#this tag is not really grammatical is it

[a-study-in-dante]

Started my fourth Annie Ernaux book of 2023 today. I don't know what's this grasp she holds on my ability to read lately but I mean apart from her works I only feel like reading Sylvia Plath's The Bell Jar and. Well.

[buttercupshands]

welcome back, Todoroki family arc! in both anime AND manga

[karaspal]

jon’a age up genuinely becomes a good story once you start looking at it as a metaphor. like grant morrison said, superman has normal problems on bigger scales. and this story is meant to represent growing up. there are three angles i’d like to point out.

nightwing (2016) #103

the first, and most obvious, is the feeling of growing up too quickly. it goes hand to hand with the regret of not doing enough reckless, fun things while you had the freedom to. a lot of people, especially in current years, feel like they’ve missed out on the teen experience. it’s usually due to mental health struggles and not having the energy to - the volcano represents that. a prison that holds jon and stops him from enjoying his youth.

superman (2018) #7

the second angle is from a parent’s point of view. parents usually feel like the time they spend with their kid flies by too quick. lois and clark saw jon being a happy 10-year-old and just three weeks later, he was 17 years old. this is a representation of the “they grow up too fast”. although, in their case, they do grow up too fast indeed.

action comics (2016) #1038

the most overlooked and, in my opinion, interesting angle is the portrayal of the distance that grows between the kid and their parents during their teen years. being a teenager is hard enough, but having parents who don’t understand your struggles makes it even worse. those are the years you develop your own self, instead of mimicking your parents. it’s a period of self-discovery. sometimes, parents are understanding and helpful. sometimes, they refuse to accept you are your own person so in their head, you stay the last age they liked you. this disconnect, where parents cling to an idealized version of their child, often leads them to ignore the teenager's struggles. and in doing so, a rift forms in the relationship.

it isn’t exactly like this with clark and jon, of course. had jon grew up with his folks, clark would’ve been more than happy to help his son navigate finding his true self. but jon didn’t. in clark’s eyes, he went from 10 to 17 in a matter of weeks. it’s hard to understand your son when suddenly he isn’t the kid who followed you around all the time anymore. when clark is wounded, he dreams of jon as a kid. it’s how he sees him still. and that’s not fair to jon, who is very much not that kid anymore.

mere weeks before that, jon begged clark to stay, but clark reassured him it’s fine. he couldn’t see how much jon truly was struggling. jon didn’t want clark to stay because he is superman, he wanted clark to stay because he needed his dad.

and clark tries to be a good dad, he does. and jon wants them to be close again, he wants nothing more. but the first step in mending their relationship is to accept it could never go back to the way it was. this is a time long passed, and they have to find a new footing in their relationship.

i’m sure there are more angles to this story, but those are the three i see. it’s not the best story, but once you looked at it as a metaphor and not a literal story, it becomes better.

[dykeredhood]

Words we are putting up on the shelf until y’all learn to use them in the correct context:

toxic

normalize

trauma

problematic

academia

gatekeeping

gaslighting

infodumping

female gaze

gay panic

hyperfixation

queerbaiting

punk

traumabonding

valid (or the gender-neutral version of the word: vxlid)

gentrification

emo

emotional labor

delusional (yes, this also includes delulu)

parasocial

feminine rage

divine feminine/masculine

narcissist

sociopath/psychopath

media literacy

[sylvies-kablooie]

random request that has crossed my mind: if anyone knows good links, resources, or tags on tumblr to look through for people learning french, i would love it if you'd pass them my way! <3

[hypn0sssss]

I really wish the Death Note musical got more than just a concept album because I would pay so much to see some of the songs performed on stage

[dontwanderoff]

this beginners crochet kit i bought at coles on an impulse a few months back has The most confusing instructions out and im feeling some level of regret

[kareofbears]

hand of god, deliver me

Wednesday hated summers. Will continue to hate summers.

Her phone vibrates. I’m outside! :D

But it’s possible she started hating summers a little less.

--

Or, Wednesday and Enid spend the last day of summer together.

Read on ao3 or below the cut

Wednesday hated summers.

Winters are her preferred season. She prefers long, flowy fabric that covers as much of her as possible. She prefers the cold, likes the way air tastes when she steps outside, the way it clings to her like shedding skin, flimsy but present. She loves the dark—loves the way the sun has already set by the time she leaves her classes, loves the shadows the trees cast from the flickering street lights above her. Love the way it makes the hair on the back of her neck rise when she realizes she can’t see more than a block in front of her. Loves the effect it has on people, makes them nervous, makes them crazed.

Summer has none of these.

Even from inside her home, the sun had managed to squeeze its way through the black-out curtains and light up the living room in a way that makes her eye twitch. She sits on her family’s piano bench, idly touching the monochrome keys. Her black skirt is comforting, though it makes the back of her legs sticky with sweat. Air conditioning is a push of a button, but there’s something sickening about the faux-chill. The way it snakes around the room, flowing into her lungs, suffocating her. Even sweat and body odor is preferable to that.

A bird sings from outside the window—a robin with a sonorant throat. Wednesday digs her nails into the keys, the sound clashing together unpleasantly.

