you feel your high approaching again.

You couldn't even warn him when your orgasm hits you. Your nails just dig into his shoulder as your eyes roll back, back arching as far as it could go, and walls spasming around him. He grunts, nibbling on your neck as his hips stutter, not expecting you to get so tight.

"Fuck." He moans as he spills inside you, staying still for a minute to catch his breath and make sure you're okay.

You're still panting and twitching under him, eyes still closed, but your hands draw small circles on the back of his head.

"'M gonna pull out now." He warns and you hum, moaning again when he does.

He stands up to get a towel to clean you up, "Don't go anywhere." He jokes.

You chuckle. "Don't think I can."

The room is quiet now, only the sound of the AC and the steady rhythm of your breaths can be heard. You're both tangled in the sheets, your leg draped over his, skin still warm from everything that just passed between you. Robby lies on his side, one arm wrapped around your waist, fingertips gently grazing your back in slow, absent-minded strokes. You’re tucked into his chest, your head resting in the curve of his shoulder, your fingers drawing lazy circles on his chest.

Eventually, he presses a kiss to your hair, his lips lingering there.

"You're kind of amazing," He mutters.

"Kind of?" You raise a brow.

He huffs a quiet laugh, "I’m trying not to let it go to your head."

You shift, propping your chin on his chest so you can look at him. His hair is tousled, his eyes soft, still heavy-lidded. "Too late."

He smiles and presses another kiss to your lips.

"Do you always kiss like that on vacation?" You tease.

He chuckles, "Only when I meet someone who gives me their favorite book."

"Pretty exclusive club."

"You're the only member."

You nuzzle closer into him, smiling into his chest. "I'm not gonna lie," You start, "This all feels a little surreal. I never thought I'd meet someone like you. You make all of this feel… right."

"I feel the same way." He admits, "I want to pause everything and just stay in our little bubble."

The silence stretches comfortably for a moment. And then, you get a gut-wrenching realization. "Oh. Right. You said you're only here for a week."

He nods, voice tighter, his hand still tracing along your side. "Yeah."

"So we’ve got, what… four more?"

"Mm-hm." He pulls you close to him, perhaps it's a way so you can't see his sullen expression. "Four more days in the bubble."

And it's hardly enough time.

The next few days blur in sunlight and ocean breeze, you take Robby on winding motorbike rides, wild ATV tours through the jungle, surfing lessons where you both wipe out laughing, and quiet moments snorkeling with whale sharks. You try to make as many memories as you can, all the while masking the dread of his departure. And at night, it’s always the same—his touch like a promise, your body moving with his in the dark, like you're both pretending the end isn't coming.

You both made the silent decision not to say where you’re from. Maybe if you find out he lives just hours away, it’ll make this too real. Too painful. Better to keep things suspended in this bubble, this almost-fairytale. Better to let it end on a hopeful note, instead of a practical-hurtful one.

You’ve told yourself this is just a fling. That some people come into your life for a reason, and maybe Robby was never meant to stay. Maybe he’s just a beautiful lesson in loving deeply and letting go.

You try not to cry in front of him. You want to make the goodbye easier than it feels, to shield him and yourself from the ache that's already blooming in your chest. You try to seem light, even when it’s breaking you.

It’s not easy for Robby, either. If he could, he’d offer you his world—just to wake up beside you every morning and fall asleep with you tucked against his chest. But it wouldn’t be fair. He could never ask you to upend your life for him, no matter how much he wants to.

And maybe that’s the hardest part, he wants to do this right. He wants to believe this is more than just a vacation high. But what if his reality—grueling shifts, emotional exhaustion, his work-life imbalance—ends up driving you away? There’s so much he wants to say, but maybe silence is the merciful choice.

It's the night before he leaves, and you can't say goodbye. But it’s there, hanging unspoken in the humid air between kisses, in the way you cling to each other just a little tighter. You talk quietly about nothing at all, and everything at once—movies you haven’t seen, food you miss, a joke about whale sharks that makes you both laugh a little too hard at 1AM.

At one point, while tracing lazy circles on his chest, he asks, "Should I go before you wake up?"

You don’t answer right away, but then nod. Robby can see your lips quivering slightly.

He pulls you closer to him, but neither of you falls asleep quickly. You make love again, slower this time, as if trying to memorize each other’s skin. As if trying to stretch the hours. You fall asleep tangled together, heartbeats in sync.

By the time the soft blue of dawn creeps up, Robby’s already awake. He moves quietly, getting dressed in the soft light, careful not to wake you. Before he leaves, he pauses by your bedside. You’re still curled under the covers, looking peaceful and beautiful.

He looks at you like he’s trying to remember everything.

Then he pulls something from his bag—a folded piece of paper—and tucks it gently into the book you gave him. His fingers linger on the cover for a beat too long.

He leaves without a sound.

You wake hours later to an empty room, your chest already aching before your mind catches up. You sit up slowly, the sheets cold beside you. You scan everything in your room, maybe Robby had left something behind that you could keep as a memento.

Then you see the book. You open it to find the note inside:

"You changed something in me. Thank you for letting me be yours, even just for a moment."

And that’s when you finally let yourself cry.

------

part two for a reunion is out!

#michael robby robinavitch x you #michael robinavitch x female reader #michael robby robinavitch #michael robinavitch x reader #robby x reader #robby x female reader #robby robinavitch #dr robby x reader #robby robinavitch angst #michael robinavitch x you #michael robinavitch smut #robby robinavitch smut #dr robby angst #robby robinavitch x fem reader

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teaboot · 6 months ago

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do you think i'll ever get to a place in my life where i'm actually a good person and i don't keep getting bombarded with people telling me all the ways i'm doing things wrong. will i ever stop feeling like i'm faking being good and i'm actually a despicable person deep down inside like there's something rotten and irremovable in the very core of me. i feel sick

As a recovering self-hater I have a few things that have been helping

Truly shitty people are typically, in my experience, not chronically preoccupied with anxieties that they need to be better. It seems to be the 100% rock-solid certainty that everything you ever do is selfless that you need to watch out for.

Motive only matters in court. If you donate 30 hours a week to charity so you can tell yourself you're a good person or you donate that same time because you genuinely enjoy helping people, that's still 30 hours, imo. At that point the argument is more philosophical than anything. The help is still happening.

