#{screw everything and what i write}

[juustozzi]

soccer club shenanigans! also, don't mind the alt uniforms, these were drawn while I was writing and while they're not exactly fic art they share the vibe

[six-white-venus]

the worst trait of me and my family is probably this: we never learned to say the word sorry.

i) my best friend and i, we are no people. knives? maybe. liars? definitely. but people? i’m not so sure.

knives were never forged to be tender (what a shame, what a shame) and we too, fall and slay what we meant to protect. him and i, we go for the throat when we clash. we hurt and bleed and oh, i should be terrified, i should be running for my life, but all i am is tired and a bit lonely and would really like his arms around me.

( “can we please stop fighting now.”

“oh god yes please.”)

because time and time again, this man has held my heart in his hands and cleaned its festering wounds with cotton dipped in alcohol (always the healer, always the lover) and wrapped gauze around them with clinical precision. and i have walked through the maze of his head and tended to his withering garden, have dragged the sun and fresh air and all the oceans to the barren land to make it bloom (always the poet, always the lover).

him and i, we have never needed words because we are knives forged in the same fire and at the end of the day, we both know that he will be the one who wordlessly stitches my broken heart and i will be the one who sings him to sleep.

ii) let me paint you a picture:

blue that fades into red that fades into black that fades into blue that fades into red. loud, clashing and nonsensical. a pit in your stomach that was dug with desperation and blunt fingernails. how do you colour anger that is also pain, grief, hate, love, fear and truth? the smell of the paint is foul and clogs your windpipes. blunt fingernails and blue and black and madness. can you bear to look at what you created without flinching?

that’s what anger looks like on my father. a horror. a mottled bruise. a hellfire.

all his life, my father has been scorned, belittled, beaten, spat on. his mother didn’t love him right because her mother didn’t love her right. my dad loves like he hates. something is fucked in his head and heart and his words fade into black and blue and red and this shitshow always ends with me sobbing, bleeding, dying on the floor. my father watches with his hackles raised and his eyes red and wide and glowing. once wounded, an animal never sheathes its claws. it strikes the ones it loves and walks away with its head held high and hands trembling.

but here’s what happens when the curtains close: he pulls me into his arms and brings me tea. he wipes away my tears with hands that has moved mountains to make me smile. he kisses my forehead and tells me that his mom didn’t love him right. my grief is like anger and indignation and love. i wrap my arms around him and cry all the tears he never had the luxury to. who should say sorry, really? is it him or his mom or his mom’s mom or this stupid fucking world? my father has never said the word sorry. he never needed to. this is what love looks like on us. a horror. a mottled bruise. a hellfire.

iii) despite it all, i am not usually an angry person. i take after my father and my mother, after all. i rage like my mother (quick, loud, fire that burns out almost as quickly as it sparked to life) and fight like my father (aim, shoot, bullseye). my sister does something even mildly upsetting and before i know it, i’m cursing her to be miserable till she dies. not even an hour later i’m draping myself over her shoulder and bugging her till she rolls her eyes and smiles ever so slightly.

(“do you have no shame?”

“yeah no i don’t think so.”)

my family and i, we never learned to say the word sorry. because the word sorry never meant sorry, not to us. because at the end of the day, that’s all it is: a word. and it sticks to the back of my tongue and the dents of my molars and gets tangled in my mouth when i try to spit it out. so i grab it by its throat and thread it into my being. i find it so much easier to hide my pathetic inability to do one thing that doesn’t scream that there's something wrong with me with the truth of another three words:

“i love you”

and they are always echoed back to me, just a few million times more tender, in ways only we can understand.

“yeah, i know.”

“that’s great, but there’s no escaping dishes duty.”

“oh, shut up, you.”

“what’s that for?”

a pause and a hum.

“i love you too.”

[coquettepascal]

trying to figure out tlou timeline as someone who has not played the game is so tough.

is anyone able to explain to me how joel was born in 1981 (maybe???) but tommy fought in the gulf war which happened in the 1990's ?

[turtlespancake]

me when i write a character who is prone to dooming themself and then they run off and doom themself. core traits are stubbornness and a willingness to disregard their own humanity gET BACK HERE IM NOT DONE WITH YOU

[sygneth]

The confirmation that Harry's squad abandoning him is just poor writing just so the player can continue doing shit on their own is the fact that it never gets explained. Harry even tries to bring it up but kim just. Shuts him up about about it is so so sooooo absurd. Jean's inaction could also harm him but he just makes harry drop the subject? C'mon folk it could have not been more obvious that the writers simply did not come up with that part 💀 I wish people would just take things as they are: de is not really a detailed novel. It's a fuckin game. With excellent writing, excellent characters and worldbuilding, but still a game

I don't think there is much to add here anon. This is a very solid point.

EDIT: I figured it may be worth adding that this is about the posse leaving on the day of the mercenary tribunal, not before the events of the game

[keeps-ache]

hm. i do not remember the screenshot being this big hfvsh

[aromanticbastards]

i just remembered the usa concept of student loans and time and time again it seems more cruel to me

like. i am a bit of a screw up academics-wise. i dropped out of three different unus after two semesters at most and i also worked a job that didn't need much of an education for six months in between. and i was able to do that bc i pay like 300 euros to my unis per semester, and like half of that goes into a public transport ticket. if i had to get along in y'all's system i would have drowned in debt by now. or taken much more drastic measures to keep myself going where i thought i wanted to go when i was 17. it seems to me like they really don't leave you much of a choice, in any direction. wherever you think you might want to go after highschool, you're kind of doomed to keep walking in that direction if you aren't filthy rich. so many people are probably grieving a future that was unattainable to them in some way or another, because they chose to do something at first and then couldn't afford to change paths, because of a disability that made your whole schooling system impossible to bear, or a thousand of other reasons.

and this might just be ramblings, and it's just a perspective of someone who never had to experience said system. but i think y'all should start to burn shit to the ground

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Giving Report with the Healthcare Boys (LU in Healthcare snippets)

What patient handoff and/or shift change looks like for some of the boys!