Wednesday hated summers. Will continue to hate summers.

Her phone vibrates. I’m outside! :D

But it’s possible she started hating summers a little less.

She stands, swipes her phone off the table before sliding it into her pocket, and heads out the door silently. No need to call out a goodbye. Her parents always know when she’s left the house.

Down her driveway, standing in direct sunlight, stands Enid, sporting a smile so wide that Wedneday believes that she’s physically incapable of replicating it. Only in the span of a few months, Enid had grown an inch taller, increasing their height gap even further.

The first thing that she says is, “Your hair.”

“Huh? Oh,” Enid touches her hair, almost shy. Instead of the pink and blue, it’s now red and green. “I figured it’s time for a change. Do you like it?”

Wednesday tilts her head to the side. “It’s festive,” she says eventually.

“It’s August,” Enid reminds. “It’s not supposed to be festive.”

“Then what is it supposed to be?”

“A change?” she shifts on her feet. “Something different, I guess.” Glancing at Wedneday, her eyes warm. “I considered black, believe it or not.”

Wedneday’s mouth twitches. “I find that hard to believe.”

“I didn’t go through with it, now did I?” Their eyes are still connected, and her heart thumps as though she were terrified. As though there was something dangerous nearby that can chew her up, spit her out, with only her bones remaining left to remember her by.

She blinks. It’s only Enid. Enid in her bright sundress, with pink shades perched on top of her head like a nesting bird, who’s taller now but doesn’t make Wednesday feel smaller.

“Let’s go before we miss the bus.”

—

It has been a very long time since Wednesday had used public transportation.

It’s surprisingly pleasant, despite the air conditioning. Other than the two of them, only the bus driver and an elderly woman were onboard, allowing the two of them to sit in the back without any interruption. Thankfully, Enid lets her have the window seat.

Enid chats, and chats, and chats. She doesn’t talk of monsters, or Outcasts, or killings, or mysteries. Instead, she talks about normal things. Teenager things. About what she did in the past two months, about a book she’s reading, about a shirt she knitted halfway through before giving up because she suddenly got sick of the colors. How she went to a farmer’s market a few ago and complained about how the mangos were underripe but the avocados are overripe. Embroidery is her new passion, she says.

Wednesday stares outside the whole time, at the blue sky and the flower fields that pass by, silent. She’s enjoying the one-sided conversation, strangely enamoured by her fluctuating voice and gesticulating hands. It feels like everything that happened the last school year was a hallucination, a dream turning fuzzy the moment you wake up only to be forgotten completely in minutes.

This, however, is the realest she’s felt in a long time.

“What’s this?” Enid asks suddenly, and she feels a gentle finger on her wrist, stroking the new silver chain there. “Are you liking jewelry nowadays?”

“A necessity. It’s embedded with Onyx stones.” She tilts her wrist, this way and that, vaguely enjoying the glimmer. “It’s expensive in case I need to sell it for emergencies. Or bribery.”

“It’s pretty.” Enid’s hand traces the stones one more time before pulling away. “It suits you.”

For a second, Wednesday considers letting her wear it, even if it was just for a moment. An heirloom to the Addams, one that dates back centuries and carries history that even she herself isn’t sure about. It was supposed to be an honor to wear this, unthinkable for outsiders to even touch.

Then her eyes flicker to Enid. Her high cheekbones and pale hair, the purse of her lips—a childish habit she has when she’s thinking deeply. The way she caresses Wednesday’s wrist like it would wither under her fingers, her nails painted a bright lilac. It’s as if she’s the color that shines through stained glass windows in a cathedral, unrelenting and vivid and filled to the brim with stories to tell.

Wednesday pulls her hand away. “Are we almost there?”

Enid jolts, hands scrambling to find purchase on the call button. “Oh my god, I almost forgot.”

Soon, the both of them tumble out of the bus, Enid still rambling about how she funny it would have been if they had to backtrack in the hot summer, although Wednesday isn’t quite sure what would be so funny about that.

As they make their way to the small town, she glances at Enid’s wrist, unburdened by Onyx stones, and nods to herself. The idea of shackling Enid to the Addams is sickening enough to make her nauseous, no matter how temporary, fill her stomach with lead and sink her to the bottom of a lake.

Her family can try and take anything of Wednesday’s, but not this. Never this.

—

The village resides at the mouth of a nearby river, buildings old but sturdy in a classic European way. It’s small and quaint, a fishing village that had overtime been reinvented as somewhat of a tourist hub, with small stores and market stalls scattered across the premises that creates an atmosphere similar to a renaissance fair. A combination of students, locals, and out-of-towners roam around, the last few days of summer encouraging everyone to soak in the sun and make up for doing nothing the past few months.

Wednesday feels her brows furrow, but instantly smooths over her expression. Still, Enid peers closely at her. “It’s the crowds, isn’t it?”

This time, she doesn’t bother hiding her grimace. “Don’t watch me so closely.” Her heart rate is spiking again. Instinctively, she scans for a danger that isn’t there. “It’s a fruitless effort to try and read me.”

