#I don’t get it go get some work or go home or something
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lubdubology · 3 days ago
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Take My Love and Wear It
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SYNOPSIS: Taking care of Charles has its own special challenges, but you didn’t expect the hardest one to be the man who hired you. Distant, gruff and rough around the edges, Logan still manages to worm his way under your skin. But you’ve worked your way under his, too. 
PAIRING: Old Man Logan x fem!reader
WC: 10.8k 
WARNINGS: smut 18+; mdni; angst; swearing; non-explicit mentions of wounds, blood and use of stitches; extreme physical pain; Charles is a lovable, meddling little shit; fluff sprinkled in for good measure; Logan in a tub (if I had a nickel for every time I bathed him, I’d have two nickels—which isn’t a lot, but its weird it happened twice, right); touch-starved Logan; handjobs; shower sex; fingering; dirty talk; oral (f receiving); sex with feelings; unprotected p in v; creampie
A/N: There’s something special about Old Man Logan, isn’t there? Old and grumpy and desperately in need of some love and affection. I know the Charles caregiver story has been done before, but I couldn’t get this idea out of my head. And then Charles starting talking in my head and well...it blossomed into this. As always, thank you to @joelsgoldrush for allowing me to send her snippets of this as I went along and offering her love, support and suggestions. I hope you enjoy this and any likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated!
You stare down at the remnants of yesterday’s cold and congealed dinner and sigh. Scraping the food into the trash, you resist the urge to pack everything you have and leave. 
One month. 
One month of helping Charles—making his meals, washing his clothes, giving him his meds, making sure he doesn’t hurt himself (or others), assisting with daily tasks—and Logan still regards you as a nuisance, like a gnat needing to be swatted away. 
At best, he ignores you, moving around the house as if you don’t exist. 
And at worst, he treats you with barely concealed contempt, his scowl deepening the lines of his face whenever he’s around you. As if you’re invading his space uninvited even though he’s the one that sought out help. 
You grip the edge of the sink, staring down into the porcelain basin as if it holds some hidden answers. Every day you’ve tried to break through walls Logan’s built around himself, held onto Charles’ promise that eventually he’ll soften, just give him time, but he only seems to have grown more hostile. And you’ve done nothing to incur his ire besides watching him come home every day battered and bruised, his very bones weary with exhaustion, and offering your assistance.
Part of you is angry—angry that you care so much when your main focus is supposed to be Charles. Angry that despite all his efforts to come across unapproachable and cold, Logan’s worked himself under your skin and takes a little piece of you with him whenever he leaves. 
Angry that somehow he’s stolen a piece of your heart. 
You hear shuffling behind you and turn to find Logan entering the kitchen, fingers fastening the last buttons on his dress shirt. “What?” he asks gruffly and for a moment you wonder if he can read your thoughts.
You straighten and meet his gaze head on, swallowing down your nervousness. “How much longer are we going to keep doing this, Logan?”
“Doing what?”
“This,” you say, gesturing between you. “You walking around here like I’m some stain upon your life, acting like I’m a problem when all I’ve ever done is try and help.” Your voice is steadier than you feel. “You asked for me to be here, Logan. It’s not like I barged in here without permission.”
Logan holds your gaze, his jaw tight, and for a moment you think he’s going to grab his keys and leave, head off into the night and drive until sunrise. His eyes soften for just a moment, something like regret crossing his features. 
“I know why you’re here. And I do…appreciate it,” he says, his words coming out low and rough. As if the words taste foreign in his mouth. 
“Wouldn’t kill you to show it,” you challenge.
You’re waiting for him to lash out and instead he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look, I’m not good at this.”
“I’m not asking you to bow at my feet,” you say, hoping to ease some of the tension in the air. “Although, I wouldn’t be mad about it.” You think you see the briefest hint of a smile flicker across his face. “I just want us to be able to live in the same space. I’m here to help, Logan. Let me.”
“You have no idea how hard this life is.”
A rueful smile tugs at your lips. “I understand more than you think I do.”
Logan’s gaze sharpens, inquisitive as he searches your face, as if he’s trying to decipher the meaning behind your words. He rubs a hand across his face, scratching lightly as his beard. “I’ve gotta couple jobs tonight. Maybe more,” he finally says, changing the conversation. “Should be back before sunrise.”
You nod, his switch in topic not lost on you, but you don’t push him. “Alright,” you say softly. “Just—just take it easy, okay?”
He glances down at you, relief softening his gaze and you know a part of him is grateful you didn’t push further. 
Grabbing his keys, Logan heads towards the door but pauses just before he’s about to leave. He turns to look back over his shoulder. “Thanks,” he murmurs, the word awkward on his lips. 
You give him a small nod of encouragement as he slips out the door. He may not be ready to full open up, but you feel as if he extended a tiny olive branch tonight, cracked open the door just enough to let you peek in.
+++
Over the following weeks, Logan’s a little less avoidant. He doesn’t go out of his way to make conversation—you didn’t expect him to—but he at least as acknowledges your presence. Small nods and murmured goodbyes when he leaves and sleepy hellos when he returns. It’s not much, but you’ll take it. 
You’re cleaning the last of the dishes from dinner, Charles safely settled in front of the TV watching an old movie when Logan comes home. He’s earlier than you anticipated, but exhaustion lines his face nonetheless. You expect him to slip away quietly, but he pauses instead, lingering in the doorway. 
“Smells good,” he says softly, nodding towards the pan of half eaten lasagna still sitting on the counter. 
Surprised, you turn around to face him. You brush the hair from your face and say, “Sit. I’ll make you up some.” 
Logan hesitates and for a moment you think he’s about to decline, but then he nods, his shoulders dropping slightly as he sits down at the table. You fix him up a plate, setting it down in front of him with a bottle of beer as you slide into the chair across from him.  
He tucks quietly into the food, his fork scraping against his plate as he eats, pausing only to wash it down with a few swigs of beer. You watch him, a strange satisfaction tugging at you at the sight of him actually sitting down, enjoying a meal with you, even if it is in silence. 
“Long day?” you ask quietly, gesturing towards his bruised knuckles.
He flexes the fingers on his free hand before tucking them under the table. “Nothin’ I can’t handle,” he mutters, taking another bite of lasagna. “They’ll be gone in a day or two.”
You know not that long ago an injury like that wouldn’t have even marred his skin. Now, the simplest of wounds can take days to heal and it’s not the appearance of his skin that bothers you, but the newfound ache he experiences, the heaviness of constant pain.
You want to help him, ease his discomfort, like you know you could. But you know he’s not ready for that. Not yet.
“You’re good with Charles,” Logan says then, his gaze steady on his plate. “He seems calmer around you.”
Logan’s admission is so unexpected, you find yourself staring at him in disbelief. At your silence, his eyes flicker up to yours and you see more than simple acknowledgement in his expression. It’s subtle, but it’s there, a current of something more, something you’re not quite sure how to address.
“Thank you,” you murmur, your voice softer than you intended. “Charles—he means a lot to me.” You pause briefly, but something compels you to continue. “You both do.”