Wild stretched as he entered the staff lounge and caught sight of a coworker getting on shift. His feet were sore and he had a headache, but overall he felt pretty good despite the chaotic day.

"How was today?" his coworker asked.

Wild shrugged. "Busy."

His coworker smirked. "Well at least you're actually mostly in uniform today."

Wild looked down at his black scrub bottoms (that he absolutely didn't steal from Twilight), light blue polo, and sleeveless black jacket. "Yeah, I guess so."

"What kind of adventures did you have today?"

Wild laughed. "Only one, thanks. We eventually found MRI."

"How long did it take for you and your patient to find MRI?"

"Um," Wild shifted awkwardly. "Maybe twenty minutes? Didn't mess up her appointment, so it was fine. Besides, she got to see the ambulance bay and a friend of mine showed her the back of the ambulance, which she thought was really cool."

"That sounds like way more than twenty minutes!" his coworker laughed.

"We had fun and got there eventually," Wild shrugged as he crossed his arms. "That's all that matters."

When his coworker continued to guffaw at the entire situation, Wild rolled his eyes exasperatedly and clocked out. He was ready to have some of the dinner that he'd made for himself yesterday, and he was excited to get home and relax.

XXX

"I just fueled her up, she should be set to fly for you tonight," Sky said as he pat his hand against the helicopter with a warm smile. "The only thing I can think of is that you need to watch the cyclic; it's a little jerky if you adjust it too fast. I was going to see if maybe I could look it over but we kept getting calls."

Belari nodded. "Got it! I'll take a look at it with the shift checks. Sorry you were flying all night, though."

Sky shrugged. "It wasn't too terrible. But I'm definitely ready to go to bed."

Belari laughed at that. "Sky, you're always ready to go to bed."

XXX

Twilight grabbed a clipboard and his finger slid down across different names of patients. "So these two are the ones who have been the biggest ones to look out for. Airway issues for this kid, and the parents aren't in there, so just keep an ear out, especially if her nurse is busy. The other is on seizure precautions, everything's set up but he's already had one seizure today."

The tech he was handing off to sighed. "Poor kid. I thought they'd gotten that under control."

"Yeah, we all thought that," Twilight remarked sadly before continuing with his report. "This one here is a standby with one assist, usually uses a bedside commode for toileting. This one in room 12 needs a sitter, you might get stuck there a bit. He's not really bad, just developmentally delayed and likes to throw things. He's nonverbal, but he understands more than you think, so just redirect him. Loves to listen to Barney, so I've literally just been playing it on repeat all day. Kept him pretty preoccupied. Rooms 1, 3, 4, and 5 are night baths. The 24 hour QCs have been done, I think you'll just have to do the EKG machines."

"Is the lift still broken?" his coworker asked with dread.

Twilight grimaced. "Uh, yeah. But the only one you'd need it for is room 8, and she's pretty light."

His coworker crossed her arms. "Yeah, light to you, Mr. I-Can-Bench-Press-the-Planet."

Twilight couldn't help the laugh that escaped him, and then he spluttered to try and compensate when she waved him off.

"Get out of here, Twi," she said exasperatedly. "It's gonna be a long night and you don't need to be here for it."

XXX

Wind settled beside his preceptor as the night shift respiratory therapist pulled up a chair. He shifted nervously, knowing that Daphnes had said he would be giving report for one of the patients; this was Wind's first time even attempting to give report.

"All right, go for it," his preceptor's relief said, ready for report.

Wind swallowed and nodded. "Okay, so room 12 is a 54-year-old female, post-op day 1 for a CABGx3. She's still intubated because they can't get a good neuro on her, I think? Like for us she's been fine, breathing spontaneously on the vent, but they're afraid she can't protect her airway if we extubate."

Daphnes held out a small piece of paper to Wind, who jumped, realizing what he'd forgotten. "Oh! Right, her last gas looked good, but her lactate was high so that's another issue she's got going on. She's got a 7.5 ETT, 23 at the lips, cuff's fully inflated and intact. She's on 30% FiO2, PEEP of 8, pressure support."

"Tolerating the vent? Suctioning, any secretions you're getting out?"

Wind's heart skipped another beat as he felt like he was messing everything up. "She's tolerating it, yeah. Hasn't really bucked it all. Because, you know, no neuro and the like. She isn't following commands or anything. They're not sure what's wrong. She doesn't have a lot of secretions, last time I went in she was good. Lung sounds are clear, a little diminished in the bases."

The respiratory therapist finished scribbling notes and then nodded. "Okay, sounds good."

Wind leaned back heavily in his seat as his preceptor gave report on the other two patients they'd been caring for. When he was finished, Daphnes put a hand on Wind's shoulder.

"Good job on report," he said with a smile.

Wind watched him uncertainly. "I thought it sucked."

Daphnes laughed. "It's your first report. You went over the broad strokes. You'll get there, Wind. Good work today."

Smiling, Wind perked up and nodded. "Thanks."

XXX

Hyrule tried not to feel overwhelmed when he brought the stretcher into the large room filled with people waiting for him. He could do his job and take care of the patient, but giving report always made him nervous.

He caught sight of Legend in the corner, who gave him a smile and a nod.

Taking a deep breath, Hyrule stood beside the stretcher alongside a tech while Mo and another nurse moved to the other side of the hospital bed where they'd lined up with the stretcher, grabbing the sheet under the patient.

On three, the four slid the patient from the stretcher to the bed, and people swarmed around her as Hyrule stepped back.

"71-year-old female, stroke alert, last known normal was two hours ago at 1945," Hyrule started loudly so both Legend and the physician could hear him as they worked. "She's got right sided facial droop and arm weakness, as well as aphasia. No neglect or vision changes to my knowledge. She hasn't changed for us over transport, she's just been like this since we got on scene. She can follow commands, can't really say anything but she'll track your movement. Vitals have been stable throughout transport, glucose was 112. I've got bilateral 18s in both ACs, one's saline locked and the other's KVO. Sinus rhythm on the monitor. History of TIA and hypertension. Any questions?"