Enid’s expression turns cocky. “I think I just did, actually, but we don’t have to talk about that if you don’t want to.” She links her arms with Wednesday’s and takes them down a back alley. The whole path is shrouded in tall pine trees, creating a walkway of shade and cool air. “I had a feeling it would be like this, so…” she shrugs. “Let’s walk the road less traveled.”

They spend the day like that, entering shops, peering at clothes (Enid), enamored by the spiders that crawl through the flower beds (Wedneday), browsing through books (Enid and Wednesday). The whole time, their arms stay linked. Whenever she tries to pull away, Enid would tighten her grip, whining. It would be too easy to yank her arm out of the way, but she’s slightly, abnormally, inexplicably charmed.

Her heart beats quicker, the fear getting stronger, but she doesn’t mind it.

She doesn’t mind any of it.

—

The last shop in their strip is a thrift store.

Wednesday sits on a bench just outside the dressing room, legs crossed as she waits for Enid to finish changing. So far, she’s gone through military uniforms, Victorian era gowns, and cheerleader.

“This better be the last one, or I’m leaving you here,” Wednesday murmurs.

“Ha!” she hears a snort. “As if you know how to bus home.”

Frowning. “I do know how to bus home.”

A blonde tuff of hair peeks out from behind the curtain as Enid grins at her. “It’s okay, I won’t tell anyone, rich girl.”

Wednesday rolls her eyes before standing up to stretch, letting her gaze wander around the store. Shelves of useless junk next to racks of ugly clothes. No wonder Enid loves this place.

She lets her feel take her to the glass cabinet, the lighting dim but just bright enough to let her peer inside. As she expected, most of it is worthless. Colored plastic, sterling silver, scratched up gems on rusted bases. She’s about to turn back when something glints at her.

Eyes widening, she leans down, sucking in a breath. There is no hesitation in her voice when she says, “Excuse me, how much?”

—

The bus ride home is quiet.

There are a few more people riding with them, but it seems they’re all just as tired as they are. With the sun setting, everything is bathed in a warm orange light. The temperature had gone down to something bearable, so the bus had opeted to let the windows roll down instead of relying on the air conditioning. She closes her eyes, enjoying how the wind rustles her hair gently.

A weight slides onto her shoulder. Wednesday turns carefully. Enid had fallen asleep on her, chest rising and falling in even breaths, gently jostling along with the bus.

Eventually, carefully, so, so carefully, she reaches into the pocket of her skirt, pulling out a pale, pearl bracelet that she puts on Enid’s wrist.

She watches her for a long time. Watches how the sunset makes the pearls shine in an entrancing way, how the color is so unmistakably Enid.

In a moment of bravery, or more accurately, stupidity, Wednesday intertwines her fingers with Enid’s. In this angle, it’s impossible not to notice how the Onyx bracelet from earlier is gone—replaced, instead, with a black pearl bracelet of her own.

Wednesday Addams is not stupid.

She isn’t quite so stupid as to believe her own thoughts. She isn’t quite so stupid as to believe that this is something as juvenile as a friendship bracelet. She isn’t quite so stupid as to believe that what she’s feeling all this time was fear.

Was it fear that causes her heart to race? Her mouth to twist into a smile? Her chest to feel like it’s going to explode? To change her mind about something she hated because the girl sleeping on her shoulder expressed a liking to it?

Wednesday Addams is not stupid, but she is a coward.

Maybe it really is fear. She’s scared enough to wait until Enid was asleep. Scared enough to use the words she’s never afraid of using. She’s scared to want. Above all, she’s scared of the scale of her want. But what she’s truly afraid of is something that doesn’t dare even name. She isn’t ready.

Absently, she squeezes her hand around Enid’s, praying she doesn’t stir. The hand tightens in return, and the head on her shoulder only seems to relax further, the bracelet’s strapped around their wrists clinking together.

She isn’t ready.

Wednesday lets her gaze slide back to the window, and appreciates the warm air of summertime.

But maybe someday she will be.

—

Enid lies in bed, staring at the pearls on her wrist, other hand gripping her phone, Wednesday’s contact open, unsent messages by the dozens clogging up her screen.

i love it. why didn’t you wake me up?

i love the color, but why didn't you get me black? i told you I'm starting to like it more as time goes on

i love seeing you, i had so much fun

summer can’t end soon enough. roomies for life!!

how do you feel about summer?

i love you

I love you

I love you.

She tosses her phone aside, shoving her face in her pillow.

Maybe someday.

[ratmouseshrtwo]

Hey there! I'm ratmouse! Or, uh, datmouse. I guess. Dopple ratmouse, if you will. I don't know how I got here, why I'm here, or who I am really but I'm having fun so far! :D

(dopple rp blog for @/t4tlintrollerjrwi ((my main)) and also a way to evade post limit if i ever reach it) (like MOST of the time I'm ooc and just evading post limit jail) (this is barely a rp blog at this point)

All the tags I use are the same as ratmouse's but with my name instead, datmouse!

[starlightkun]

okay bc im genuinely curious:

english-speaking kpop fans, if there's an english version of a song (that was released first/primarily in korean, NOT an english song put out only in english) by a kpop artist, do you usually listen to the english version or the korean version? and do you speak english as your native language or as a second/third language?