His gaze is focused on you and you don’t miss the flicker of surprise that breaks through his usual stoic expression. Clearing his throat, he looks down, pushing around the last bit of lasagna on his plate and then after a moment, he sets his fork down and leans back in his chair. “You mean a lot to him, too,” Logan finally says and you wonder if he’s talking about more than just Charles.
From the living room you hear Charles call for you, his voice soft but insistent. The moment between you still crackles as you stand from the table and as you begin to walk away, Logan reaches for your hand. His fingers are warm and rough against your skin and you’re barely able to suppress your shiver. 
“Thank you,” Logan says, his voice surprisingly soft. 
His grip against your skin is gentle, a stark contrast to all his roughness and you can feel the weight of his unspoken words curling around you. Charles calls again, his voice breaking through the moment, but Logan’s hand lingers just a beat longer before he lets go, fingers trailing along your skin. 
+++
“He likes you, you know.”
You glance up from shaving Charles’ face and find him staring at you, a mischievous glint in his eye. You give a soft hum. “Did he tell you that or did you read his mind?”
Charles scoffs and waves his hand dismissively. “What’s the difference, dear?” 
You chuckle, shaking your head as you rinse the razor. “With Logan I’m pretty sure there’s a big difference.”
“Bah, if Logan wanted to keep me out of his head, he would. Stubborn man.” He tsks softly to himself and shakes his head. “But, no my dear, he can be quite loud if you know how to listen.”
You raise an eyebrow, giving him a playful look. “Loud, huh? And what exactly is that brain of his telling you?”
Charles gives you a knowing smile. “Oh, just little things,” he says casually with a wave of his hand, but you can tell by the look on his face that he’s holding back. “He notices you—what you do for me, this place, for him. He may not realize it himself, but his thoughts linger on you more often than he’d like.”
A flicker of hope sparks in your chest and despite yourself, you feel a blush creeping into your cheeks. “Logan doesn’t strike me as the sentimental type.”
“Logan has spent so much of his life running,” Charles continues, his tone and expression growing more thoughtful. “The loss he’s experienced has led him to believe it’s better to be alone than form meaningful connections with people. But you’ve somehow become something of a home for him. And he doesn’t quite know what to make of that.”
Your heart skips a beat as you take in his words. The idea of being a home for Logan, a comfort, feels surreal, and yet...there’s a part of you that dares to hope what Charles is saying is true. That this isn’t some fictional truth his brain has concocted, a product of his disease riddled mind. 
“Home.” You repeat the word softly to yourself, testing the word on your own tongue as if it might shatter into pieces.
Charles nods, his hand reaching for yours, his gaze warm and knowing. “Yes, home. He feels it, deep down, in a way that’s unfamiliar and frightening for him.”
You glance down at your hand in Charles’ grasp, his touch grounding you as his words settle over you. 
“Logan’s spent so long hiding from himself,” Charles continues. “I think he’s convinced himself he doesn’t deserve that kind of peace.”
“And you think I can give him that peace?” you ask quietly, your eyes flicking back up to Charles’ face.
He smiles knowingly and gives your hand a squeeze. “You already have, dear.”
+++
“Want some help?”
You turn to find Logan standing in the entrance of the kitchen, hands tucked into his pockets.
It’s a rare night—one where Logan’s chosen to stay home, taking a night off from the almost endless driving he does. He’s dressed down, well worn jeans and a button-up flannel, and for once you actually think he looks comfortable.
You smile, surprised, but happy to see him there. “Sure, the company would be nice,” you reply as he comes to stand next to you. “Want to wash and dice the potatoes?”
Logan nods and rolls up his sleeves before reaching for the bowl of potatoes you had set aside earlier. You watch him for a moment as he settles into the task with a quiet focus. 
“Smells good,” he comments, gesturing towards the oven. “What’re we having?”
“Charles has been asking for beef tenderloin for weeks now, so I’m finally indulging him.” You finish trimming the last of the green beans and toss them into the bowl beside you. “You know, if you have any favorite meals you’d like me to make, you can tell me.”
Logan pauses and glances at you as he shuts off the tap. He clears his throat and says, “You already are.”
You blink in surprise as Logan’s words sink in and then the realization dawns on you. A soft smile spreads across your face as you piece together the extent of Charles’ meddling. You can’t find it in you to be annoyed and only feel a mix of amusement and fondness towards the old man as you chuckle softly to yourself.
“What’s so funny?” Logan asks, raising his eyebrow as he catches your expression.
“Oh, nothing,” you say, waving him off with a smile. 
Logan doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t pry as he picks up the knife and begins to deftly dice the potatoes. You watch him for a moment, captivated by the simple domesticity of the task. It’s in direct contrast to the man you’ve seen numerous times before, brooding and gruff, brimming with an almost untamed violence. 
It suits him, you think, this quieter version of himself.
You both finish the prep with relative ease. He helps you set the table as the rest of the food cooks, plates clinking softly as he sets them down. You busy yourself with finishing the green beans in a garlic butter as you wait for for the tenderloin to rest enough to carve into. 
“Ah, my dear, this smells wonderful,” Charles announces as he rolls into the kitchen, a warm smile on his face. “And you managed to pull Logan out of his room. What a treat.”
Logan snorts in response, giving Charles a pointed glare.
“I dare say it’s because the company has improved much as of late,” Charles says, his eyes twinkling in amusement as he glances between the both of you. “We all know he’s not out here for my benefit.”
You laugh as you bring the dishes to the table, noting the faintest of blushes creeping along Logan’s cheeks. “I’ll take that as a compliment, Charles.”
“As you should, dear. Your personality is quite sparkling.” He looks over towards Logan. “Isn’t it, Logan?”
Logan’s eyes land on you as he answers, “Yes. Yes, it is.”
Dinner begins quietly, the three of you settling into easy conversation as the first few bites are consumed. Both Charles and Logan hum in delight and a warmth blooms within you watching them both. This—this is the simplicity you’ve been craving with Logan.
As the meal continues, Charles launches into his usual repertoire of stories, those of the school and his students, his words brimming with nostalgia and pride as he talks. Logan sits back in his chair, arms crossed as he listens to him speak, shaking his head fondly at some of the memories.
“You know,” Charles begins, setting his fork down with an air of mischief, “I don’t think I ever told you how I met Logan, have I?”
Logan’s head snaps up. “Don’t, Chuck.”
But Charles is already smiling at you, ignoring Logan’s warning. “It’s a good story, dear. See, Logan had quite the career as an underground cage fighter.”
You lift your brows in surprise and you glance over at Logan, who’s thoroughly unamused by Charles’ choice of topic. “Cage fighting, huh?” you ask, unable to suppress your curiosity. 
Logan shifts uncomfortably in his seat, stabbing at his potatoes with a little more force than necessary. “It wasn’t a career,” he mutters. “Just a distraction. Way to get by.”
“Mmm, yes, perhaps,” Charles chuckles, clearly enjoying himself. “Regardless of the reason, it lead you to this exact moment. Didn’t it, Logan?”