"Does she have family coming?" Legend asked as he labeled blood samples pulled from one of her IVs.

Hyrule nodded. "Daughter's on her way."

The charge nurse walked in. "CT 3 is ready for you guys."

Legend nodded. "Thanks, Roolie. We'll see you later."

With that, Hyrule stepped out of the room as Legend and a few others guided the patient's bed out of the room and headed off to get a head CT. He blew out a deep breath of relief and made his way to his partner, who was cleaning the stretcher.

"Well that was exciting," Mo commented.

Hyrule had to laugh. "Yeah, no kidding. Maybe we can sleep the rest of the night."

"You really think so?"

"...No."

"Me neither."

XXX

"Well you took your sweet time," Legend grumbled as Warriors plopped into a seat beside him.

"I can't help that morning huddle took an eternity," Warrior fired back, rolling his eyes. "I'm not charge today, and the one who is just stood there for like a solid five minutes figuring out where everyone should go. So what do you have for me?"

"In the twenty years it took you to get here, I discharged one of the patients," Legend explained, getting a good-natured chuckle out of his friend. He pulled up the other patients' charts. "You only have two to worry about. Room 28 is a 24-year-old female, A/Ox4, stable, she's here for generalized body aches, they're doing a flu workup for her so she's on droplet precautions. She's been stable, no known medical history, she's fine in there. I took care of all the orders for her, we're literally just waiting for results."

Warriors nodded, reviewing the chart briefly before Legend moved on to the next patient. "Okay, this other one is the issue. Roolie brought him in about an hour ago, respiratory distress CHF patient, was on CPAP with Roolie and then we intubated him here; he's on propofol for the sedation. He's gotten 60 of IV Lasix and 2 inches of nitro paste, got a Foley in and it's put out like 150 so far, so mostly responsive to the Lasix. But they did an echo on him and his EF is absolute garbage, so even though we're getting fluid off it isn't doing much. They're talking about putting him on a milrinone drip, I've got the tubing and stuff ready if they decide to do it. Big surprise, he's been consistently hypertensive for me, started out at 220/136 now his systolics are lingering in the 160s. He was tachycardic and I think the nitro didn't do him any favors for that, but the good thing about milrinone is that you got reflex bradycardia with it, so hurray."

Rubbing a hand over his face, Warriors grumbled, "You always manage to bring me such great patients, don't you?"

"Hey, I got rid of a stroke patient earlier, you should thank your lucky stars," Legend retorted. "Stroke alerted her and she went straight to surgery. These two are all you got. They're working on getting this one up to the ICU as soon as possible. You've got an 18 in the left AC and a 20 in the right upper arm. Your propofol is going at 30 in the AC. The tube is a 7.0 and it's 21 at the lips. They're alive. End of story."

"Well, that's all that matters, anyway," Warriors muttered, perusing the patient's chart before glancing at his friend. "You okay?"

Legend huffed. "Am I okay? Yeah, sure, we got our asses kicked last night. But it's over. Just going to stay a bit to catch up on charting and then I'm getting the hell out of this nightmare."

"Charting," Warriors said with as much disgust as he could muster. "I hate charting."

"You and me both. Good luck, Wars."

XXX

In the ICU it was typical to have only one to two patients. On a day like this, where staffing was short, however, it was surprising and rarely a good sign when one was lucky enough to be singled with a patient.

It usually meant the patient was a mess.

Four sighed as he grabbed his report sheet and his multicolored pens and sat down beside the nurse who he would be receiving report from. After pulling up the patient's chart, he gave his coworker an affirmative nod that he was ready.

"This is a John Doe, just got up to the unit at 1545 from the OR. He is approximately somewhere in his 30s. Involved in a motor vehicle crash, vehicle versus a tractor. He got extricated and flown here. He was awake and lethargic on scene, apparently, got RSI'd in the field when he couldn't really protect his airway from bleeding with facial trauma. Got 2 units of RBCs in the air, another in the ED, and another in the OR. CT showed right femur fracture, skull fracture with intracranial hemorrhage, multiple facial fractures, rib fractures, and cardiac contusion with tamponade. They placed a bolt in the OR, he v-fib arrested and they shocked him twice. We've given 1L crystalloid for more fluid resuscitation and 1 unit FFP. He's kind of vasoplegic but not by much, still he's on epi at 3 and Levo at 5. Still getting a fluid bolus right now. Ready for systems?"

Four scribbled feverishly, and then he paused. "Wait, who was the surgeon?"

"Time."

Four smiled. Good. That meant the team would be keeping a close eye on the situation. "Okay, I'm ready for systems."

"Neuro, he's a RASS -3 with a goal of -4. He's no longer paralyzed, it was reversed at 1600. He's got the bolt, it's subarachnoid. His ICP has been steady in the..."

The longer the nurse talked, the more Four realized this was going to be a long shift. But he'd get through it. They went through neurological, respiratory, cardiac, gastrointestinal, genioturinary, musculoskeletal, and skin individually before reviewing lab work, and then Four wrote down what points of access he had, including a central line, an arterial line, and three peripheral lines, as well as all the different medications going in through them. After finishing handoff with the other nurse, Four sat in his chair for a moment and just took a deep breath.

Time to get to work.

[locria-writes]

lmao ripi think my keyboard died

[gerudospiriit]

" .............Zant was right. "

[rebelcliche-archive2]

i write nancy as 19 (bc she’s supposed to be 19 in ‘86, the duffle bags just can’t do math) and i like to explore what her life would be like as an older adult, and all that. if you don’t like stuff like that, feel free to unfollow me.