[chaoticgoodcaptain]

also you know studying international relations fucked you up bad when you go see oppenheimer and your initial reaction is "oh, so just another thursday in the world politics"

[helshades]

Loki In-Depth Critique and Analysis: The Worst Marvel Show Ever

[lieutenant-amuel]

Hmm, I have a question.

Does it make sense to convey that a character speaks with an accent in writing?

[rainbow-needs-help]

We’re trying this for real this time. hopefully without the computer yeeting my post into the abyss before I’m finished. Idk what I wrote in my little spiel in the og post before it died but I know I said something along the lines of starting to actually practice writing/journaling a little bit and wanting to improve, and being kinda proud of some bullshit I whipped up the other night when I couldn’t sleep so. Without further ado, some thoughts on my brother’s bedroom window:

I wish my window was like my brother’s, placed above the roof over our porch. A turn of a latch, a slide of the glass, and a push of the screen, and he could sit on rough tiles under the night sky. His is the only window like that in our home.

I wish my window was like my brother’s. I’d clamber up to the peak of our rooftop, the tiles scaping my hands and knees and pulling out little red drops as I crawl and climb and finally settle. I’d lay on my back, face towards the stars; I’d reach. My palm scraped, bloodied, raw, turned to the heavens in a silent question, asking–begging, pleading–to be taken away. Not forever. Just for a moment. Just for a day. Just for a chance to look down upon the Earth and witness life as the stars do.

I’d drop my hand. It would settle on my stomach, on top of the other. My ankles would be crossed. My head would be back. My mind would be quiet. My eyes would trace the few constellations I know and could see, until they slip closed. And then, I would sleep.

I wish my window was like my brother’s, so that I could feel a moment of peace. Perhaps it’s good thing that window is his. If it were mine–if the gateway to the moon and the stars and the endless sky were mine–I may never return to Earth.

[imaginedisish]

All I Need (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: AHH! This took so, so long. Anyway, here is the period-comfort fic! Needed this. Loosely inspired by "All I Need" By Radiohead and "Let the Light In" by Lana and Father John Misty. Hope you guys enjoy! P.S. I'm so sorry if I forgot to tag you, or if the tags don't work.

Summary: Your period is awful this month, but Logan is there to take care of you...in more ways than one...

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI!! SMUT!!! Fingering, PIV, period sex, soft!Logan, praise kink (if you squint), friends to lovers, softdom!Logan (if you squint again), mentions of blood (bc period), so much fluff, feelings, cursing, afab!reader/fem!reader, definitely some grammatical errors bc I struggled through proofreading...and I think that's it!

Word Count: 4,474 it was supposed to be short

You’re no stranger to pain. You’ve been in countless battles and fought more fights than you can remember. And yet, nothing makes you feel as obliterated as your period does. 

Your cramps have always been terrible, but this time they were particularly bad. You sit in your bed, on a Saturday night, alone, struggling. You couldn’t find the heating pad. You couldn’t find the ice cream you wanted. You couldn’t find anything to watch. And, of course, everything hurts—your breasts are beyond sore, and your head is aching. You look up at the ceiling, wanting nothing more than for your period to be over. 

Your lower abdomen pulses with pain and you groan audibly, not caring how loud you are as you turn over onto your stomach in frustration. 

But then there’s a knock at your door.  

“Hey, everything okay in there?” It’s Logan—of course it’s him. “Didn’t mean to be nosy. Just happened to hear you.”

“I’m okay!” You call out, rolling back onto your side to face the door. 

“Are you sure?” Logan asks. You can hear his hand on the knob. “Can I come in?”

Heat suddenly rises to your chest. Logan? Coming in here? Now? In reality, this shouldn’t be a big deal. Logan has been in your room before—albeit very briefly and in passing—but you can’t help but feel nervous. You’re always nervous around him. You’ve been harboring a crush on him for months now, and it’s brutal. You’ve grown closer, but not quite close enough. At least not in the way you want.

You swallow nervously. “Y-yeah,” you stammer, your voice almost cracking. “You can come in.” 

Logan immediately twists the knob and pushes the door open, stepping inside your room. You can’t help but smile at the sight of his familiar beater and blue jeans. He takes another step and closes the door behind him—he’s just a few feet away from you, his arms crossed over his chest.

He smirks, tilting his head down. “It’s Saturday night, and this is what you’re doing?” He steps towards you, approaching the bed and sitting down. 

“Not feeling great,” you admit, wincing as you sit up in bed. 

Logan’s brows immediately furrow with concern. His hand comes up to rest on your knee, and you have to stop yourself from shuddering under his touch. “Are you okay?” He asks, his thumb drawing gentle circles into your skin. He sniffs once, and you know he can smell the blood between your thighs. “Do you need anything?” 

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry,” you say, trying to politely brush off his concern. You don’t want to trouble him, don’t want to hold him back from his Saturday night plans. But Logan’s brows are still furrowed, concern painted clearly across his face. “Really, I’m okay,” you reassure, but he doesn’t budge. 

“I know you’re not okay,” he says, his eyes looking deeply into yours. “Let me help you, yeah?”