Logan narrows his eyes at Charles, though the glare is only half-hearted. “You make it sound like all it all had some grand purpose.”
“Did it not?” Charles says gently, his tone shifting into something more serious. “Kept you alive, for one. But more than that, it brought you to us. To me.” He pauses for a moment, his eyes darting towards you. “To her.”
The words hang in the air and you glance over at Logan, whose expression softens just slightly. Without thinking, you reach across the table and give his forearm a gentle squeeze. His eyes meet yours, a flicker of a smile tugging at his lips.
Charles watches the exchange with quiet satisfaction before clearing his throat. “Well, I believe my work here is done,” he announces, wheeling himself back from he table. “Logan, fancy a game of chess? I haven’t made a player out of her yet.”
You laugh to yourself as Logan follows Charles into the living room. After clearing the kitchen from dinner and loading the last of the dishes into the dishwasher, you join them both in the living room. Tucking yourself into the couch, you read while the two of them play, the clinking of wooden chess pieces and the occasional dry quip from Charles filling the room.
From your spot on the couch, you glance up from your book every now and then to watch them. Logan’s brow furrows in concentration, while Charles’ face is more relaxed as they play. You smile to yourself, wondering how often they played like this in the past, when times were simpler.
You’re not sure when you fell asleep or how long you’ve been out, but you’re jostled awake as two large, warm arms wrap around you, holding you close as you’re lifted off the couch. Logan’s familiar scent—cigar smoke and pine—fill your nose and you blink up to find him walking you down the hall towards your room.
“Logan?” you mumble, voice thick with sleep. “D’you really cage fight?”
Logan chuckles softly, the sound rumbling through his chest. “I really did.”
“Did it hurt?”
“No.”
You blink slowly, your sleep-laden mind struggling to process his answer. “Not even a little?” Your voice is barely audible as you nestle closer into the warmth of his chest.
“Not in the way you think,” he answers, nudging open the door to your room with his foot.
You’re too drowsy to ask what he means and instead you hum softly, a noncommittal sound that Logan feels more than hears. Lowering you onto the bed, he moves with a gentleness you’ve never felt from him before. He brushes a strand of hair from your face and pulls the blanket over you before he turns to leave.
Your limbs are heavy, eyes barely open, but you call out softly—“Logan?”
He looks back towards you. “Yeah?”
“I’m glad Charles found you,” you murmur, closing your eyes.
Logan doesn’t answer, but you swear you feel the lightest of kisses against the top of your head before he leaves.
+++
It’s deep into the night when you hear the front door finally open. Your heart flutters against your ribs as you swing out of bed, unsure of what condition you’ll find him in. He was expected back two days ago, those extra hours away feeling like an unfathomable eternity. 
You find him sitting at the kitchen table, dress shirt hanging off one shoulder, the rest of his clothes rumpled and bloodied. A large gash oozes from his shoulder and you can’t stop the gasp that falls from your lips. 
Logan looks up at you, eyes narrowed and lined with exhaustion. “Don’t look at me like that,” he grunts, tugging off the rest of his shirt. 
“How else am I supposed to look at you?” you ask, taking a tentative step forward. “No phone call or text letting me know you’re not coming home and then you waltz in after midnight soaked in blood and covered in wounds.” Unshed tears burn in your eyes but you will yourself not to cry. 
“Didn’t ask you to care about me,” he bites back, but his tone is more weary than argumentative. 
“Oh, fuck you, Logan,” you snip, but your tone lacks venom.
He ignores you, pushing up from the chair with a heavy groan and limps over towards the cabinets. He shuffles through one of them, pulling out the makeshift sewing kit before sitting back down. You watch as he attempts to thread the needle, growing increasingly frustrated when he keeps missing. 
Shoving down your own frustration, you pull up a chair next to him and reach for the needle and thread. He pulls his hands away from you, turning in the chair to keep you away. You chase after his movements, finally grabbing his wrists and removing the supplies from his grasp.
“I don’t need your help,” he growls. 
You sigh, tired of this same argument, this same endless loop every time he comes home injured. “Goddamit, Logan, just let me help you.”
He drags his gaze up to yours, eyes tracing the lines of your face. His chest still heaves with heavy breaths, but you can see the anger bleed from him. He nods once, turning just enough so that you have access to his wound. Threading the needle, you place a gentle hand on his shoulder, ignoring the flinch he gives at your touch. 
“I’m not going to hurt you,” you whisper. 
Logan huffs. “It’s a needle, darlin’. It’s not gonna feel nice.”
You try to ignore the flip your heart does at his use of the word darling. Despite his earlier gruffness and proclivity to push you away, Logan has softened to you over the last couple of months. Since that first dinner you shared, he’s joined you and Charles more often. Or if he comes home late, sought out the leftovers you’ve kept for him. He’s engaged in conversation, offering small pieces of himself, pieces that you’ve cradled close and nurtured. 
But there’s a tension between you, thick and heavy in the air, and you wonder if he feels it too. Feels that same undeniable pull you’ve always felt in his presence. You’d like to think so, otherwise you were doomed to love him silently, your feelings for him bound in the quiet of your mind.
“Just trust me,” you say. 
Slowly, you release your power, warmth spreading from your fingertips, easing his pain and discomfort as you begin to stitch him up. You try to ignore the heavy press of his gaze on your face and you can almost hear his unspoken thoughts, his words still stuck on his tongue.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, his shoulder relaxing as you continue to work.
You glance up at him then, finding his expression softer than you’ve seen it. “A mutant is a dangerous thing to be, Logan,” you answer, your voice soft. “Few people know what I can do. Those I trust.”
For a long moment, Logan just looks at you, his eyes unreadable. Then, a rough, tired sigh falls from his lips. “You coulda told me.”
You take a steadying breath, his words lingering in the space between you. “Maybe,” you say, your fingers brushing against his skin as you continue to stitch. “But you don’t make it easy to talk to you.”
Logan lets out a low huff. “No. I guess I don’t, do I?”
You finish the last stitch, securing the knot. Your fingers linger a touch long than necessary, the warmth of his skin a comfort you’re loathe to lose just yet. Slowly, you lift your gaze to his and you feel your heart beat solidly against your ribs as he looks back at you like he’s seeing something there he hadn’t allowed himself to before. 
Logan’s voice is low when he finally speaks. “Why you keep stickin’ around? Watchin’ me come home time after time covered in blood?”
“Because you deserve it.” The words tumble from your mouth before you can stop them. “Even if you don’t see that.”
He doesn’t respond, not right away, as he continues to watch you, his eyes tracing the lines of your face. Then he reaches up for you, fingers curling around your wrist, his skin warm and rough against yours. He holds you there as if grounding himself in your presence, his thumb drawing random patterns against your skin. The gesture is simple, but vulnerable and open in a way he rarely shows.
“I’m no good for you,” he murmurs, glancing down at where he’s touching you. “For anybody.”
“How ‘bout you let me be the judge of that?” you answer, your voice steady. “You’re more than you think you are.”