[rubyreverie]

watched alex's goodbye episode yesterday and i am conflicted

[solvicrafts]

*gently grabs and shakes Legend of Drizzt fandom*

listen guys as a former MCU stan I can safely say that even if I don't always like everything going on with drow and the LOD series I can safely say that Bob fucking cares about his characters and genuinely respects his fans

You guys seriously have no idea how fucking lucky we are

And if you don't believe me? Just look at what the fucking Loki and Gamora fans went through with Infinity War and Endgame

[didimentionthatimawriter]

You know what? F*** it, I'm gonna write cringe fanfiction as an adult

I'm not a teenager anymore but I still indulge in fandom. And the thing about hitting your mid-twenties and still simping for fictional characters and getting the itch to write fanfiction is, for me anyway, I felt like I was supposed to outgrow this by now. I have multiple degrees, I'm in a happy, healthy relationship, I pay rent and have a full time job with benefits and everything.

Yet here I am, still in the same mental space as when I was seventeen.

Thing is, I'm a writer. Have been for as long as I can remember. And the other problem with hitting my mid-twenties and not being where I want career-wise is I'm suddenly afraid I'm wasting my time, that getting this job was a mistake that is starving me creatively because suddenly I'm dedicating nine hours a day to my job and don't have the time to write anymore (which I know is BS because I can totally make time, I just don't).

I've fallen into the same trap that every artist eventually falls into once money gets involved: I'm not writing for myself anymore, I'm writing for a publisher. A publisher that doesn't exist since I haven't been published yet. I have SO MANY ideas and I want to write them down but as soon as I go to do that I just can't make myself. It's like my brain is too exhausted.

So I'm issuing a challenge to myself. The most obvious fix for this is to set up a writing routine for myself that I do every day. It's how I was able to write my first novel. And to get it started I'm going to write and post something that can't make any money: a cringey af reader insert fanfiction that I've been planning in my head since 2016. It has to be this one specifically because a lot of my other fanfiction also falls into the trap of "But what if I scratch off the serial numbers and publish it as an original work?" F*** that. I want to write something that publishers wouldn't bat an eye at but readers would actually enjoy. With updates once a week or something. Because in the end, writing fanfiction isn't financially viable but it's better than not writing anything at all.

[imaginedisish]

My Girl (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Hey guys!! So sorry this took so long. Here is the secret relationship/breeding kink fic. I honestly really like this one...and I hope you guys do too. Was listening to "Juna" by Clairo while writing it, but went with "My Girl" for the title. ENJOY!

Summary: You and Logan have been in a secret relationship for months, but everything comes to a head when a new mutant visits the Institute, and won't leave you alone...Logan shows him, and you, who your man is.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI!!! SMUT!!! Thigh riding, Fingering, Unprotected PIV (wrap it up!), breeding kink, praise kink, possessive!Logan, jealous!Logan, unspecified/implied!Age Gap, established relationship, creepy!OC who hits on reader and doesn't lay off, minor violence, afab!/fem!reader, fluff/feelings, cursing, def some grammatical errors, I think that's it?

Word Count: 5,313 this is why it took so long also, smut right under the cut...

You remember the first time he fucked you, vividly. 

It was late at night, after a mission. You almost died in his arms. And that was what broke that thing inside him, the burden of time that he carries, that deep-seated pain that made it justifiable to stay away from you. He had held back for so long—had done his all to resist falling for you. He was screwed from the beginning, and he knew that. But he had become so terrified at the thought of losing you that he hadn’t realized it could happen all the same if he stayed away—if he forced himself to remain a friend. 

So, when he fucked you that first time, that first night, he fucked you like it’d be the last—the only time. 

“Goddammit, so fucking perfect,” he mumbled, his lips bruising yours, shoving himself deep inside—as deep as you could take him. “Needed you this whole time. Can’t live without you.”

“Logan,” you whined, his hips snapping against yours. “D-don’t stop, please.” “Never gonna stop, pretty girl,” he promised. “Can’t go back. Can’t be anywhere but here.”

For months now, you’ve been together—but nobody knows. There’s no doubt about commitment—nothing casual about the relationship in the slightest. You start and end every day in Logan’s bed. You’ve talked about running off together, getting married, and settling down. For the first time in his long life, Logan sees a future where he’s happy—genuinely happy. 

The sun peaks through the curtains. You curl yourself into Logan’s chest. His arms are wrapped around your back, holding you tight against him, even in his sleep. You listen to his breathing as the fall breeze creeps through the open window. Everything is calm and quiet in the morning, when everyone is still tucked away in their bedrooms, sound asleep. 

Logan groans, tugging you closer to him, nuzzling his face into your neck. “Go back to sleep.” His voice is heavy, laden with exhaustion. “Too early.” He kisses the spot just under your ear, and you moan involuntarily, feeling extra sensitive in the haze of the morning. He smiles softly against your neck, and kisses you again, his teeth grazing your skin. You moan louder this time, intertwining your legs with Logan’s. “Love those pretty little noises you make.”

“Feels good,” you murmur, his thigh slotting between your legs, pressing against your core. You can’t help but grind down on his thigh, rocking your hips back and forth. “Need you, Lo,” you beg. 

“You’re gonna ruin me,” Logan husks, his palms warm against your bare skin as he slips underneath your shirt—which is really his. 

He’s slow in the morning, pressing soft kisses on your bare shoulders, letting his touch linger longer than normal. He likes the peace of it all—waking up to each other, smelling you next to him, feeling the other side of his bed warm and full of you. When he fucks you, early like this, he takes his time. 

His fingertips trace the curves of your stomach, falling into your dips, gripping your flesh. Logan breathes you in, his lips softly melting into yours. “Still too early?” You mumble between soft, lazy kisses. 

“Never too early to want you,” Logan husks, dragging his thigh against your core again. “Always need you.” You can feel his erection through his boxers. “Gonna take care of my girl. Gonna make you—”

There’s a knock at the door. “Logan?” It’s Scott’s voice on the other side. He knocks again. “Logan, you in there?”

Logan tries to ignore him, his fingertips dragging down your sides, bumping into the hem of your panties as he trails wet, open-mouthed kisses down the hollow of your throat. You let out a breathy moan as Logan bites down on your pulse point. He smiles under your jaw at the soft sound, content that you can’t hold back. 