Nobody can read your mind. You can be the bitterest, cattiest, most judgemental and mean-spirited motherfucker alive, but as long as you don't let your feelings hurt others, you're golden. In fact, I personally think you should get extra credit for effort. Swimming upriver ain't easy

None of us are selfless by nature. That's okay. We all crave attention, and validation, and comfort, and reward. That self-interest is a survival skill. It's not going anywhere and I don't think it should. The key is moderation, self control, and consideration for others.

The loudest voice in your head probably isn't yours. Survivors of all kinds of abuse- and all abuse is psychological to varying extremes- often keep their critic's narrative in their head. That voice that says you're awful- is that something you'd say to someone else? No? Then try to figure out who said it to you. They were probably an asshole. The voice that answers it it probably your own. Listen to that one

No, you will not feel like this forever. It's a pain in the ass, but dedicating time and thought into ignoring that inner critic and elevating your positive impulses is effective.

Some things I've done myself that seem to help:

Do some research on cognitive behavioral therapy and cognitive reprogramming. These are easier to exercise with a therapist but once you figure out the steps to follow you can do them on your own, too.

When you do something good, write it down for yourself. Keep a dated journal, either on paper or in your phone. When you find yourself in a pit of self-loathing, you can go back and remind yourself of all the good you've done. If this is hard, try listing 3 good things you did at the end of each day. Anything from picking up a scrap of litter to running a food drive.

Long post, but really, the best thing I can say is this:

Aything that takes effort is worth celebrating, even if that effort is minimal or that task is considered small.

At the end of the day, "bare minimum" isn't working a full-time job and eating three meals a day, cleaning up after yourself and doing it with a smile- bare minimum is nothing. Bare minimum is laying on the floor motionless for 24 hours and filter-feeding like a sea sponge. And if even that's difficult for you, then it's not your bare minimum, is it?

There's a lot of cruel, inconsiderate, uncaring people in the world, only out for themselves at the expense of others, and even if you think you're one of them, giving a shit about doing better still puts you a mile ahead of most.

Try not to worry too terribly. If you're thinking about it, you're probably doing fine👍

#Teaboot #We working on it

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shellshocklove · 7 months ago

Text

snapshot | old man!logan

pairing/AU: old man!logan howlett x female!reader

summary: short on money for rent, your joke about starting an only fans account, to earn some extra cash, goes over logan's head. but when an accident with charles puts your life in danger, logan takes you up on your offer.

warnings: this is an 18+ fic so mdni! friends with benefits vibes who are also idiots in love, implied age gap, swearing, mentions and drinking of alcohol, use of pet names, logan's a bit of a grumpy dick, sex work, logan can't use a phone, logan can carry reader but he's also extremely strong, smut, praise kink, a little size kink (basically logan has a big dick), dom!logan, logan's got a dirty mouth, a little dacryphilia, sloppy blow job, facial, cum play, no use of y/n

a/n: a little disclaimer. i actually have no idea how OF work i only read the wikipedia page, so i've taken some liberties with it to fit it with the plot lol. the idea for the reader as charles' caretaker is inspired by @joelsgoldrush's fic never is a promise <- incredible fic that everyone should read! and also a big thank you to @guiltyasdave for all the encouragement on this fic!! <333 happy reading! <3

main masterlist / ao3

The coffee tasted sour on his tongue as he waited, engine running on empty, but the whiskey kept his throat warm. Behind the apartment complex the sun crawled up the horizon and split the the dark asphalt in pieces with streaks of blinding sunlight. The street lights shut off just as you walked out, the rickety door slamming shut behind you.

Watching you round the front of the limousine Logan pulled his seat forward, his rough hand grabbing the wheel as his left foot tapped impatiently on the footrest. A tickle in his throat had him greet you with a cough, and he brought his fist to his mouth.

"Morning to you too," you said, voice laced with sarcasm.

"Don't fuckin' slam the door like that– I've told you a thousand times," Logan grunted back and put the car in drive.

This was routine at this point. He picked you up in the morning after driving all night, and dropped you off again in the evening before he started his shift. Employing you took a large wad of cash out of his pocket, but at least he didn't have to worry about Charles being taken care of. You weren't a registered nurse or anything, not someone who'd had all the right references and education, but you needed money and didn't ask questions, and that had been perfect for Logan. He'd hired you about a year ago, and everything after had been routine.

When you didn't say anything back, only shifted your weight in the seat and leaned your head against the window, it pulled at something inside Logan. He couldn't deny you were a beautiful woman. He liked the way your nose curved, how soft your skin felt against his cheek every time you'd given him a reluctant hug, and he liked the way you smelled. It was primal, and in another life Logan would've had you in his bed already, but in this life, Logan was done with beautiful women.

Still early enough for the roads to be empty, Logan pushed the speed limit as he waited for you to speak – to finally say something trivial like you did every morning – some song you'd just discovered, or the plot twist in the reality program you watched every night, or how they were out of your favorite yogurt at the grocery store. He'd reply with a grunt, or with nothing at all, just letting you talk.

Out of the corner of his eye, Logan noticed how you picked at the skin around your nails, and when the sharp metallic smell of blood filled his nostrils, he heaved a heavy sigh.

"What's wrong with you?" he grumbled. A lilt of annoyance coated the words, and Logan hated how your silence had affected him. His harsh tone didn't seem to bother you, and the realization cut like a knife; biting down, Logan's jaw clenched.

"It's nothing."

Logan had to hold back the scoff he wanted to let out, "Clearly it's somethin', kid."

Finally, a reaction out of you. Pushing yourself to sit up straight, you let out a sigh as you turned your head to look at him. "My landlord raised my rent again… I'm thinking about how I'm gonna pay rent this month. I'm gonna be a few hundred bucks short," you told him.

Oh.

Gripping the wheel a little tighter, Logan couldn't help himself from asking, "You tellin' me you're quittin'?"