Logan clenches his jaw, a flicker of disbelief crossing his features, and you know deep below the surface he’s waging a war against himself, one he’s been fighting for far too long. His thumb stills on your wrist, his grip loosening slightly, but not letting go. 
Placing your hand over his, you give him a soft smile. “C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up.”
+++
You’re surprised that he doesn’t argue, doesn’t try to brush you off or push you away as you gently nudge him towards the bathroom. He still gives you a dubious glance as he looks down at the tub, but you just ignore it, moving past him to run the tap.
You give him privacy to undress and get settled before you reenter the bathroom. The sight of him, as large as he his with his knees pulled up to his chest, makes you laugh, garnishing a terse look from him.
“You find this amusing?”
“Big man in a little tub? Yeah, I do,” you reply with a smile. “Just relax, Logan. This’ll be our secret.”
He huffs, but does seem to visibly relax, resting his arms over his knees. You kneel down in front of him, resting one hand gently against his forearm as your other reaches for the washcloth. You can feel the tension release from his muscles as your power floods through him and he breathes out a soft, “Oh,” as all the pain and discomfort is eased from his body.
You wonder how long it’s truly been since he’s felt like this, unburdened by the pain and suffering of his own body. Your heart aches for him as you slowly begin to wash him, rubbing soft circles over the scarred flesh of his back, rinsing away the blood dried to his skin. 
Even battered and marred as he is, you still find him beautiful—you always have. When you first started working with him all those months ago, you felt that pang of attraction when you met him, you’d have been blind not to. Ruggedly handsome, so strong and sure of himself. But you know that wasn’t all that drew you to him. Deep down, below all the tough, seemingly impenetrable exterior, you saw the man he truly was. Someone born of scars and rough edges, yet gentle. Someone who would selflessly put himself before others, even at his own expense. 
You let the cloth linger a moment longer against his skin before dipping it back into the water, watching as his blood rinses from the fabric. Squeezing the excess water out, you press it back against his collarbone, tracing the warm cloth along his neck and over his shoulders. Logan doesn’t move, his eyes half-closed, his expression relaxed in a way you’ve never seen before.
Something deep tugs at you as you realize how vulnerable he is right now, how trusting. He hides behind a gruff exterior, his true self guarded so carefully so that he doesn’t let people in, doesn’t open himself up to the hurt that trusting another person can bring. But maybe you’ve finally cracked through, broken down a little bit of that wall he surrounds himself with.
The warm water drips from his skin as you continue to wash him, letting your fingers trail gently along the newly cleaned lines of his arms. Logan shivers at your touch, but he doesn’t pull away. If anything, he seems to lean into it, his breathing deepening, muscles falling even more slack. 
“Feel nice?” you ask in a murmur, voice barely above a whisper.
He nods, finally glancing up at you through his half-lidded gaze. “’S very nice,” he replies, his voice rough.
“Good. You deserve it,” you say, repeating your sentiment from earlier.
You feel a flicker of warmth as his eyes meet yours and he simply nods. It takes everything in you to not smile too widely, to keep the moment gentle, but you take his acceptance to heart. 
Running the cloth down his ribs, you pause when you feel the misshapen knot of a bruise beneath your fingers and glancing down, you find a deep purple hue coloring his skin. Your eyes dart to his with worry, knowing that an injury like that will take him at least a week to heal, if not longer, in his weakened state. That with every breath he’ll feel the pain of his muscles pulling and the bruise spreading if you’re not touching him.
Dropping the washcloth in the water, you press your palm against his side and take in a deep breath to steady yourself. Then, a warmth spreads from your skin into his as you pull his injury from him, feeling his skin knit back together, feeling his abused muscles realign themselves under his skin. A dull, yet sharp ache, blooms along your ribs as you continue to pull his pain into yourself, erasing the injury from his body. With a final gasp, you draw back, your fingers now running along unmarred flesh knitted whole. 
Logan tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze as the back of his knuckles brush against your cheek. His eyes flicker to yours, holding your gaze, and for a moment, the room falls into a deep quiet.
That pull between you, the magnetic force that you’ve felt since the beginning, feels amplified now. You’re acutely aware of every inch of space between you—how small it is, how easy it would be to close it. How badly you want to close it. You swallow, feeling the tension coil in your belly as he continues to hold your gaze, unblinking, but more open and raw than he’s ever been before.
“What are you doing to me?” he asks.
Your breath catches in your throat at his question, voice rough and laced with something between wonder and disbelief. As if he can’t quite fathom what you’ve done for him—what you’ve given him so freely.
Logan’s eyes search yours, his fingers drifting from your cheek to trace along your jaw, lingering with a tenderness that belies the man he presents to the outside world. His gaze is steady and intimate, as if he’s trying to understand you in a way that goes beyond words. But you say nothing, your heart pounding too loudly in your ears to form a reply.
“You took it on yourself, my pain?”
You simply nod, distracted by the way Logan’s fingers continue to brush along the edge of your ear, tracing the lines of your face as if he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go. 
“Why?”
“Because I want to,” you whisper, unable to resist the pull of his hand against your skin, the warmth of his touch that you feel with every fiber of your being. “Because it’s the one thing I can do to help you.”
A beat of silence passes, the air thick and heavy with unspoken words. He exhales, shaky and deep, letting his hand slide to the back of your neck. The calloused pads of his fingers press gently against your skin, anchoring you in place and you can feel him pull you closer, his gaze dropping to your lips, his breath mingling with yours in the small, intimate space between you.
“I shouldn’t want this, want you,” he says, voice so low it’s almost a rumble. “But, fuck, I do.” 
His confession is raw, leaving him unguarded for the first time in a long time and before he can pull back, before he can throw those walls back up around himself, you close the gap, resting your forehead against his. You bring your hand up to touch his face, thumb brushing over his cheek as you breath him in, feeling the heat radiate between you. 
Logan’s hand slides further along your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he finally, gently, presses his lips to yours. His kiss isn’t demanding or rushed or filled with passion, but a lingering connection, the promise of something more. His lips are softer than you imagined, his touch more careful than you expected, as if he’s afraid he’ll break you. Slowly, his thumb traces circles against your cheek, steadying and soothing, pulling you closer. 
When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours, eyes closed. His breath is warm against your skin. “I don’t wanna push you away anymore,” he murmurs.
“Good because I don’t want you to.”
Logan lets out a breath, a hint of a smile finally softening his features. 
Reluctantly, you pull away and pick the washcloth up again, intent on finishing what you started. The water turns to rust as you wash him of blood and grime, making sure you reach each cut, each bruise, each scar on his body that makes up the map of who he is. 
You turn off the tap and hand him a towel, averting your eyes as he stands, wrapping the towel low across his hips. Logan reaches for you, tugging on the collar of your shirt to pull you closer. You stumble a bit as he pulls you in, surprised by the insistence in his grip. Logan’s eyes meet yours, an intensity behind his gaze that makes your breath catch.