“Logan,” you whisper, running your hands up his arms, to his shoulders, your fingertips finding the nape of his neck. “He’s not gonna stop.”

Sure enough, Scott knocks again. “Logan, I know you’re in there,” he calls, banging on the door now. “Wake up. We have some tech guy on his way.” 

Logan groans into your neck. “Why do you need me, Summers?” Logan licks your collarbone teasingly, hiking your t-shirt farther up your body. 

“He’s…a mutant,” Scott explains. “He can speak with machines, computers, code—you name it, he can do it. He’s gonna fix some stuff around the mansion. Charles asked me to make sure you’re awake just in case…” Scott trails off.

Logan finishes Scott’s sentence. “In case everything goes to shit?” 

“I wasn’t going to say that,” Scott huffs, likely shaking his head on the other side of the door. “But yes. In case things don’t go as planned. I’m also looking for—"

But Logan cuts Scott off, saying your name for him. 

“Yeah, I can’t find her. Do you know where she might—”

“On a run,” Logan chimes in, and you suppress your laughter by pressing your face into his chest. “She’ll be back soon.” Logan’s arms wrap around your back, holding you against him. 

“Alright,” Scott says, shuffling, slowly stepping away from the door. “If you see her, let her know what’s going on, okay?”

“Trust me bub,” Logan husks, his fingers digging into your flesh, tickling you. “I’ll make sure she knows.” 

Scott mumbles something unintelligible as he walks down the hallway, his footsteps echoing as he disappears down the stairs. 

Logan’s lips are attached to your neck again, sucking playfully. “Where were we?” He teases, his nails grazing down your back. His palms settle on your ass, squeezing your flesh tightly in his hands. 

You moan, your chest flush with his. “Logan,” you whine. “We need to get up,” you insist, your hands pushing against Logan’s broad shoulders, your fingers digging into his muscular biceps. “Can’t stay in bed anymore.”

Logan grunts, his thigh still nudged between your legs, rocking into your core. You want him, and it’s tempting to let him take you right here, right now. But you can’t. And he knows it. He presses a chaste kiss to your lips and pulls you tightly into his chest. “Later,” he promises, his lips finding the shell of your ear. You smile at the thought. There was always a later with Logan.

You snuck out of Logan’s room, unnoticed, as always. It was still early—too early for the ruckus of a morning at the mansion to begin. You got ready for the day and slipped downstairs. You’re still shocked at just how oblivious the rest of the team is. Truly, no one knows about you and Logan. 

You’re in the kitchen now, nursing a cup of coffee, waiting for the day to start. Familiar, heavy footsteps approach, and you smile before you can even see his face. 

“Hi pretty girl,” Logan coos, standing behind you and wrapping his arms around your front. You lean into him, feeling the warmth of his chest and the strength of his heartbeat. He presses a chaste kiss to the crown of your head and walks over to the coffee pot. 

Scott enters the kitchen as Logan takes his first sip of coffee—one second earlier and he would have seen Logan holding you. “The guy is here,” Scott announces from the doorway. He looks at you and smiles. “Oh! Hey! How was your run?” He asks cheerfully. 

You almost spit out your coffee, remembering what you were actually doing this morning. “Great!” You say, doing your all to hold back your laughter. “Surprisingly relaxing.” Logan snorts and plays it off like he’s sniffling.

Scott smiles, none the wiser, and nods, cocking his head towards the hallway just outside the kitchen. “Come meet the tech guy!” He backs out of the doorway and into the hallway. Logan settles his coffee cup—which reads #1 Professor—next to yours on the counter and gives your waist a quick squeeze as you hop out of the chair. You walk shoulder to shoulder into the foyer. All the signs of your relationship are there—out in the open—and yet, still, no one seems to catch them.

You step into the foyer, and there’s Scott and the Professor by the front door, chatting with a younger man—who’s about your age. The man’s eyes find yours, and he smiles softly. “Hi there!” He calls, waving. “I’m Mark!” He strides away from Scott and the Professor and towards you. “But you can call me Techno.” He smirks and winks, extending his hand out, waiting for you to take it.

Logan grabs his hand instead, gripping it tightly, catching Mark off guard. “Wolverine,” Logan growls. “And you can’t call me Logan,” he adds, gritting his teeth. “So, you turn on computers, bub?” 

Mark grimaces, wrenching his hand from Logan’s grasp. “A little more than that,” he asserts, closing his eyes and bawling his fists. You look up as the lights flicker, and televisions turn on and off. Your cell phone rings in your pocket, and you pull it out. The screen reads: Incoming Call from Mark.

Your lips part. “How did you…” You trail off. 

Mark shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly. “My powers essentially let me communicate with electricity and tech,” he explains. You can practically hear Logan seething beside you. 

“A technopath,” Charles offers as he rolls over to join the three of you with Scott in tow. 

“Exactly,” Mark says, nodding to Charles. “Makes it easy to put my number into pretty girls’ phones.” Mark winks at you, and you press your lips into a straight line in response. 

You shake your head. “I’m not inter—”

You’re cut off by the sound of Logan’s claws unsheathing. “These,” Logan pauses, lifting his claws to Mark. “Make it real easy to hurt creeps who put their numbers into girls’ phones without asking first, bub.” 

Mark rolls his eyes, and the corners of your lips twitch up. You try to force down your smile, try to slow the rhythm of your heart. You secretly liked when Logan got possessive over you. He was inherently protective, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t turn you on just a little. 

“Let’s stay on course,” Charles reprimands, guiding Mark to the hallway to the left with a wave of his hand. “Let me show you some of the machines I’d like you to work on.”

“It would be my pleasure, Professor Xavier,” Mark says harshly, his eyes locked on Logan as he backs away to follow Charles and Scott.

Logan lowers all but his center claw, giving Mark the middle finger as he turns around. “Don’t mind Logan,” Scott says as they disappear into a room, the door shutting behind them.

“Logan,” you whisper, now that everyone is gone. “Don’t worry,” you assure, bringing a hand to his shoulder. 