“I’d feel bad. I’d be holding you back from whatever plans you—”

“No plans, princess,” Logan says, cutting you off. You try to hide the way your breath hitches in your throat at the familiar nickname. “Just you. Whatever you need.” He smiles widely, his thumb still drawing circles into your knee. 

It’s so soft, so delicate, so unlike the way Logan is with others. There’s something domestic about this, something especially comforting and gentle. He’s sacrificing his Saturday night for you—to make sure you’re okay. Your heart squeezes in your chest at the thought. 

“Is it bad?” He asks, his voice low and calm. You’re so lost in your thoughts that you almost don’t notice the way Logan inches closer; don’t notice the way his hand slides down to your lower stomach. The warmth of his hand feels so good that you have to stifle a moan at the sudden contact.  

“Y-yeah,” you stammer, leaning into his touch. His hand presses firmly into your stomach, rubbing gently. “But your hand feels nice,” you admit, your voice a bit shaky as the words fall from your lips. 

He’s next to you now, sitting on the edge of the bed, his hips in line with yours. His touch, his presence—it’s all simultaneously relaxing and exhilarating. You’ve never had him this close, never felt him touch you like this. Your heart beats out of your chest as his palm pushes against your aching lower abdomen. He’s in tune with you, registering every movement you make, every half-moan you can’t seem to suppress as his hand soothingly rubs your stomach. 

You watch his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. “Do you want me to get you anything?” He asks, smiling widely. Your mind immediately goes to the lack of ice cream in the freezer, but you’re hesitant to ask. Getting you something would entail leaving. And the last thing you want is for Logan to leave. 

“I’m okay,” you answer, but you know your voice comes out as unsure. 

He arches a brow, his caring smile turning into a knowing smirk. “You sure about that, princess?” He nods his head towards the door. “I saw you all disappointed after lookin’ in the freezer, earlier.”

You can’t help the grin that forms on your face at Logan’s words. He noticed you. “There wasn’t any ice cream left,” you say, shrugging your shoulders. 

Logan chuckles and stands up, his palm slipping away from your stomach. You want to reach out, to yank him down and force his hand back where it was. “I’ll be right back,” he says, walking towards the door. “Don’t move an inch. I mean it!” He keeps his eyes on you as he backs out of the room, opening the door and closing it carefully behind him. 

Not even a minute later, Logan comes back with a silver spoon and a pint of your favorite ice cream. “No way,” you mutter, shaking your head, your smile spreading across your face. “How did you know?”

Logan smirks. “I just do,” he answers, sitting back in his place next to you on the edge of the bed. He passes you the silver spoon and the pint. “Knew that’s what you were looking for. Went out to the store to grab it the second you walked out of the kitchen empty-handed.”

“You’re amazing,” you whisper, still in awe of how he got you the ice cream without asking. He simply noticed. He remembered your favorite flavor—you never had to tell him a thing. He just knew. 

You open the packaging and dig into the ice cream, wrapping your lips around the spoon. “Oh sorry,” you mumble, your mouth full of ice cream as you pull the spoon from your lips. “Do you want some?”

You dig the spoon back into the ice cream and scoop out a big serving, pointing the spoon in Logan’s direction. He smirks before opening his mouth, waiting for you to feed him. Your breath catches in your throat as you hold the spoon up to him. His lips wrap around the ice cream, and he takes the spoon from your hand, his fingertips brushing against yours. 

He sucks and pulls the spoon from his mouth. You swallow harshly at the sight, watching as he digs into the pint and takes another scoop of ice cream, this time bringing the spoon to your lips. You open your mouth, inviting him inside, closing it around the cold ice cream. You silently wish you could taste him on the spoon. 

You grab the spoon from his hands, his fingers lingering before pulling away—like he’d do anything to touch you again, to savor the feeling of your skin against his. 

“Thank you, Logan,” you say, taking another scoop of ice cream and shoving the spoon past your lips. “Really, it means a lot.”

Logan shakes his head, his hand finding that spot on your stomach again. “It was nothing,” he mutters. “I’d do anything for you.” He soothingly rubs side to side, the warmth of his palm enveloping your lower abdomen. “Is there anything else you wanted?” He asks, nodding his head towards the T.V. on the other side of your room. “Wanna watch a movie or something?”

“Sure,” you say back, reaching for the remote on your nightstand. You flick the T.V. on and look over at Logan. “W-would you wanna stay?” You ask, nodding your head to the other side of the bed. 

“Wasn’t planning on going anywhere, princess,” he husks, standing up and walking to the other side of the bed. He settles in next to you, lying down on the mattress. You’re shoulder to shoulder, and his hand quickly finds your lower abdomen again. 

You scroll through the movies on various streaming services, and nothing seems to click until you find an old, campy B-movie from the 80s. You turn to face Logan, grinning widely, pointing the remote to the television. He rolls his eyes playfully as he reads the description. “Whatever you want, pretty girl.”

Your heart stops at the epithet. Pretty girl? Princess, sure—you’re familiar with Logan’s classic princess nickname. But pretty girl was entirely new. Different. Certainly not friendly. Princess was teasing, tongue and cheek—a way to mess with you, to slip under your skin and rile you up. Flirty? Perhaps. But not inherently romantic. Pretty girl? 