He couldn't blame you, he thought he paid you a fair wage, but it seemed that everything had gotten more and more expensive lately. The rides had been few and far between and the tank of gas didn't take him as far anymore. The weekends kept him afloat, along with bachelor and bachelorette parties, prom nights, and knuckleheaded business men too fancy to drive a regular cab to the airport. Had it not been for Charles' medication he'd give you a raise. Logan wasn't stupid, he knew he couldn't do this without you.

"No," you shook your head, "I wouldn't do that to Charles."

But you'd do it to me, Logan thought and let the words unsaid hang in the air between you as he pulled onto the dirt road leading to the smelting plant.

"I'll figure something out," you said, before a smirk teased over your face, that smile breaking forth the old you hidden behind this morning's melancholia. "Maybe I should start an Only Fans or something," you laughed.

"What's that?" Logan grunted, too focused on keeping his foot soft on the brake and avoiding the potholes to hear your joking lilt.

"Only Fans?" you questioned, one eyebrow raised in surprise before your eyes softened at the corners. "It's a social media platform for porn," you explained, "It's subscription based so you make an account and people pay a monthly subscription to see your content."

Porn?

Slowing down to a stop outside the gate, Logan put the limousine in park, the engine still humming.

"And how's that gonna help you pay rent?" Logan wondered, turning slightly in his seat to finally get a good look at you.

You were quiet for a second, eyes searching his face before the sound of a distant train had you looking away, almost bashful. "It's ridiculous," you muttered, "I don't have anyone to do it with anyway."

Before Logan could cough up an answer your hand found the passenger door, and a gust of sharp desert air seeped in. "I'll figure out the rent somehow… Sleep well, Logan," you told him, a wistful smile coating your features, before you climbed out the limousine and opened the gate. His eyes stayed glued to you as he drove past you, flicking to watch you close the gate after him in the rearview mirror. When you headed for the tank without your usual wave, a frown pulled at his face.

Stepping out of the limousine, Logan watched you leave, watched the way your hips swayed with new interest. Reaching into the inner pocket of his suit jacket, he found his flask – desperate to quench this fresh thirst with the last sip of burning alcohol, smoothing his dry throat.

The cold coffee left a brown splatter as he discarded it; the coffee seeped into the sand. Inside the steeled walls he now called 'home' reeked of dust, like stepping into an antique shop, and Logan couldn't hold back his cough. Walking deeper into the plant with heavy steps, the old trinkets and equipment told a story of time passed.

So much time had passed.

Hanging his suit jacket over the back of one of the chairs Logan started working the small buttons on his shirt, shrugging it off before tossing it gently over the ironing board. Food would have to wait, he already knew the fridge wasn't stocked. Instead, he found the bottle of whiskey he'd left on the table, grabbing it by the neck before he took a large swig.

The whiskey helped, at least that's what he told himself, but his senses never dulled enough and the weight never got any easier. Sitting down heavy on the bed, Logan drank long and hard, but he couldn't keep his thoughts from trailing to you and what you’d muttered. I don't have anyone to do it with anyway.

What was it you'd called it? Just Fans? No, that wasn't right… Only Fans.

Logan remembered the first tape he ever saw; it had been the 70s, a summer in California, at some party he'd been forced to by a beautiful woman. The tape had been projected onto a wall in the living room, like background noise no one paid attention to. It had been lewd and obnoxious, but no one had seemed to mind, high as kites and drunk as skunks. Soon, Logan hadn't minded either, whisking away the woman to make his own private porn in one of the bedrooms.

Behind the woven fabric of his slacks, his cock twitched at the thought, but it wasn't the porn playing at the party, or the memory of the woman he'd fucked that filled his mind, it was you.

It was innocent at first; the way your front teeth nibbled on your bottom lip as you pondered your next move in a game of chess opposite Charles, how your eyes sparkled under the low streetlights as he drove you home at the end of the day, and how your perfume had filled the limousine and clung to his skin that one time you'd left your jacket in the passenger seat. His hand came down to rub over the growing bulge in his pants, soothing the growing ache with a hard press, pulling a rumbling moan from his chest.

Soon the innocent memories of you turned to filth. Logan's mind filled with images of you underneath him, his cock buried balls deep in your wet cunt as you withered for him. Then, as quickly as the first image had come, another took its place: of you on your knees with your mouth stuffed with his cock, gagging around him and swallowing him down like a good girl.

With each rubbing press to his cock, Logan couldn't shake the rolling images of you. It was wrong, never had he thought about you like that, never had he wanted to think of you like that, but once he'd started, he couldn't stop.

Working his fingers, it was almost instinctual as they moved to undo the button of his pants. His hand dug into his front, large hand palming himself with hard presses, as his cock hardened. Trailing his fingers upwards, stopping right above the elastic band of his underwear, his hand so close to wrapping around himself, a hint of shame pulled him out of the gutter.

He shouldn’t think about you like that.

Pulling away, like he'd burnt his hand, Logan let out a deep grumbling sigh. Leaning back on both hands, he let his head fall back as he squeezed his eyes shut. In his pants his cock throbbed with need. It had been a long time since he'd had a woman, so long since he'd felt the velvet walls of a tight cunt wrapped around him, too long since he'd felt like he wasn't a monster, if only for a few blissful seconds.

Bringing the neck of the whiskey bottle to his mouth, Logan drowned his need in temporary numbness, focusing instead on how the warmth filled his chest and dulled every ache. Falling back with a heavy bounce, he nursed the bottle in the crook of his thick arm, letting his eyes fall shut.

Logan couldn't remember the last time he wasn't tired, couldn't remember when his body didn't ache with every move. His veins bled through with rust and alcohol, and he hoped the latter made the corrosion run smoother.

His eyes fluttered shut, and the same flashing images filled the darkness. Years of fighting, years of killing, all the people he'd lost. It was the same show every night, and every night it tore a piece of him away, of his joy.

The bottom of the whiskey bottle clanked sharply as it hit the floor and a cough got stuck in his throat. It ripped and jerked in his chest, and he keeled over himself, fighting against it. When his head hit the pillow again, his eyes didn't fall shut, they trailed the walls, found the holes of blinding daylight seeping in through the holes in the corrugated metal sheets, and his thoughts found you again.