He turns to look at you. “He’s a fucking creep.”

“It’s going to be fine.”

 It is not going well, or fine.

Mark is something of a nuisance. He’s only been here for an hour, but he has already created multiple excuses to talk to you, to pull you away from whatever task is at hand. 

You’re in the middle of teaching an English class, discussing Mrs. Dalloway with a group of older students. “So, what are we to make of Clarissa and Sally’s relationship?” You ask the students, to no avail. 

This was your hardest class of the day—especially given the fact that you’re not even a decade older than most of the students. You had joined the X-Men in your early 20s, your powers having shown themselves a bit later than in most mutants, and only a few years have passed since then. Convincing the students who have been here their whole lives that you deserve to teach has been nothing short of a challenge. 

So, when Mark butts his head in on your class, annoyance burns through your body. You take a deep breath and swallow down your frustration. 

“Hey!” He chimes, his head poking through the open classroom door. “Mind if I take a look at your computer really quick?”

The class perks up, more focused on you than they were just seconds ago. You fake a smile, nodding and pushing yourself off the front of your desk so that he has space to access the computer. 

He slips behind the desk and smiles widely. “You didn’t have to move,” he remarks. “Would’ve been nice to have you close.”

You want to gag. You turn away from the students, whispering so they can’t hear. “Listen,” you chide, narrowing your eyes. “I am not interested, so could you please—”

“What are you doing in here, asshole?” Logan’s voice echoes against the walls of the classroom. For the first time all year, the class is paying incredibly close attention. “The Professor told you to check the computers in the lab down the hall.” Logan fully enters the room, striding over to Mark, his hands bawled into fists at his sides. “Beat it, bub.”

“Whatever,” Mark mutters, his head down as he exits the classroom. The bell rings, and the class stands, grabbing their things and filing out the door. 

You groan. “Please read the next twenty pages for tomorrow!” You shout over the hubbub and shuffling of students. “I know it’s a challenging novel, but I think you guys can…” The students are gone before you can finish your sentence. “Handle it.” 

Logan smiles sympathetically, closing the distance between you and him. His presence is comforting, warm, everything you’ve ever needed. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you into his chest. “Sorry,” he apologizes, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “Didn’t mean to make your class harder than it is already.”

You take a deep breath, your annoyance fading away. “You helped,” you whisper. “Mark is the one who ruined things,” you insist. “He won’t leave me alone.”

Logan chuckles. “You don’t like him?” He teases. “Don’t like a guy your own age flirting with you?” He’s egging you on, trying to joke, but you can tell part of him is a bit serious. 

You shake your head. “Only like you.” You press your lips to the hollow of his throat and Logan grunts. 

He reluctantly pulls away, the palms of his hands dragging down your arms, his fingers intertwining with yours. “Gotta get to my class,” he husks, his fingers slipping, tugging longingly as he steps to the door. “Meet me after?” He asks, but he already knows the answer. You’ll be outside his classroom door before the bell rings, waiting for him.

You nod, and he smiles, his hands gripping the doorframe like some invisible magnet is pulling him away, and he’d give anything to spend another second with you. He slips down the hallway, and into his classroom. 

You spend the next thirty minutes or so grading papers, waiting for the period to end so that you can walk across the hall to Logan’s class. Another few minutes pass, and you start to collect your things, readying yourself to meet Logan. Your heart thumps in your chest at the thought, even after all the months you’ve spent together. 

You grab your bag and head to the door, closing it behind you and locking up. You cross the hall and stand outside Logan’s door. He’s teaching a younger group of kids—ten to eleven-year-olds. You would trade places with him in a heartbeat if you could. The younger students loved you. There was no question of respect, no doubt of your power. But Logan was given the class as a challenge—Charles wanted to test his patience. 

And, honestly, seeing him with the children did something to you. You loved watching the way he doted on them, carefully explaining material in a way they’d understand. He was an excellent teacher, and one day, you’re sure, he’d make an even better father. You find yourself falling into fantasy: Logan, late at night, a baby—your baby—on his chest. You can see it now—him changing a diaper, teaching the child to walk. Your heart squeezes in your chest, your eyes falling closed as you daydream about the future—your future together. 

You’re so distracted that you don’t hear Mark walk up to you—don’t feel his hand grab your shoulder.

You yelp and jump. “Oh my god,” you mumble, turning around and coming face to face with him. 

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, his hand lingering for far too long on your shoulder. He finally peels away, his arms falling to his sides. He leans against the wall, trying to appear casual and cool. “What are you doing tonight?”

The bell rings before you can think of a polite way to shoo Mark away, and the students exit Logan’s classroom, happily shouting greetings in your direction. You stood outside Logan’s door every day, and the students were always excited to see you.

A few of them run up to hug you, complaining about Logan’s gruffness. When they hear Logan’s footsteps approaching the door, they bolt down the hallway, their laughter booming against the walls. 

Logan steps out into the hall, and he groans audibly when he sees Mark next to you. But Mark ignores Logan, his eyes trained on yours. “Got plans?” He asks again. 

You roll your eyes. “Dude, I’m not interested!” You groan, too irritated to pretend to be nice. Mark smirks and parts his lips, ready to persist like the creep he is.

Logan steps in front of you, his claws already out. “Listen, bub,” he growls, his claws just inches from Mark’s chest. “If you don’t fuck off and stop harassing my girl, we’re gonna have a problem.”

Mark scoffs. “My girl? What are you, her father? You can’t possibly be dating her.”

You can see the anger in Logan’s eyes, the honest rage. “Lo,” you soothe. “Don’t do it.” But you know it’s too late. His decision is already made.

Logan shoves Mark against the wall, his claws pressed against his throat. “I’m her fucking boyfriend, bub,” he grunts as Mark squirms helplessly under his hold. 

“Oh, her boyfriend?” He teases, despite the fear in his eyes. “Aren’t you too old to be a boyfriend?”

Logan shoves him harder into the wall, and Mark yelps pathetically, like a small dog. “More serious than that,” Logan asserts. “Guessing you wouldn’t know anything about that though, would you?” 