Pretty girl seems like…more. 

You decide to take a chance, letting your head rest on Logan’s shoulder as you press play on the movie. You spoon ice cream into your mouth, waiting for Logan’s next move. After a few seconds, he sits up. His shoulder separates from yours, and his arm reaches around your shoulders instead, tugging you into his chest. 

“This okay?” He asks, his lips brushing against the side of your head, pressing what feels like the ghost of a kiss to your temple.

“Y-yeah,” you stutter. “It’s perfect.” You can hear Logan’s heart beating in his chest. It’s loud and fast. His fingertips draw circles into your shoulder as he pulls you closer. 

The movie starts, but you can’t seem to concentrate. You nervously shovel scoop after scoop of ice cream into your mouth, hoping to take your mind off Logan, but it obviously doesn’t work. Not with the way his arms are wrapped around you—one draped around your shoulder while his other hand is tucked in its place against your lower stomach. 

You somehow finish the entire pint, and Logan notices immediately, taking the container from your hands and placing it on the nightstand next to him. His hand is back, soothingly rubbing your abdomen, within the blink of an eye. He’s endlessly attentive, listening carefully to every breath you take, watching every wrinkle in your forehead crease and every wince you make when a bad cramp comes on. 

A sudden, sharp pain builds in your abdomen, and you squeeze your eyes shut, grinding your teeth as the pain worsens. You take a deep breath through your nose and out your mouth.

“Hey,” Logan coos, pressing his hand a bit harder into your belly. “Is it getting bad?” He asks softly, holding you tighter. 

You swallow harshly, taking another deep breath. “Yeah, it hurts right now,” you choke, wincing as you let yourself lean completely into him. 

Logan pulls you into his lap, one arm draping across the front of your chest while his hand slips underneath the waistband of your athletic shorts. He stops just above your panties. “Is this okay?” He asks, his warm palm messaging your stomach. 

The pressure is so nice, and the heat from his palm is delicious. “Yes,” you groan, your legs intertwining with his. You squirm a bit in his lap, trying to get comfortable. “You’re so warm,” you whisper, turning on your side, still situated between his legs, your head on his chest. “F-feels good.”

Logan presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Are you sure you’re okay?” His arm slides up and down your body before settling on your waist. “You sure you don’t need anything?”

“I-I don’t know,” you admit, pressing your face into the center of his chest. All you can smell is him—pine and musk and denim and leather. It’s perfect, dizzying, distracting. Just need you, you think to yourself. 

“Need me, pretty girl?” Logan asks. You lift your head up, furrowing your brows as you realize you let that thought find its way to your lips and out of your mouth. “I’m right here.” 

His face is just inches away from yours. His breath fans across your nose, your cheeks. His lips are close, too—just a bit closer and you’d be kissing. “L-Lo,” you stutter. “I…” You trail off, unable to form a coherent thought. You can feel the tension in the air, feel the heat building between your thighs. Fuck, you want him. Need him. 

His throat bobs as he swallows. “What’s going on here, sweetheart?” Logan murmurs, his forehead pressing to yours. 

“W-want you,” you admit, your voice shaky. 

“Want you too, darlin’,” he says, his fingertips playing with the waistband of your panties. “Let me take care of you,” he husks. “Let me take the pain away.” And you want him too—more than anything. 

“Please,” you beg as his hand slips under the hem of your panties. You flip the T.V. off and throw the remote to the floor.

His lips finally press against yours, slow and languid. His fingertips find your clit, drawing tight, quick circles around the bud. “I’ll tease you next time, pretty girl,” Logan whispers at the shell of your ear. But all you register is next time. There’s going to be a next time. “Just wanna make you feel good right now.”

“F-fuck,” you moan, your hips rocking against his hand. He swirls around your clit, pinching gently between his strokes. 

Logan’s free hand comes down to your thighs, gripping your flesh tightly and spreading your legs wider. “That feel good, princess?” He rasps, stroking faster. 

Your head falls back to his shoulder. “Yes, so good,” you whimper. His lips find your neck, kissing your pulse point and sucking softly. His hand slides back up your body, slipping underneath your shirt, trailing over your stomach. 

His fingertips climb tentatively towards your chest. You remember you aren’t wearing a bra as Logan’s fingers brush against the underside of your breasts. “Please,” you beg, arching your back into his touch.

Logan presses another kiss to your neck as his hand palms your breasts, massaging gently, alternating between one side and the other. He hikes up your tank top, giving himself better access to all of you. His fingers continue their tight circles on your clit, swirling around, releasing that pressure at the bottom of your stomach. Your walls clench down around nothing as he presses harder into your core. 

“Thought about this for so long,” he whispers against the shell of your ear. “Thought about touching you, fucking you. Wanted you this whole time, sweetheart.”

“Logan,” you moan, bringing your lips to his. “I wanted you too,” you confess. You can feel yourself hitting your peak, ready to fall apart. “I’m c-close.”