Curiosity got the best of him, and a hand dug into the back pocket of his pants for his phone. The small icons and text blended together as the screen lit up his face. When Logan held the phone a little further away the screen only got blurrier. With an exasperated sigh, he sat up, his body protesting as he grabbed his suit jacket off the dining chair, digging into the inner pocket for his new glasses.

Slumping down in the chair, his glasses resting at the tip of his nose, he tapped at his phone. He rarely used the thing outside of work, but suddenly he tapped at something that made it speak to him.

"I'm sorry I didn't quite get that," his phone said.

"Hello?" Logan spoke back.

Again his phone lit up and the voice answered. "Hello, what can I help you with?"

"What is Only Fans?"

……..

Fitting a brittle leaf between your thumb and pointer finger, you studied Charles' plants. The table always looked a mess after he'd tended to them, dirt spilled onto the table and tools thrown haphazardly about. Cupping your hand, you brushed the dirt into your hand, and discarded it into a pot you thought needed it.

Flicking your wrist, you looked at the time again. It was getting late. Usually by this time, Logan would have you halfway home already. Resorting to cleaning up the tools, you decided to give him half an hour before you'd start looking for him. He never slept in, although you could clearly see he needed it.

Logan wasn't a man to show weakness, not to anybody, rather, he showed his teeth, barking and fighting against you or anyone who dared speak to him. It had intimidated you at first, and you'd held your tongue, afraid he'd bite your head off, but in time you'd come to realize that his gruff demeanor was just that, a façade.

Charles on the other hand, senile and more and more forgetful, was the opposite of his son. On good days he beat you at chess while he told you stories about 'the good ol' days'. His imagination was vast, telling stories about the X-Men like he knew them, like he'd been a part of them, and especially by nightfall his stories would become even wilder. He'd tell you about his 'abilities', how he could read minds. He'd tell stories about Logan too, tragic ones, that if it hadn't been for the stack of comics you'd found, you would've almost said they were true.

Finding the chair by Charles' bed, you watched him deep in sleep. A heaviness could be felt in your chest as you thought about how his good and lucid days had seemed to get fewer and fewer lately. You found yourself having the same conversations with him, and once again today, he didn't want to get out of bed, telling you his head hurt.

You wished you knew more of his condition, but Logan wouldn't tell you anything other than that Charles suffered from seizures, and if he didn't get his medication the consequences would be great. The way Logan had said it to you, his voice sharp and strict, it sounded serious, and in the year you'd taken care of Charles, you'd been diligent with his medication. Not once had you experienced a seizure with him.

Reaching over him, your palm found Charles' cheek. Stroking your hand lightly over his face, you felt the prickling stubble against your skin. His comment earlier about his head, had you worried. Logan usually supplied you with Charles' medication – from where you didn't know – there hadn't been any doctor's visits or health checks from what you could recall.

Maybe Logan didn't have insurance? It was your only explanation, a reason for why he'd found a more creative way of caring for his father.

In a way you respected it, hacked an unknowing crack in Logan’s harsh façade– he cared. Only respect didn’t keep you from wanting Logan to tell you more, to open up, but wringing out more than a grunt from him was difficult. Instead, you made sure to let him know when you were running low on the pills and injections, and usually by the next day he'd hand over a new bottle.

Stroking over Charles’ cheek, another chill of nervousness ran up your back where a worry tugged at your neck.

Yesterday, after a week had passed since you'd asked Logan for more medication. He’d told you not to worry, that he’d have the pills soon, but running so low you'd had to resort to rationing Charles' doses.

Pulling back your hand, your eyes found your watch again, but before you could register the time, Charles stirred beside you. Then, an excruciating blinding pain permeated through your body. It rang in your ears and had your body shaking in agony, but at the same time you couldn't move. You wanted to scream, let out the pain that froze you to the chair, but no noise came out. When your vision started to go foggy, you thought that this must be what dying was like, but never would you have thought dying would feel this painful.

Through the ringing in your ears, a heavy creak of the tank door could be heard– or was it a trick your brain played on you in your last moments? Like the broad figure moving closer, slowly, too slowly, like it walked through water. You couldn't see who it was, but you didn't have too. Surely, your brain showing you Logan in your last moments, must've been a trick. The figure hovered over Charles, maybe it feasted on him first, reaped his soul as an appetizer before it would have you.

And just as quickly as the pain had taken you, the pain stopped.

Heaving for breath, your body fell forward, it was like the air couldn't fill your lungs quick enough. Two large palms cupped your cheek, tilting your head to Logan's frowning face. If you didn't know better you thought he looked scared.

"You okay?" he barked, your head rolling in his hands, "Hey! Bub, look at me."

You found the strength to nod your head, but Logan seemed far from convinced. He swiped his thumb over your cupid's bow, a flash of red coating his thumb and his face turned to stone, his frown so deep it looked chiseled.

Then he moved with an uncharacteristic haste, hiking you up in his arms and carrying you out of the tank. Closing your eyes, you tried to put your brain back together the way it used to be, but everything felt scrambled. When your back hit the soft mattress of a bed, you finally opened them.

Over you, Logan's large form hovered. He said something to you, but you only registered his mouth moving, your eyes glued to his pink soft lips, and your vision cleared completely.

"Drink this," he ordered, shoving a glass of water in your hands, and just like that your hearing had snapped back. "'m gonna go check on Charles– don't fucking move."

With no energy left in your body, you wouldn't dream of it. Logan watched you take a careful sip, the water lukewarm, before he left you in what you finally realized was his bed. The first sip nourished your dry throat, like you’d walked for miles in the desert without tasting as much as a drop. Surging forward, you chugged the rest of the water before you fell back against his pillow, clutching the glass in the crook of your elbow.

The smell of him on his sheets overwhelmed your weakened mind; a deep heady smell with a warmth to it, woven through with the heaviness of man. It soothed your mushy muscles, helping release the tension in your body.

The time passed differently now, fast and slow at the same time, and after an eternity and a second Logan was back. The weight of him where he sat down at the edge of the bed, had your whole body tipping towards him. His large palm found your cheek again, the rough pads of his fingers soothing over the skin.

"You doin' okay?" he asked, his deep voice filtering through a hint of worry.

"W-what happened to him– to m-me?" you managed to croak out.