“Alright, break it up!” Scott’s voice echoes from down the hall. He runs over, Jean and the Professor by his side. Rogue and Gambit follow close behind. But Logan doesn’t budge, the tips of his claws almost digging hard enough to draw blood. 

You bring your hand to Logan’s shoulder. “He isn’t gonna hurt me,” you whisper to Logan. “I could handle him easily if he tried.” You slide your hand to the nape of his neck, trying to soothe him, to relax him. “Nothing’s going to happen, okay?” 

Logan retracts his claws and lets go of Mark, who stutters away from Logan and into the center of the hallway. “I’m getting the fuck out of here!” Mark shouts, but Logan doesn’t react. He simply intertwines his fingers with yours. 

“You okay?” He asks, his thumb brushing circles into the side of your hand. 

You arch a brow. “Are you okay?” You smile and lean into him. 

“So…” Scott trails off, interrupting. “You two are…”

“Together.” You finish his sentence, your eyes still on Logan’s. You can feel the tension in his shoulders stretch down to his hand. He’s rigid, still on edge. You know he needs to get out of here, needs to be alone with you. 

“How long has this been going on?” Scott asks, genuinely caught off guard. “Did anyone know about this?” 

You turn to the team to see heads shaking side to side—save for the Professor. “I did, of course,” Charles confesses. “But I felt it was best left a secret until the two lovebirds decided otherwise.”

Rogue shakes her head, the corners of her mouth twitching up. “I can’t believe you never told me!” 

“Told you what?” Jubilee calls from down the hall, approaching the group. She blows a bubble as she stands next to Rogue, her eyes trailing down to where your and Logan’s hands connect. Her eyes widen and her bubble bursts. “No way!” She cheers, jumping up and down. 

“Settle down,” Charles laughs, extending his hand down the hall to where Mark was just moments ago. “Scott, make sure our technopath friend makes it out the door alive.” Scott nods and heads down the hall. Charles turns to you and Logan. “As for the two of you,” he pauses, winking. “We’ll discuss more at a later point.”

You smile in understanding, and Logan squeezes your hand—another sign it’s time to go. He’s still worked up about Mark; he needs to get this out of his system, needs to relieve all the built-up tension. 

“Got something I need to take care of,” Logan says to the group, tugging you down the hallway.  

He strides through the mansion, practically yanking your arm out of your socket. “Logan,” you whisper, trying to catch his attention. You’ve never seen him like this—rage and jealousy like fire in his eyes, dripping from his pores. He leads you up the stairs and towards his bedroom, and it suddenly dawns on you what exactly he needs to take care of. 

Logan pushes the door open and slams it closed the second you’re inside. His hands are immediately on you, grabbing at the pillowy flesh of your ass, pinning you to the door. His lips find yours—hungry and rough, the wiry hairs of his beard scratching your face. He tastes you, his tongue seeking more of you as it swipes across your lower lip. You open your mouth, inviting him in, your tongue tangling with his.

Logan hoists you up without breaking the kiss, and you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist. You can feel his erection straining inside his jeans, pressing against your heat. He grinds into you as one hand slips under your top and drags up your back, holding you tightly against him. 

“Need you,” he mumbles against your lips. “Always fucking need you.” He tears you away from the door and towards the bed. He throws you onto the mattress and climbs over you, slowly, like an animal stalking its prey. “Tell me you need me, pretty girl.”

“N-need you,” you stutter as he settles on top of you, grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head. 

“I’m not too old for you?” Logan teases, one of his hands loosening its grasp on your arm and trailing down your body, settling on the hem of your shirt. “You don’t wanna be with anyone else?” He hikes up your top, pushing it above your breasts. 

You can feel the heat pooling between your legs. “No,” you whine, arching your back as his fingertips play with the bottom of your bra. “Only wanna be with you,” you breathe as Logan slowly, teasingly pulls your bra up. “Please,” you beg, spreading your legs wider. “Want you to fuck me.” 

Logan smirks, finally tugging your bra and top over your head and casting them to the floor. “Gonna take care of you, sweetheart,” Logan soothes, palming your breasts with his free hand, rolling your nipples under his thumb. 

“Fuck,” you moan as he pinches a nipple between his thumb and forefinger. 

Logan hums, his fingertips trailing across the valley of your breasts, doing the same on the other side. Logan pinches harder, and you moan louder this time. “That’s it,” he coos, his lips finding your pulse point, sucking roughly. “Don’t be quiet, darlin’,” he demands. You whisper his name, your voice whiny and needy. “Show me how much you need me. Keep making those pretty little noises, baby.”

“Feels good,” you whimper as his hand traces down your stomach, to your hips, gathering the fabric of your skirt in his fist and yanking it up to your waist.

He chuckles darkly. “You wore this just for me?” He asks, his thumb hooking inside the waistband of your panties, pulling them down your legs. “Wanted to make it easier for me to fuck you?”

“Fuck, yes, just for you,” you pant, watching as Logan lifts himself off you, tugging his t-shirt up and over his head. He dexterously unclasps his belt buckle and throws the leather to the floor. He balances on his forearm as he unbuttons and unzips his jeans, pushing them down his thighs along with his boxers. “I’m all yours, Lo,” you promise as he presses his forehead to yours.

Logan’s hand glides down your side, slipping between your legs and finding your folds. You moan as his fingertips prod at your entrance, spreading your slick. “Fuck, all this is for me?” He pinches your clit before swiping through your folds again. “You’re soaked already, princess.” His fingertips brush your clit, tracing achingly slow circles into the bud. 

You rock your hips against Logan’s touch, searching for more friction. “Logan, need you,” you whine, squirming underneath him. “I’m yours.”

“All mine?” He whispers, his touch suddenly disappearing. You groan at the loss of contact. “Say it again, pretty girl,” he demands, guiding his cock to your folds. 