“C’mere,” he murmurs, hand slipping along your jaw, his thumb pressing against your bottom lip. 
You’re drawn forward as Logan’s lips find yours again, but this time there’s an urgency behind the kiss, a desperation and need he’s no longer trying to hide. He holds your face gently in his hands as he deepens the kiss, his nose pressing against yours, his beard scraping against your skin and you find yourself melting against him.
This is what you’ve been craving since you met him. Despite it all—the rage simmering just below his surface, the sharpness of his exterior, the sometimes shocking callousness of his words—you always knew there was a tenderness underneath, a softness that even his tortured past couldn’t erase. 
Logan’s hands drift from your face, trailing down your neck and tracing along the curve of your spine as he presses you closer until there’s no space between you. The dampness of his skin bleeds into your shirt and you gasp into his mouth when he shifts his hips just enough and you feel heat of his erection against your thigh.
He pulls away from your mouth long enough to husk against your lips, “I’m old, not dead.” His teeth nip lightly at your bottom lip. “I’ve gotta beautiful woman lettin’ me kiss her, what did you expect?”
Your fingers trail along the edge of the towel slung low across this hips and a thrill runs through you as you feel his abdominal muscles flutter beneath your touch. You peer up at him, noting the flush of his skin, the black of his eyes as you tug the fabric just enough to loosen it. “How long has it been since someone has touched you, Logan?” you ask, your breath warm in the space between you.
Logan’s hands urge your hips closer, seeking friction as he starts to slowly rut against your thigh. You hear him swallow as your fingers dip below the fabric, brushing along the damp hair at the base of his cock. 
“F—fuck,” he groans, guttural and low, his head dropping down to your shoulder. “Since before you.”
The weight of Logan’s confession presses into you and in that moment you want to give him everything. Wrap him in all the love you can muster, show him something other than pain and suffering. 
You move your hand from the towel, allowing the fabric to fall from his waist and pool forgotten on the floor. Logan’s breath catches as your fingers wrap around him fully, the heat and weight of his cock pressing against your palm. 
A ragged groan escapes his throat. “Christ,” he mutters, voice thick and vibrating against your skin. “You don’t gotta—”
“I want to,” you interrupt, slowly and deliberately dragging your hand along his length, tracing the vein along the underside of his cock with your fingertips.
Logan’s hips jerk involuntarily, seeking friction, chasing your hand, and you oblige, tightening your grip just enough to elicit another groan from him. 
“What do you like?” The question lands in the sliver of space between you, your strokes still light, teasing.
“Firmer, more ah—” He breaks off as you tighten your grip on the upstroke. “Fuck, yes, like that, sweetheart.”
A shiver runs down your spine as his hands find your waist, fingers clutching at you almost hard enough to bruise. His breaths are growing uneven, each exhale warm against your neck as he fights to maintain some semblance of control.
“You keep that up,” he rasps, lips grazing your ear, “and I’m not gonna last long.”
His admission sends a rush of pride through you and you tilt your head back to look at him, your thumb brushing over the sensitive head of his cock, spreading the wetness there. Logan’s eyes meet yours, dark and heavy-lidded, his expression raw and unguarded. You like him like this, such a large, imposing man boiled down to pure wanton need. 
“I don’t mind,” you reply, keeping your movements steady, your strokes firm yet gentle. You focus on the subtle shifts in his breathing, the way his fingers grip you tighter each time you find the right rhythm. “Just wanna make you feel good, Logan.”
He leans forward, capturing your lips into a kiss that’s both rough and messy, teeth nipping at your lip as his tongue licks into your mouth. He groans are muffled against your mouth as his hips begin to thrust in time with your strokes, his movements growing more erratic as he chases after his release. 
“Can’t believe—ah, fuck—can’t believe how good you’re makin’ me feel,” he growls against your lips.
You smile into his mouth, your free hand brushing along his hipbone as your strokes quicken. His whole body tenses, the muscles in his shoulders and arms flexing, his abdominal muscles taut as he teeters on the edge.
“Let go, Logan,” you say. “I’ve got you.”
With a strangled groan, he comes, his release spilling over your hand, hot and thick. His body shudders against yours as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. You hold him close as he continues to thrust lazily into your grip, your own movements slowing as you guide him through the aftershocks. 
For a moment, neither of you speaks, then Logan lifts his head, his hazel eyes soft as they meet yours. “You walked into my life and I knew—I knew—you would ruin me.”
You smile to yourself, unable to stop the thought that floats into your head—he’s ruined you as well. 
+++
The text comes in at a little over one AM—hurt.
You jump out of bed, adrenaline rushing through your veins as you slip into one of his discarded flannels and head out into the night. Pacing the driveway, your heart jumps into your throat at every passing headlight, your thumbnail almost bitten down to the quick as you wait for him.
The minutes bleed into eternity until you finally see the limo turn down the long drive and it takes all your willpower to not run and meet him halfway. You’re bouncing on your heels as he finally comes to a stop, the driver’s side door opening with a faint groan of steel. 
Your heart stutters in your chest as he emerges from the car, blood soaking through his shirt, dark and spreading, as he steps towards you on shaky legs. Logan’s face is pale in the moonlight, his breathing uneven and shallow and white-hot dread shoots up your spine as you see his arm hanging limp, two of his claws unsheathed and dripping blood.
“Oh, fuck, fuck!” you gasp, rushing to his side.
Logan tries to wave you off, gritting his teeth as he grips the doorframe. “”M fine,” he grits, but the tremor in his voice betrays him. 
You reach for him, hands already attempting to steady him as his knees buckle and he collapses to the ground beneath him. “Careful. Claws,” he rasps as his left hand seeks purchase against your shoulder.
“I don’t fucking care about your claws, Logan,” you snap, although you both know your anger isn’t at him. You glance up at him and for once you think you actually see fear in his eyes. “What happened?”
“Gas. Robbery.” Each word punches out of his chest, the effort to speak sending tremors down his limbs. “Got ‘em.” He nods down towards his limp arm, claws still unsheathed, but slowly, so slowly starting to retract.
He winces as you help him peel off his coat to get to the shirt underneath. Your fingers shake as they trace the holes the bullets made—one in his shoulder, dangerously close to his lungs and the other just below his ribs. Hooking your fingers through the fabric, you rip it from his chest—the wounds are deep and his skin is hot and slick with sweat.
Panic claws at you and unshed tears burn in your eyes. You’ve seen Logan hurt before, but this—this was different. His breathing is painfully shallow, his usual gruffness and resilience absent. 
“Logan, you’re not healing,” you whisper, your voice shaking as your fingers stain with blood. Logan simply grunts, trying to wave you off, but lacking the strength. “I can’t…I can’t lose you. I can help.”
Logan’s eyes widen as he grabs for your wrist. “No. You’ll hurt yourself.”
“I don’t care!” you shout. “I love you, dammit, and I’m not just going to sit here and watch you die!”
Before he can protest, you press your palms over his wounds, the familiar warmth of your power surging through you as it spreads from your palms into his torn flesh.