Logan's heavy hand didn't move away when the furrow between his eyebrows deepened, the one that seemed to be a permanent feature on his face.

"He had a seizure," he told you, like it was obvious, taking the glass of water from your hands,

He must've caught the way your face turned, the confusion that flitted across it, one that spelled 'seizures don't affect other people'.

"Listen," he started, drawing back his hand, "There’s no other way of explainin' it to you other than tellin' you that all those stories he's told you about him– about me… they're all true."

The frown that deepened over your face at his words, must've challenged the permanent one over Logan's face. "W-what? The stories about the X-Men?"

"Yes, the X-Men– Is he talkin' a hole through your head about anything else?"

"No, but… there aren't any more mutants."

"Not new ones,” he sighed, “But we're old, sweetheart– the last there is." His voice went quieter and quieter as he spoke, a hint of sadness eating the words, before his palm found your cheek again. "You see… Charles he's a very powerful mutant, and years ago he started a school for mutants–"

"–I know all of that already Logan– he told me," you cut him off, "I never believed him, I thought he was just confused– the stories they–"

"–I know, bub," this time he cut you off, but he let the next words linger on his tongue. Drawing back his hand, his eyes found the wall behind the bed. "I never meant for you to get hurt– it's my fault. If he gets his medication he's fine, but… you ain't the only one who's a few hundred dollars short– it's been a slow month."

Before you had a chance to reply, Logan rose on his feet. "The seizures messes with your brain, so get some rest. I'm gonna get his medication, and I'll wake ya in the mornin'." Logan didn't wait for you to protest before he grabbed the car keys off the table, and left you alone in his bed.

Outside the moon climbed the sky, and the new darkness, along with your scrambled brain, had your eyelids feeling heavier and heavier.

……..

"Wake up, sweetheart."

Logan's gruff voice pulled you from a dreamless sleep; a sleep like you'd just closed your eyes. Blinking, your heavy eyelids pulled shut just as quickly as you'd opened them, leaving you with a snapshot of Logan's body hovering over you. You hummed, sleep coating your brain, while your body felt like you'd put it through the wringer at the gym.

"It's mornin'."

You tried again, blinking your eyes open with more success. Logan's black suit jacket was nowhere to be seen, instead he adorned a white tank top. Letting your gaze roll over him, you noticed the scars etched into his skin, so many scattered up and down his strong arms, and suddenly the memories of last night filtered back into your brain.

"Logan," you whispered so low even you weren't sure you’d heard it.

"I'm takin' you home, alright? I'll watch him today," he told you.

When Logan told you something, he meant it. Leaving you in his bed, it was like a replay of last night as he grabbed the car keys and black suit jacket off the table.

Slowly, you sat up and leaned on your elbows, letting the world spin for a minute. Your clothes from yesterday clung to your skin, and you felt both cold and sweaty as you got out of bed.

With each step you took every muscle ached, but somehow you managed to walk out the door. The burning light of the morning sun blinded you, and with one hand raised you shielded your eyes from the harshness while you walked closer to the humming impatient motor of Logan's limousine. Just as you'd sunk into the leather seat and managed to shut the door behind you, Logan stepped on the gas, and the smelting plant vanished in the rearview window.

When you'd finally left the dirt road behind and hit the highway, you cracked the window ever so slightly – the morning air blowing away the last of your tiredness. The closer you got to the city, the more your stomach growled. You hadn't had a thing to eat since lunch yesterday, the aftermath of Charles’ seizure knocking you out before dinner– you needed something to eat.

"Can we stop here?" you asked and pointed at a sign advertising a diner off the next exit.

"I'm drivin' you home," Logan replied, his eyes glued to the road.

"Logan, please, I'm starving," you begged with a pout.

A beat passed, his fingers tapping over the wheel as he weighed his options, then his eyes found yours where they lingered. Staring back, you didn't know what to do. Logan wasn't a man that said yes, he liked things done his way. You bit down on your bottom lip, showing off your front teeth like a silent 'please' written over your face, and Logan huffed.

The loud buzz of conversation hit you first when you stepped into the packed diner, Logan in tow. Waiters ran back and forth between the booths lining the windows, taking breakfast orders and pouring coffee, and at the sound of the bell as the door swung shut behind you, one of them looked up at you.

"Seat yourselves," she said with a smile as golden as the syrup poured over hotcakes, "I'll be with you in a jiffy."

Walking deeper into the diner, you found an empty booth in a quiet corner. Logan seemed pleased, never too keen on people, and after what you'd come to know after last night, you could understand his hesitation.

Logan. The Wolverine.

You remembered the comics from when you were a kid, remembered this one kid in your class in elementary school that had been obsessed with them, reading every issue and Wolverine had been his favorite. He was a scientist now, last you heard, and here you sat opposite the comic character himself.

"Mornin', what can I get you guys?" the waitress asked, pulling up to your table.

"Um," you grabbed at the laminated menu in front of you, your eyes scanning over the breakfast items. Everything looked good, your stomach growling loud as you took in the pictures, but then again you didn't think you'd ever been this hungry before.

"Just coffee f'me, ma'am," Logan grunted.

"Could I get a stack of the blueberry pancakes… and a coffee for me too, please?" you ordered, watching the waitress with the name tag 'Stacy' write down your order.

"That'll be all for you guys this morning?" she smiled.

"Yes, thank you," you returned her smile.

"Alright, I'll be back in a second with your coffees."

While you waited for your pancakes, Logan wasn't much company. He sipped his coffee, black and piping hot, as he leaned against the corner of the booth, legs spread wide, watching the people coming and going. In the silence between you, you decided to study him while you sipped your own coffee. He must've felt your gaze over him, from the way he clenched his jaw, but he never turned his head to look at you, instead he let you look.

When your pancakes finally arrived, you dug in immediately. Fresh, hot and deliciously pillow-y and soft, it was the best thing you'd had in a while. The blueberries weren't too sweet, cutting through the sweetness of the pancakes with a tangy taste, while the bitter taste of your coffee woke you up and filled you with new energy.

"So," Logan suddenly spoke up, almost making the piece of pancake you were chewing on go down the wrong pipe. "How you feelin'?"

"Like I'm having the worst hangover in human history," you joked, "But better now after some food and caffeine."