“I know, darlin’,” Logan soothes, his fingers quickening. “I’ve got you.” His lips melt against yours, fitting together like magnets, like you were always meant to find each other. “So beautiful,” he murmurs, his tongue swiping along your bottom lip. “Wanna make you come, wanna watch you let go.” 

It all happens so fast—your orgasm crashes into you, and Logan swallows your moans with another kiss. “That’s it, pretty girl,” Logan coos, still stroking your clit. Your walls flutter as pleasure courses through your every nerve ending. His strokes slow down until his fingers rest, unmoving, on your clit. Logan’s hands still palm your breasts, messaging the tender flesh gently. “You okay?” He asks softly. 

“Yeah, p-perfect,” you stutter, curling into his chest. “Felt so good.” 

Logan presses a kiss to the crown of your head. “Relax darlin’,” he husks, taking a deep breath. 

“Lo?” You whisper, looking up at him, his eyes immediately finding yours. “Do you really want me?” You ask, suddenly embarrassed to be saying anything at all, and yet you find yourself rambling. “When you were saying all that when we were—” 

But his lips are on yours again, hungry and desperate. He pulls away like he doesn’t want to—like it hurts to be away from you for even the briefest second. “I want you, pretty girl,” he says, pulling you back into his chest. “You’re all I think about…” He trails off, his voice less stable than it was just seconds ago. “You’re all I need.” 

“Logan,” you say, smiling widely. “I’ve wanted you for months. I didn’t know you felt the same way.” 

You can feel his chuckle reverberate through his chest. “How could I ever want someone else?” He asks. There’s levity in his voice, but you know he’s being serious. “You’re it. You make me think that…” he pauses, and you look up from his chest. “You make me think that there’s some purpose to all this.” He meets your gaze, and you can see the sudden shift in his expression. His eyes are glossed over. He works his jaw. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this. For love. For you.” 

You know that Logan has had everything taken from him, time and time again. He’s an undeniably selfless person, the type of person who would let the world destroy him to protect those he loves—and he has—it’s happened. But he’s still here, and now he’s here with you. He deserves happiness. He deserves love. And the thought that he finally feels those things with you is too much to bear. You try to smile, but you can’t help the tears brimming in your eyes. “I love you,” you whisper. “So much.” 

“I love you too, beautiful.” 

His lips are on yours again, melding, coming together, building something unbreakable. You straddle him, his hands finding your hips. He squeezes firmly, keeping you in place on top of him. His tongue swipes your lower lip, asking permission to slip inside, and you happily oblige. You want Logan, all of him, now. Forever. 

“Always gonna want you, just you,” he mumbles against your lips. “So fucking beautiful. Never wanted anyone like this.” His hands guide your hips to roll over his. Your core drags along his erection—large and straining against his jeans. 

“Want you so bad,” you whine, grinding down onto him. But then you remember the reason Logan is here in the first place. “B-but I’m on my—”

Logan rocks his hips against yours, ignoring you. “As long as you want this pretty girl, I want this. Don’t care about that.”

Fuck.

You nod, your lips pressing to his. He swallows your whines, his tongue brushing against yours, his teeth grazing your lower lip. His hands slide up and down your back, your tank top still hiked up over your breasts. Logan’s nails trail across your skin, drawing along your curves, taking in every inch of you. 

You bring your hands down his chest, finding the hem of his beater. You tug it up his body, revealing his skin. “You want this off?” He asks, smiling against your lips. You nod, and he breaks contact for just a split second, tugging his shirt up and over his head. 

He’s so beautiful, his abs, the thick, dark hair scrawling across his chest. You bite your lip at the sight. “You’re perfect,” you mutter, letting your hands feel his exposed skin, searching him, growing familiar with his every curve.

He smirks, his hands finding your hips again, squeezing tightly. “That’s all you, princess,” he rasps, shaking his head. “Beautiful girl.” 

You grind your hips against his again, and he presses his forehead to yours. “Need you, Lo.” His arms wrap around your back, pulling you in so that your chest is flush with his. Your fingertips find his belt, fumbling with the buckle until you get it undone, and sliding the leather out of the loops of his jeans. You toss it to the floor and quickly work at his button and zipper. 

“Slow down, sweetheart,” Logan chides, grabbing your wrists with one of his massive hands. “Let’s take it easy, yeah?”

You can’t help but pout. “But I want you so bad,” you whine, grinding down onto him. Logan groans, his hips bucking up into yours. He brings his hands to the hem of his jeans and tugs them down. You take the opportunity to grab a condom from the drawer of the nightstand next to you. 

When you look back, Logan’s erection is free from his jeans. He’s massive, so much bigger than you ever imagined. You swallow harshly, handing him the condom with shaky hands. He smirks, opening the little package and rolling the condom over his cock. “Don’t worry, darlin’,” he husks. “Gonna take it slow, okay?”

“Okay,” you mumble, and then his hands are on your hips again, flipping you onto your back so that he’s hovering over you. He quickly finds the hem of your shorts, and you lift your hips up a little, helping him tug them, along with your panties, down your legs. He places them at the end of the bed and lowers back down over you. 

He balances on his forearm as his free hand guides his cock to your folds, sliding through you, nudging against your clit. “You have no idea how much I need you,” Logan whispers, his tip teasing your entrance. “No idea how much I love you.” 