“All yours,” you answer, trying to move your hips lower to feel just an inch of him. “Please just—”

Your eyes roll into the back of your head as he slams into you, down to the hilt with one thrust. He throbs against your walls as he works you open, his hips still, his cock splitting you in two. “Fuck,” Logan grunts. “So fucking tight. Perfect little pussy. Wanna stay right here forever. Maybe I won’t even fuck you. Maybe I’ll just make you sit on my cock.”

But you need him to move, need him to take you. “Logan, f-fuck me,” you choke, trying to move your hips. His hand grips your waist, stopping you from sliding up his length. “Please, move,” you plead. 

“So impatient,” he chides, kissing you bruisingly, biting your lips. He finally pulls out and slams back in, bottoming out again. His hand slides down your waist and slips between your legs. “You gonna be a good girl and let me fuck you the way I want?” 

His hand is just above your clit, inches away from where you need him most, waiting for your answer. You nod emphatically. “Yes,” you say with pleading eyes. “Anything. You can do anything just please—oh fuck!” Logan pinches your clit and starts his machinations, swirling around the bud. He pulls out and pumps back in, setting a ruthless pace. 

His hips snap against yours, taking all of you with reckless abandon. His lips swallow your moans, consuming you, drinking you in. Of all the times he’s fucked you, it’s never been quite like this. There’s a hunger in Logan’s eyes that you’ve never seen before, an undying need you’re not sure can be satisfied. Something feels different about this time—more intense, fervent, and feverish. 

Logan thrusts in and out of you, bottoming out with every pump, still stretching you out. His fingertips stroke your clit roughly, your walls already fluttering around him. He curses under his breath, his chest heaving against yours. 

“Look at you,” he groans, fucking into you. “So beautiful like this. Always so beautiful.” You can feel his cock twitching inside you. “Wanna make you mine, sweetheart.”

“I-I already am,” you stammer, his fingers drawing tight, rapid circles into your clit, pushing you closer to the edge. “Always gonna be yours.”

“Want more than that,” Logan grunts, his hips rocking, his pace quickening. He’s so deep inside you—hitting exactly where you need him most with every thrust. 

“Whatever you want,” you pant, your chest pressing flush to his. “It’s yours. I’m yours.”

“Yeah?” He growls at the shell of your ear. “You gonna let me fill you up? Gonna let me stuff you full of me?”

“Yes, please,” you cry out as he pumps in and out, shoving himself as deep inside as he can possibly fit. You feel so full, so complete. Nothing compares to having Logan this close, to having him be so connected to you. You’re already coming undone underneath him, falling apart. “Want you to stay inside.” And then the words fall from your lips without a second thought. But you mean it, and you want it more than anything…

“Wanna have your baby, Lo.”

Logan groans at your words, his cock throbbing with need. “Fuck, don’t tease me like that, sweetheart.” 

“N-not teasing,” you stammer. “I mean it.”

“Shit,” Logan growls, his skin slapping against yours, your words spurring him on. He’s letting himself go, letting himself plunge deep inside you, fast and hard. “Such a good girl,” he praises, his length dragging against your walls, pushing deeper still. “You gonna let me fuck a baby into you?”

“Yes!” You cry out, the fire burning in your belly spreading up to your spine, coursing through your veins. Your walls flutter around his length, squeezing him tightly.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” Logan coos, rutting into you, his hips stuttering. “Want you forever.”

You throw your head back as his fingers swirl around your clit. “You have me Lo, always gonna have me.” Your walls clench down around him, and the tension snaps. Electricity shoots up your spine as your orgasm crashes into you. It’s intense—more intense than anything you’ve ever felt. Pleasure washes over you in waves, heat blooming across your chest and up your neck.

Logan is right behind you, whispering a string of praises as he finishes inside you. “Did so fucking good for me. Always so perfect, beautiful.” His thrusts slow until he’s still inside you, but he doesn’t pull out. “Don’t wanna move, princess,” he husks, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. 

“You don’t have to,” you say, your voice hoarse. Logan rolls you onto your side, hoisting your leg up and over his hip, keeping himself deep inside your cunt. You close your eyes, your heartbeat finally steadying, your chest still heaving in time with Logan’s. 

The silence is comfortable, calming. You listen to Logan’s breathing as he runs his hands up and down your back. “You okay?” He asks, pressing a chaste kiss to the crown of your head. 

You hum. “I’m perfect,” you mumble, burying your face into his chest. “Do you really…” You trail off, suddenly nervous to ask the only question on your mind, despite everything that just happened. 

“Yes,” Logan answers immediately. “I meant it. Wanna be a family. Wanna be with you forever.”

You melt into him, wrapping your arms around his back. You can feel his cock growing hard inside you as you move to get more comfortable. “I want that too, Lo,” you sigh. “More than anything.” You smile against him, thinking about your future, thinking about how all this started because some asshole wouldn’t leave you alone. You can’t help but giggle at the thought.

“What’s so funny?” Logan asks. You can hear the smirk in his voice. 

You look up at him. “You’re crazy, you know that?” You joke, your smile widening. “You could’ve hurt that guy.”

Logan’s smile widens too. “Just crazy about you,” he says, shrugging his shoulders. He flips you onto your back and hovers over you, his cock still deep inside you. “Should’ve kicked his ass.” You bite your lip, waiting for his next move. “You’re my girl,” he groans, sliding out of you slightly. 

“Yours,” you breathe as he thrusts back in. “All yours.”

tags: @cosmiccandydreamer @alsoprettyinpink @alastorssimp @1800-fight-me @iamburdened @chaoticweirdogeek @loganobsessed @seasonofthenerd @witch-lemon @the-occasional-artist1125 @https-murdock @afw5 @wolviesgirl @the-ruler-of-death @xtwistedchaosx @wittyjasontodd @galacticglitterglue @silversprings-mp3 @zxaera @spiderset @figsnpassionfruits @prettyseaveins @ilysmdovie12 @evasmlp @derbygracie @rammakela @honeyfewr @ricefordays-blog1 @manipulatour

[bengallemon]

sorry folks but I'm in my smt iv phase now