The pain hits you like a freight train.
It’s sharp and relentless, searing through your shoulder and into the softness of your belly like molten fire. You gasp, biting back a scream as your body jerks instinctively away from the intensity, every cell in your body demanding you withdraw from the torture. 
But you don’t stop. You cling to him, tears streaming down your face as you channel your power into him, knitting his flesh back together. You can feel it, the way his muscles, bones and tissue rearrange themselves, months of healing taking place in mere moments. Every second feels like an eternity, but you refuse to let go.
You’re dimly aware of Logan yelling at you to stop, his own pain momentarily forgotten as he watches you endure his agony. 
Black dots dance in your vision as the last of his wounds come together, the spent bullets clinking to the gravel and you finally collapse against him, trembling, your breath coming in ragged gasps. The fire in your body begins to dull, fading to a cold, hollow ache as Logan wraps his arms around you, pulling you tight against his chest.
“Hey,” you mumble against him, your voice barely above a whisper. “You’re okay now.”
“Me?” Logan’s voice is low, disbelieving as his hand cradles the back of your head as if you might shatter. “You’re the one—why the fuck would you do that? You could’ve—dammit, you—”
His words break off, his forehead dropping to yours as his breath shudders against your cheek. You can feel the tension radiating through him, warring with himself between his gratitude and anger, between his guilt and the love he’s too afraid to speak out loud.
“I told you why,” you answer, lifting your head to look up at him. 
Logan’s jaw clenches, his words caught in his throat, but his eyes say everything is voice won’t. You don’t need him to say it, not yet, but you can feel it, pressing just below the surface.
“C’mon, let’s get you inside.”
+++
There’s a reverence in which Logan washes you. 
Steam swirls around you as he works the thickly lathered loofah over your shoulders, down across your collarbones and down along the soft planes of your stomach. The water rinses away the faint metallic tang of blood, leaving behind the fresh scent of soap. He continues with a silent determination, as if the act of washing you can erase all the pain you’ve taken from him.
You know better than to convince him you’re fine, that the pain is always temporary, that it only lasts for a few minutes, sometimes just a bit longer. That the pain is something you’d endure for him again and again if he’d let you. 
His thumb brushes along the underside of your ribs, searching for a wound you know he won’t find. You reach for him, lacing your fingers together with his. He blinks up at you, hazel eyes holding far too much worry for such a stoic man.
“I’m not going to break, Logan,” you say softly.
A wordless noice escapes his throat as he removes himself from your grasp and continues to work, ditching the loofah in favor of his hands. His fingers are warm and calloused against your skin as they glide lower, down over the swell of your hips, over your thighs, down towards your knees. 
His touch morphs from one of care and comfort to one more sensual, simmering with unspoken tension as his fingers rest in the hollow behind your knee. You glance down at him, water droplets catching in his hair, running off the slope of his nose. 
Though you’ve seen him bare before, you can help but trace the lines of his body—the broadness of his shoulders, the well defined muscles of his chest, the sturdiness of his thighs, the scars that mar his skin. The sight of him stirs something deep within you and you feel your pulse thrum beneath your skin.
“Logan,” you murmur, your voice almost lost in the sound of the water.
He looks up at you then, eyes locking with yours. A storm swirls within them, a mix of guilt, affection and an intensity that takes your breath away. Leaning in, he presses the barest of kisses to the inside of your knee before he rises to his full height, pressing you close.
“D’you mean what you said before?” he asks, voice low.
I love you, dammit!
“Yes,” you answer without hesitation.
Logan exhales sharply, the tension he’s been holding coiled in his muscles loosening as he loops his arms around your waist. “I’m not very good with words,” he admits, his breath fanning across your damp skin. “Can I show you?”
There’s no mistaking the meaning behind his words and you can only nod, your voice catching in your throat. 
His lips find yours, mouth moving over yours slow and deliberate as if he’s savoring the taste of you. The first touch is a spark, the second a fire, and by the third, it’s an inferno that engulfs you both and leaves you breathless. Logan kisses you like you’re his anchor, his salvation, his touch desperate and full of everything he can’t yet put into words.
Your fingers slide into his hair, gripping the strands at the nape of his neck as you pull him closer, deepening the kiss. He groans against your mouth, the sound swallowed in the space between you. His tongue brushes against yours, teasing and exploring and you respond in kind, your nails scraping along his scalp.
Logan’s control is fraying. You can feel it in the way his teeth nip at your bottom lip, the way his hands press along the curve of your spine, the way he can’t seem to find enough of your skin to touch, to caress. A low growl rumbles through his chest as you slip a hand between your slick bodies, finding his cock, thick and heavy against your belly.
You give one slow drag of your palm along his length before he’s gripping your thighs and forcing your legs around his waist. His mouth leaves yours, trailing down to the curve of your jaw as he presses you against the wall, the coolness of the tile a direct contrast to the heat of your skin and you can’t stop the gasp that escapes your lips. 
Despite his age, the metal bones inside him slowly poisoning him and causing him human aches and pains, he’s still able to hold you up solidly with one arm as the other trails along your hip bone and dips down to where you’re warm and wet. 
“This all for me?” he asks in a murmur, sliding a finger along the seam of your cunt, just barely brushing against your clit. 
Your breath hitches and you grip his shoulders, nails pressing lightly into his skin as you nod. Logan’s eyes darken at your reaction, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Yes,” you finally manage to whisper. “Always for you.”
“Good,” he growls, leaning in to nip at the skin just below your ear. The deep rumble of his voice vibrates through you, his touch deliberate and almost torturously slow as he slides his fingers through your folds, spreading your slickness with a focused and unrelenting precision. 
“Oh, fuck,” you gasp, your head tilting back against the wall as he finally presses his thumb to your clit, circling it with just enough pressure to have your thighs trembling around his waist. 
“I got you,” he coos against your skin, his lips trailing from the pulse point in your neck to your collarbone. His teeth scrape along the curve of your shoulder, his free hand gripping your hip tighter to steady you as his fingers continue to tease and coax. “Lemme make you feel good.”
Every nerve ending is afire beneath him, every motion, every stroke of his fingers against your cunt leaving your mind reeling with pleasure. Your nails dig further into corded muscles of his shoulders, desperate for something to anchor yourself to. You pull back when you see the tiny, crescent shaped cuts marring his skin.
His eyes snap up to yours, sharp and molten. “No, do it,” he urges, fingers still moving. “Mark me with somethin’ pretty.”
“Fuck, Logan,” you gasp. 
“Say my name again,” he demands, his voice rough and commanding. There’s a quiet desperation in his tone, as if hearing it grounds him. Grounds him to this moment. To you. 
You can’t help but obey, whispering his name like a prayer, and he rewards you by slipping one long finger inside you, the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure along your spine. Logan watches your face intently as if memorizing the way you react to his touch. When he adds a second finger and slowly begins to thrust his hand, you cling further to him, the heat inside you building to an almost unbearable intensity.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice low and reverent. “You’re so beautiful like this. So wet and warm and tight around me.”