Logan only hummed, turning his head back to people watching as you ate your pancakes. His silence had a frown work over your features when you placed your knife and fork down to sip on your coffee. He'd been so quiet all morning, which in truth wasn't new, but there was something about him now, something about the way his scowl dug a little deeper into his skin that had you asking:

"What are you thinking about?"

"Nothin'," he answered, curt and to the point.

"Clearly it's something," you pried with a tilt of your head.

Another beat passed, before he leaned forward, a cough getting stuck in his throat. It sounded worse than it was, he'd told you once. So, you sipped your coffee, your eyes flitting away like you needed to give him privacy.

"I've been thinkin' about your proposal," he finally said, and you felt your eyebrows pull together in a frown.

"Wait?" your eyes found his, "What proposal?"

"About that subscription thing– the porn," he waved his hand, and leaned back again.

"Only Fans?" you asked, keeping your voice low, "It was just a joke, Logan."

"Well, maybe it's an idea for the both of us. I need money for Charles' medication, and you need money for rent– it'll just be us earnin' a little extra on the side, a win-win situation."

Letting his words sink in, you mulled over his idea in your brain. It wasn't like you weren't attracted to Logan, in truth, you'd wanted him to fuck you for a while now, but it had only been a fantasy, one to conjure forth late at night when you slipped your hand into your panties. To have it become a reality, served up by Logan himself on a silver platter, you'd never imagined.

How could you say no?

"Okay," you said, your voice breathy as what you'd just agreed to settled in your stomach. Having a little more cash in your account every month wouldn't hurt, and getting dick regularly sounded just as nice, it had been too long. "I'm in."

Logan only replied with a curt nod accompanied by an approving grunt, "Now eat your pancakes so we can get goin'."

………

"Cold feet?"

With the limousine parked outside your apartment building, a week's worth of anticipation came to a head. You and Logan hadn't really talked much in the days passed since the diner; Logan's main interest more in you feeling better after experiencing Charles' powers for the first time. He'd let you have a few days off, to heal up, to which you'd taken the opportunity to do some research and set up an Only Fans profile. Currently it was blank, but tonight that would change.

"No," you shook your head, telling true. "You?" you asked, turning in your seat to face Logan.

Logan eyes darted across your face. He never looked at you like that, and for a moment the oddity of the situation, of what you were about to do, settled in your stomach.

"No," Logan finally decided, and reached for the door handle, “Let’s get it over with before it gets too late.”

At his movement, you reached forward and grabbed his forearm, "Wait!"

With a grunt, Logan turned. "What?" he asked, his eyes settling on you with an eyebrow raised.

"I-I have an idea," you told him, and you didn't know why you stumbled over your words. With your hand still wrapped around his arm, his eyes fell to your touch, lingering before they found yours again.

"I was thinking–" you started, retracing your hand, "Well actually… I just restarted taking birth control and I wanted to settle into it before we have sex, so I thought maybe– if you want to of course," you rambled.

"Spit it out, bub, I ain't got all night," Logan cut you off.

"I thought maybe I could suck you off– here in the limo," you 'spat' out your suggestion, your front teeth immediately coming down to bully your bottom lip.

"You want to suck my cock… here?" he repeated. Leaning back in his seat, you didn't know if he spread his legs on purpose, or if he unconsciously drew your eyes to the bulge hidden behind his slacks.

"Yeah, I mean…" you shrugged, "I thought it could be hot? Like something that people would want to see?"

"Right," Logan hummed, reminded of the invisible audience, and reached for the key in the ignition.

Leaving your apartment building in the rearview mirror, Logan searched for a more secluded place to park. The windows in the back of the limousine were tinted, impossible to look into, but you didn't want to take the risk of getting caught. After finding an empty parking lot, backing up and occupying a more private space in the back corner, Logan guided you around the limousine with a hand resting gently over the small of your back. Climbing into the back with you, his broad form filled the space.

Inside, he'd turned on the lights, the colors slowly fading in and out and casting soft shadows across his features. The leather creaked as he sat down, his spread legs already inviting you to slot between. A fleeting feeling of nervousness tickled in your tummy, the reality of what you were about to do washing over you like a wave on a stormy ocean.

Logan watched you from his seat, a picture of sin in his suit, as he slipped his hand into the inner pocket of his jacket and fished out his glasses. His jacket fit snugly over his wide shoulders and he'd undone the top buttons where you could glimpse curling chest hair. The way he looked at you through the glasses, eyes dark and curious, had a warmth of arousal starting to pool in the core of yourself.

Clearing your throat, you spoke up, "I was thinking I could set my phone up here–" you pointed to the space between the leather seats and the window. "And then you could use your phone and film me?"

After a little bit of fiddling to get your phone to stay upright, you turned to Logan, your phone capturing your slow walk towards him. He sat with his legs spread wide, his large palms resting on either side of his thighs. When you reached for the hem of your shirt, his finger twitched, digging into the leather, and a toothy smile spread over your features.

Tossing your shirt you sunk to your knees and slotted between his legs. Looking up at him through your lashes, you held his gaze as you sat pretty for him, fanning out the skirt you'd worn specifically for today. He reached for his phone and pressed record when you curled your hands behind your back to undo the clasp of your bra, capturing your bare chest.

The air nipped at your exposed skin, making goosebumps ripple over your skin. Looking up at Logan, his eyes burned against your skin where he took in your breasts, his eyes glided over your bare skin for the first time and soothed out the bubbling nerves that had been brewing. When your eyes caught on the tent growing in his pants, you had to restrain yourself from surging forward, your mouth already watering at the thought of tasting him for the first time – of your wet dreams becoming a reality.

"S'pretty," he murmured, voice deep and guttural, soaked in arousal.

He cupped your cheek gently, the rough pad of his thumb skating over your skin bringing with it a calming safety. Your eyelashes fluttered as you tilted your head into his hand, desperate to feel more of the weathered skin of his hand against your body.

"Y'sure you want this, sweetheart?" he asked.

Opening your eyes, you held his gaze. "Yes, please," you nodded in his large palm, "It's the only thing I've thought about all day." And it was the truth.