He shoves himself deep inside you with one thrust, bottoming out, down to the hilt. “Fuck,” he curses, his cock filling you up, stretching you out, giving you a chance to adjust to the sheer size of him. “You feel so good,” he praises. “Knew you’d feel perfect. Fucking made for me.”

He finally pulls out only to thrust back in, somehow deeper this time. “Logan,” you moan, your nails digging into his muscular back. “S-so big, so good,” you breathe, stumbling over your words. 

“Love it when you say my name, pretty girl,” Logan pants, slipping out and pumping back in, setting a slow, languid pace. His free hand reaches between your bodies, his fingertips finding your clit with ease. He draws those familiar, tight, rapid little circles into your bud. 

You curse under your breath as he splits you open, his pace growing faster every few thrusts or so. He’s holding back, and you can see it in his face—his eyes all dark as he works his jaw, feigning patience. You know he wants more—to take all of you and make you his. 

“Logan, y-you don’t have to…” You trail off, your eyes fluttering closed as he hits that sweet spot deep inside you. 

“Eyes on me, pretty girl,” he says, demand in his voice. Your eyes flutter back open. “What do you need?” He asks, softer now, attentive as ever.  

His fingers swirl against your clit, adding more pressure with every careful stroke, making it near impossible for you to form a coherent thought. “Y-you don’t have to hold back,” you stammer as he sinks into you. “I-I can take it.”

He presses a kiss to your lips as he pumps in and out. “Just wanna take care of you this time, beautiful.” He pinches your clit lightly before stroking again. “Next time I’ll take you how I want.” There it is again. Next time. 

His hips snap against yours, his fingers working dexterously at your clit. It’s all too much, the way he bites your lips, burying his face into the crook of your neck and kissing your pulse point, whispering praises against the shell of your ear. Taking me so well. Doing so good for me, darlin’. So fucking beautiful. Such a good girl. 

His cock drags along your walls, and you clench down around him. He twitches inside you as he buries himself deeper, hitting that sweet spot again and again. “Logan,” you whine, your eyes struggling to stay open. “I’m so close.” Logan’s cock throbs as the words fall from your lips. 

“F-fuck,” he stutters, his composure slipping. “I know, princess. Me too.” His hips rock into yours, his pace growing faster with every hit. “Wanna feel you come on my cock, wanna get there with you.” 

You arch your back, your chest pushing flush against his. “Yes,” you moan as he thrusts into you, the pads of his fingers firmly circling your clit. It’s too much—you know you’re coming undone, unraveling underneath him. Your walls clench down around him again. 

“That’s it, beautiful,” Logan soothes. “Come with me.”

The tension snaps, splitting in two. It’s uncontrollable, a raging fire, blinding heat. You let go, melting into the mattress, your orgasm wracking through your body. Logan twitches inside you, and you know he’s coming too. You’re trembling underneath him, legs shaking as his thrusts slow down. With one more slow pump, Logan stills inside you. His fingers stroke your clit lightly, working you through your high, bringing you back down to Earth. 

After a few seconds, his fingers slip away, and he pulls out of your cunt. You can’t help but feel empty now that he’s gone, already craving more of him. He sits up on his knees and climbs off the bed, taking the condom from his cock and tossing it into the garbage. He grabs his boxers from off the floor and tugs them on. 

Before you can beg him to come back, he’s crawling onto the bed. He grabs your panties and your shorts, dragging them up your legs, making sure everything is back in its right place. 

“You okay, pretty girl?” He asks, tugging you into his chest. “You need anything? New pad? Water?”

“I’m okay,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to the center of his chest. “Just need you.”

You can feel him smiling against the crown of your head. “You have me, beautiful.” He whispers. “Always gonna have me.” He tugs the sheets and the comforter over your bodies, the warmth of him and your bed dragging you under the current of sleep. 

You wake up a few hours later. Logan is still there, next to you, his arms holding you tightly to his chest. 

“Lo,” you whisper into the darkness of your room.

“I’m here.” His voice is cloudy, tired, filled with sleep. “Never gonna be anywhere but here.” He presses a kiss to the crown of your head. “Go back to sleep.”

“I love you,” you say, because you can, because you mean it.

You can hear the sleepy smile in his voice. “I love you too.”

tags: @banlaineslawyer @gothgoblinbabe @alsoprettyinpink @librababe99 @ponygyatt @yoursrosie @itdobe-foggy @gplol @healmydesires @qardasngan @princessterek @alastorssimp @yawnetu @chronicallybubbly @corvid007 @muffin-berry @emmdog2999 @kieekto @creepsbeware @starrdustss @evasmlp @figsnpassionfruits @spiderset @ilysmdovie12 @silversprings-mp3 @prettyseaveins @derbygracie @pedrohoe04 @wittyjasontodd @theasiaabattoir @movhoney @honeyfwr @fanfic-writing-barbie @manipulatour @cosmiccandydreamer

[orcelito]

me sitting on posting ladue chapter 2 bc im going thru edits for chapter 1

honestly it's kinda amazing how much my writing skills have improved in 2 years