His words barely register in your mind, too focused on the way his fingers curl and thrust inside you, finding that soft spot that makes your eyes roll back. He’s relentless now, his thumb pressing hard against your clit as he brings you closer and closer to the edge.
“Logan, I’m so close,” you whine, your hips beginning to roll against his hand, seeking just a bit more friction, forcing his fingers deeper inside of you.
The tension coiling low in your belly finally snaps, your orgasm washing over you in waves that make your whole body shudder as you cry out his name. Logan holds you through it, his hand continuing to thrust against you as he draws out every ounce of pleasure from you, his own breathing ragged against your skin.
When you finally come down, Logan presses a kiss to your temple as he helps you unwrap your legs from his waist and carefully sets you down, keeping you close. 
You tilt your head to meet his gaze, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “I didn’t think you’d be into shower sex, old man,” you tease with a smile.
His laugh is low. “I can make exceptions. I need a bed to fuck you properly, though.” 
“Prove it,” you challenge.
+++
The heat and intensity between you doesn’t diminish as Logan helps you out of the shower and guides you down the hallway towards his bedroom. A shiver of anticipation crawls up your spine as you get closer, knowing that once you cross this line, there’s no going back, that he will have claimed you fully.
You scoot back onto the bed, watching as he approaches you with a fire in his gaze that doesn’t waver. He climbs onto the mattress, knee pressing down between yours as he cages you in from above, gently pinning you beneath him. 
Leaning down, his lips brush against yours, teasing. “Still wanna challenge me, sweetheart?” His voice is a low gravelly growl that sends a prickling rush of arousal down your limbs.
“Always,” you reply breathlessly, arching into his touch as his hands slide down your thighs, parting them with ease. 
His grin is sharp as he leans back to take you in fully and you acutely feel the weight of his gaze against your skin. He traces his calloused fingers over your damp skin, along the dips of your collarbones, under the swell of each breast, mapping the curve of your hips as if committing you to memory. Dipping his head, he leans down between your legs, his beard grazing the sensitive skin of your inner thighs and you can’t help but shudder at the sensation.
“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful,” he says, almost to himself, his voice dripping with desire. He drags his lips higher, brushing along your damp cunt, his breath hot and tantalizing. “And all mine.”
The possessiveness in his tone has you clenching around nothing, heat pooling low in your belly and your fingers tangle in his hair, urging him closer. But he ignores your silent plea, almost deliberately testing your patience as he kisses you everywhere except where you want him most.
“Logan, please,” you gasp, the ache between your thighs almost painful.
“Patience,” he chides with a smirk, though his own resolve seems to be thinning. His hands grip your hips, pulling you closer before he flattens his palms against your thighs, opening you fully to him. Then, his tongue is on you, lapping at you with flat, broad strokes in a rhythm that quickly has you teetering on the edge.
Logan’s focus is unrelenting, his low growls of approval vibrating through you as he works you over with an enthusiasm that proves to you this is about more than just pleasure—he’s claiming you, showing you just how much you mean to him. Making you his. 
Your thighs tremble around him and his warm, rough hands hold you steady as he slips one, then two fingers deep inside of you. It’s embarrassing how quickly you come as he thrusts his fingers against that spot inside you, your second orgasm of the night crashing over you as his name falls from his lips in a breathless moan. 
Before you can properly catch your breath, Logan is moving from between your thighs, making his way back up your body, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses against your skin. His lips finally find yours in a kiss that’s messy and desperate and you can taste yourself on his tongue, sharp and bright, and the intimacy of it sends a thrill through you. 
“You taste so fuckin’ good,” he groans against your lips, his voice wrecked as he grinds his hips against yours, his cock hard and insistent against your hip. “Could spend the rest of my life between between those thighs.”
“Why stop there?” you tease, your lips tugging into a smirk. “I thought you said you’d fuck me properly.”
Logan’s eyes darken, your challenge seeming to light something dark and primal in him. His grin is all teeth as he sits back on his heels, hands curling around your hips and pulling you down the bed like you weigh nothing until your hips are flush with his. “You gotta mouth on you, sweetheart. Should we see if you can still talk stuffed full of my cock?”
The weight of his cock brushes against your slick folds and you gasp at the sensation, your nerve endings exquisitely sensitive. Logan grips himself at the base, giving himself one languid stroke before running the thick head along your cunt, teasing you with shallow thrusts. Each slow, deliberate stroke of him sliding against you leaves you desperate and aching and you lift your hips in search of more.
“Look at you,” he murmurs. “So needy. Bet you’ll take me so well, huh?”
“Yes,” you breathe, nails digging into the muscles of his forearms. “Please.”
He presses into you then, the stretch of his cock making your jaw drop as he takes his time, sinking in inch by inch, filling you completely. Logan’s gaze is locked on yours, heavy and possessive as he watches every flicker of pleasure cross your face. 
“Fuck” he groans when he’s fully seated against your hips, his body trembling with the effort to stay still. “You feel…so fuckin’ tight. So damn perfect.”
Your hands clutch at his shoulders, anchoring yourself to him as he starts to move, pulling out torturously slow before thrusting back in harder, setting a rhythm that’s relentless and consuming. Each stroke of his hips has you crying out, your body arching into his as you meet him thrust for thrust.
“Takin’ me so well, sweetheart,” he growls, his fingers gripping the flesh of your hips hard enough to bruise as he continues to pound into you. “Like you were made for me.”
The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mixing in with your whimpered moans and Logans own ragged groans. He leans down, bracing himself on his forearms, the wiry hair on his chest teasing your nipples as his lips find your neck, biting and sucking marks into your skin that feel like promises.
Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him in deeper, your heels digging into his back as the coil inside you begins to tighten once more. He feels it too, the way you body clenches around him, and his pace falters slightly, his breaths coming faster.
“C’mon,” he rasps against the pulse point on your neck. “Wanna feel you come. Wanna make you fall apart.”
It doesn’t take much more—just a few more well-angled thrusts that hit that spot inside you and the tension finally snaps, your orgasm ripping through you with a force that leaves you trembling. Logan’s finesse is slipping, thrusts growing erratic as chases his own release.
“Come Logan,” you manage in a whisper. “Come for me.”
His hips stutter as he groans your name, spilling into you as his body tenses, lazily thrusting against you as he wrings out the last of his pleasure. He stays deep inside you, still for several moments before he shifts just enough to collapse against your side.
For a long moment, neither of you moves, the only sounds in the room being your heavy breathes and the pounding of your heart. Logan rests his head against your chest, heavy and sweat slick between your breasts. You brush at the strands of hair against his forehead before running your finger along the old scar on his cheek.
He lifts his head to look up at you, his gaze soft yet still simmering with hunger. “I do, you know,” he murmurs. His fingers brush idly against your skin. “Love you.”
A smile spreads across your face, warming blooming in your chest.
“I know.”