"Shit, baby," he groaned in response, dragging his hand down your neck to rest heavy over the top of your breasts. "S'that so?"

Gathering your hands in your lap, you nodded slowly, your teeth caught on your bottom lip as his hand brushed over your right breast. "Thought of how you'd taste," you confessed, the phone in his hand forgotten as you focused entirely on Logan.

"Yeah?" he prompted. One knuckle brushed over your hardened nipples, pulling a quiet whimper from you– pleased he leaned back, "Take off my belt, then."

Bouncing on your knees, you leaned forward on his command, and pulled the leather belt from its loops. You did it slowly, tilting your head upwards to catch his eyes through the glasses. He helped you with the zipper, making you watch as he dragged it down.

With your eyes fixed on his hand you noticed three barely healed scars between every knuckle, and you remembered who Logan really was. The Wolverine. He caught you looking, and his hand tightened into a fist, tightening it for a beat before he relaxed it over his thigh. Leaning forward, you placed a soft kiss over his knuckles, and his hand dug into his thigh.

"Sweetheart," he breathed out, his voice strained.

In the depths of your chest you felt a pinch, a tiny stab in your heart that felt too real, too personal for what you were about to do. Willing it away, you leaned back on your ankles instead, your hands dipping into the waistband of his pants to pull down his slacks. Lifting his hips to help you ease them down, a quiet grunt escaped him, a deep sound that traveled down your spine and pooled in your core.

Behind the soft cotton of his underwear the firm hard line of his cock strained against the fabric. The sight of him, large and heavy, and hidden, had your eyes widening with lust, and a slickness soiling the gusset of your panties.

"You want my cock, don't you sweetheart?" he coaxed, his free hand finding your jaw where he cupped it, squeezing your cheeks together.

"Y-yes," you breathed out, your smile straining against his grip before you dropped your mouth open, showing him your tongue.

"There you go, baby– good girl," he praised, pressing his thumb down on your tongue and rubbing the saliva around. A soft moan caught in your throat at the praise, and behind the camera Logan's eyes darkened at his new discovery.

Wrapping both your hands around his wrist, you held his hand in place as you closed your lips around him. Slowly, you moved your head, up and down, up and down, hollowing your cheeks as you sucked on his thumb like you would his cock. Logan's eyes were intense behind his glasses, his jaw clenching tight while he stared into your own.

"Such a filthy little thing f'me– so desperate for my cock down your throat you'll suck anything, ain't that right?"

A choked moan escaped you; they way he talked to you adding fuel to the fire in your core. Between the seam of your cunt you ached, wet arousal dripping into your soiled panties. He must've watched the way you melted for him, your brain turning to mush in front of him, because when he pulled his hand away, he laughed. A deep guttural thing from the depth of his chest.

"C'mon little angel," he tapped at your cheek, "Let's put you out of your misery."

Clouded in arousal, your brain stalled at the nickname, and you felt a new gush of arousal spill between the seam of your cunt. Logan's nostrils flared and a wild darkness settled over his face.

Shifting on your knees, you leaned forward to palm him through his underwear. Making sure to flick your eyes up at him (and the camera), you dragged your finger up and down gently, seductively, before you leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his clothed length. Above you, Logan sucked in a breath, his free hand coming down to pet your head and press your face firmly against his bulge.

You couldn't help but breathe him in. Breathe in the heady deep scent of man, cheap whiskey and cigars – the unique scent of Logan. When you let out the softest little sigh, you felt him twitch against you, and quickly his hand on your head traveled down to the back of your neck where he pulled you back with a harsh yank.

You yelped.

"No more teasin'–" he reprimanded and let go of you, "Be a good little angel and make me come."

Logan leaned back into the leather, his body relaxed and inviting with one hand still occupied with filming you. Watching the deep furrow forming between his brows, and the way his eyes burned your face through his glasses, you could tell he wanted to take control, make you do what he wanted.

With a curling smile, knowing full and well you had the upper hand with one of his hands occupied, you slipped your eager hands into the elastic waistband of his underwear and tugged.

A wild and wiry patch of graying hair met you first, and you felt a flock of eagerness flutter in your stomach. Tugging the fabric down slowly, you made a show of revealing just an inch at a time. When you finally reached the end of him, you felt the wet head of him graze your cheek, leaving a streak of precum, as it sprung free.

His hard cock bopped heavily in front your face, and you felt your eyes widen at his size. He was big. The hefty length of him cushioned against his balls hanging heavy over the band of his underwear. Reaching a shaky hand forward you took him in your hand for the first time and familiarized yourself with the thick weight of him. With your other hand you traced the thick veins that lined the girth of him, memorizing every ridge and freckle before coming up to thumb at the fat tip where a pearl of wetness beaded.

A mix of awe and uncertainty pooled in your chest. How in the hell were you gonna fit all of him down your throat?

"'s okay, angel," he cooed, his heavy hand back to stroke over your head. His touch soothed you, a rhythmic warmth that shed all your insecurities.

With a content sigh you leaned forward and parted your lips to press a soft kiss to the leaking tip, pulling a "There you go, good girl, open your mouth f'me," from Logan. Urged on by his praise, you got a little braver. Flattening your tongue against him you started with a few gentle, teasing licks to the tip, your tongue dipping into the slit to taste him in earnest.

Above you, a groan rumbled in Logan's chest, a sound that had you eagerly taking more of him in your mouth. Suckling carefully on the fat tip, you let your tongue tease the underside of him, humming in content when you felt him harden even more in your hands.

Letting the excess spit run down the length of him, it pooled over your hands where they struggled to wrap around the thick girth. Slick sounds came from your hands when you started to move them over the soft skin, coating him fully in your saliva with every tug.

"Shit, bub, y'look so fuckin' good around my cock," Logan's voice vibrated from his chest, "But y'can take it deeper, can't you? Take that big cock down your throat?"

Well, you would certainly try.

Your knees dug into the carpeted floor of the limousine, pressing a deep pattern into your skin. Popping off his cock, you sat up a little more and shifted your weight. Looking up at him through your lashes, you were reminded of the camera pointed at you. Looking straight down the barrel of his phone you sunk down further on his cock.

Dropping your jaw, you felt your lips stretch as his hefty cock filled your throat. All too quickly the head of him kissed the back of your throat and you had to fight your gag reflex. Pulling off with a gasp, your eyes widened as you looked up at him.

"It's so big," you told him, both of your slicked hands jerking him in a slow rhythm.

"I know, angel," he cooed, his thumb running over your cheek. Leaning forward again, you placed a soft kiss to the fat head, and he hissed, "Too big f'you?"

"No," you shook your head, smearing the head from one corner of your mouth to the other, spreading the precum leaking onto your lips, and humming at the taste of him. "It's perfect– taste so perfect," you said through a pillowy kiss to the head.

With a buck of his hips, he pushed back into your eager mouth, slipping the fat head through your swollen lips and into your flexed throat, "That's it– right where it belongs, huh?"

Fitting him as deep as you could down your throat you felt dizzy with desire, an almost overwhelming feeling; the smell of him so close, how he filled your mouth and made your jaw ache. When your nose pressed into the grayed patch of wiry hair at the base of his cock, you spluttered with need, spit soaking the length of him as you came off him with a cough.

In an instance, Logan was on you, his free hand petting your cheek as he searched your eyes, "You okay?" I wouldn't be until after, when you edited the video that you'd realize he'd dropped the phone, focusing only on you in that moment.

"Yes," you replied, looking into his eyes with a toothy smile, "I want more– I want your cum."

"Fuck," he hissed, letting go of your cheek and leaning back into the leather seat, pointing his phone at you, "Go on."

Fitting him back down your throat again, you got lost in it as you found a rhythm. With a hand stationed at the base, you bobbed your head, letting your tongue dance over the length. More saliva dripped down and pooled over your hand, slicking up his pubes. It was messy, and hot, sticky and wet. Above you, Logan muttered praises between grunts and moans, encouraging you to take him deeper and deeper.

Feeling your throat loosen with every bob of your head, you pushed down and swallowed around him. Your eyelashes fluttered as you gagged and coughed, tears starting to prickle from your eyes, but you were determined to please him– to make him feel good.

When his hand came down to wrap around your throat, his thumb skating over your neck to feel himself, your eyes rolled back in your head in pleasure – the sight of you making Logan let out a deep growl. He kept the hand clasped around your throat as he started to buck his hips, feeding you his cock in small lazy thrusts.

"Right there, angel, so fuckin' good f'me… my good girl– choke on it," he mumbled.

You hummed around him at the praise, the vibrations pulling another deep moan from him. Fucking your face, bubbling spit trickled out the corner of your lips, soaking him and the coarse hair on his balls where they slapped heavy against your chin. Slipping a hand between your thighs, you couldn't help but touch yourself through your underwear – the white cotton translucent and drenched with your arousal.

Chasing his high, Logan's thrusts started to come quicker. More and more saliva overflowed, dripping down your bare chest and slicking you up in depravity. The grip Logan had around his phone was lazy, but he made sure to capture the way the shifting colors of the low limousine light gleamed over your slicked up chest.

"Such a good fuckin' throat–" he growled, squeezing around your throat as he pushed himself as deep as he could. Your nose brushed the wiry patch of his pubic hair, and you felt yourself start to gag around him as your lungs squeezed and throat tightened. He kept you down as you spluttered and swallowed around the length of him, and when the edges of the world started to blur he pulled you off with a jerk.

Gasping for air and filling your lungs with lost breaths, the hand Logan had wrapped around your neck was now pushing your own hand away to wrap around himself. The tears on your cheek mixed with the strings of saliva on your chin, as you looked up at him through fluttering lashes. Watching him stroke his cock, your eyes widened with interest as you shifted on your knees to sit up straighter.

His hard cock pulsated and throbbed with need as he stroked. Up and down you watched his hand; watched how beads of precum drooled over his fingers, mixing with your saliva before it dripped down onto your chest. A primal feeling came over you – an urge so strong to taste him come undone and claim you as his.

"Please," you begged, the fat head ghosting against your lips with every jerk, "come for me, please– wanna taste you so badly."

Logan's grunts and growls grew deeper and wilder as he stroked himself faster. "Look at me, angel," he ordered, and when your eyes locked with his, combined with a final hard stroke, he aimed the wet tip towards your face and came hard.

The first pump of his sticky warm seed, made you flinch before a smile widened and you leaned closer. Dropping your mouth open, he came all over your face, coating your cheeks, your nose, and forehead. Thumbing at the tip, he aimed at your waiting mouth to squeeze out the last few drops, and he finally let you taste him.

Wrapping your lips around the head, you suckled around him through content hums. You were covered in his cum, claimed, feeling the sticky seed drip down the bridge of your nose. You loved the way he tasted, salty and bitter, like Logan.

When the feeling of your tongue dancing over his sensitive head became too much, he pulled away with a hiss. His phone was still aimed at your face, and a little more clear-headed he filmed the aftermath of his orgasm closer.

"Even prettier with my cum on your face, angel," he said, letting his finger drag over your skin to collect his cum.

Pretty.

"Thank you," you whispered, your throat hoarse as he fed you his cum.

You hummed around his finger as he cleaned you up, making sure not a single drop would go to waste, and when he was pleased with his work after you'd shown him your empty tongue, he cupped your cheek.

"Good little angel," he told you with a pad, and pressed the stop button on his phone.

Back at your apartment the buzz of the excitement of the night lingered as you replayed the scene on your computer. You thought about Logan, about where he was and who might sit in the seat where you'd sucked him off only hours earlier. You thought about how filthy his mouth had been, and how much it had turned you on. And lastly, you thought about how you couldn't wait to see him again, and for him to finally fuck you.

Editing the video together, the last thing you did before you fell asleep was upload. Logan had taken a photo of your hand over his clothed cock before he'd left you, a picture that was now set as your profile picture. All tuckered out, you closed your computer and fell back against your pillows, dreaming of the smell of leather and cheap whiskey.

James & Angel ✨👼 📍 Texas subscribers: 15,478

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hopefully this was okay? i have concepts of a part 2 lol so please don't ask for it. instead, a comment telling me your favorite part is always welcome, and/or tell me what you'd comment under james' & angel's first video! my ask box is always open to chat <3 and thank you for reading!!

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