+++
You wake before he does, rolling over to find him prone, face buried in the pillow he hugs close to his chest. Sunlight filters in through the half slatted blinds, catching on the silver in his hair and beard and you can’t help but admire how handsome he looks, how at peace he is beside you. He’s relaxed in sleep for the first time since you came here. You’ve heard his growls and yelps of terror that echo in the night, seen the claw marks that pierce his sheets.
Your mind filters back to last night and how he looked as he came apart inside you, how desperate and needy he was for your touch upon his skin. The memory of his gasps and groans send a rush of warmth over your skin, making you dimly aware of the ache between your legs. Logan, so guarded, so unyielding and seemingly unbreakable, trembled as he came, his voice rough and wrecked as he called out your name. You shiver thinking about it.
You want to hear it again. But not now.
Resisting the urge to reach out and brush the hair from his forehead, you leave him undisturbed and slide out of bed. Padding into the kitchen, you find Charles sitting in his chair at the kitchen table, the newspaper spread out in front of him. He looks up at you with a warm smile as you start a pot of coffee, the machine humming to life. 
“Ah, I see,” he comments, a smirk tugging at his lips.
You glance over at Charles, his eyes back on the paper in front of him, but his smile still paints his face, sly and knowing. Heat creeps up your neck as you busy yourself with the coffee. “Are you reading my mind?” you ask, trying to force nonchalance into your tone.
Charles chuckles softly and taps at his temple. “I don’t have to. You’re projecting. And quite loudly, at that.”
You bite your lip as you fill your mug, leaning against the counter as the coffee warms your hands. You attempt to clear your mind, trying to think of anything mundane—the weather, baseball, laundry. Charles just shakes his head. “Relax, my dear. What the two of you do together as consenting adults is none of my business.”
“Oh, God,” you groan, your cheeks aflame. “That’s what I’m projecting?”
“Not that explicitly, no. You think more in feelings, rather than words. But they’re quite powerful emotions and rather hard to ignore when they’re radiating as strongly as yours are this morning.”
You bury your face in your hand, peeking at Charles through your fingers, which only seems to amuse him further. “You’re enjoying this far too much,” you mutter. 
“Perhaps,” Charles says with a laugh. “But you’re helping him. Healing him. And that, my dear, is worth everything.” 
Before you can respond, you hear the sound of heavy footsteps coming down the hall. Logan rounds the corner, hair tousled from sleep, his body still bare except for the pair of low slung sweatpants clinging to his hips. His eyes find yours first, softening in a way they rarely do for anyone else as he scratches at the back of his head and mumbles, “Mornin’.”
“Morning,” you reply with a smile, thankful for the distraction. You pour a second cup of coffee and offer it up to him. “Coffee?”
Logan grunts in affirmation, moving towards you, but instead of reaching for the mug, he loops an arm around your waist, pulling you against him. He buries his face in your neck, beard scraping against your skin as he sighs. “Didn’t like wakin’ up with you not there,” he breathes into your hair, his voice so low you almost don’t hear him.
“Sorry,” you whisper. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”
“S’okay,” he says softly, pressing the lightest of kisses just under your ear. “Next time, wake me.”
Your heart stutters against your ribs at his open display of affection, the softness and warmth in which he holds you, and the promise behind his words. From over his shoulder you see Charles give you a slight nod, a bright smile on his face before he turns his attention back to the newspaper in front of him.
You think back to what Charles told you all those months ago, about how you were a home for Logan. Those words echo in your mind as you feel Logan’s steady weight against you. He’s so different now, soft and unguarded and in that moment you know.
You’re home, too.
975 notes · View notes
hyunjiisa · 22 hours ago
Text
jealous jealous jealous , boy ‧₊ .ᐟ
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skz ! members when they’re jealous of another guy at a party
incl. ot8 !
chan! who watches you from across the room
his eye twitches when you tell him that you’re going to your best friends party with one of yalls mutual friends and it turns out to be a man
doesn’t say anything about it because he understands you can have friends but hates how painfully oblivious you are to his wandering eyes
convinces minho to go with him even though they both know why he wants to go
stands in the corner like a loser with his drink (non alcoholic because he wants to drive you home) and watches you interact with everyone
jaw clenches at the way he sees your worried face when your guy friend start to feel you up
snaps out of it for a second when you lock eyes and your face lights up
he finds nothing but joy in the way he watches your friend back up when he starts to walk over
“ hi baby , who’s this ..? ” 
smiles at him and throws his arm around your shoulder
kisses allll up on your neck barely listening to what you say like “mhm.. mhm..” while you ask about why he’s here
your friend runs away and he just coos at you like “you’re so pretty” when you’re all confused as to why
sticks to you like glue for the rest of the night
flips off your guy friend when you aren’t looking
carries you out of the party when you wanna go home (totally isn’t showing off how strong he is)
hyunjin! who tells him to straight up go away
does go to the party with you, but he leaves you with your girl friend to go get you a drink
comes back just to see an ugly man all up on you asking you questions and his head quirks
giggles in his face and you’re so embarrassed
after a while of you guys talking he’s just like
“ hey , can you like go away ? ”
you slap him on the arm and he just shrugs
the other guy picks a fight all like “what’s your problem bro”
“my problem is your stank ass breath on my girl”
keeps sticking his tongue out at the guy from across the room after that
teases you cause you’re mad at him, “don’t you like when i’m protective??”
really just adores you
walks out of the party hand in hand with you
“yea, i was jealous.. but you didn’t know that”
felix! whos so sickly sweet it scares the guy off
was just fine when you being with your friends at a party, he was going with his friends anyway
after a while of catching up with his friends he starts missing you
walks around like a lost dog till he finds you
immediately comes and wraps his arms around once waist once he finds you
notices one of your friends boyfriends checking you out and decides to mess with him
“ hi !! im felix ! ”
reaches his hand out for him to shake and he takes it with a shaky hand (he flexed his muscles to try and intimidate him. it worked)
drills him with questions, asks how he knows you, if you guys are close, if he notices how pretty you look tonight
when he doesn’t give up trying to get at you, he just flat out says “eyes up here, actually where is your girlfriend..”
just smiles and starts getting handsy with you when he notices him getting agitated
“what? i was just being nice..”
brings you over to say hi to his friends instead
convinces you to go home early because he misses you close to him
jeongin! who guards you like a dog
you guys go to the party together, and when you leave to go to the bathroom he follows you with his eyes the whole way
watches as some guy follows you on your way out, tapping your shoulder and asking you something
his eyebrow quirks up right away, slowly inching closer to you both
you only stop mid politely declining his offer when he stares in back of you like there’s a dinosaur
spoiler: not a dinosaur. it’s jeongin glaring at the guy like he killed someone from not even a foot behind you
when you look behind yourself and see him, he snaps out of it and asks if you’re okay
you giggle and tell him you’re fine and take his hand
random sleaze shouts that you “shouldn’t ignore him”
“ take a hint , ugly ”
tightens his grip around your waist and walks you to another area of the place
starts kissing you along your jawline while he makes eye contact with the guy and can’t contain his smile
“come on baby, let’s leave. i miss you.”
drags you home with the promise of chinese takeout
jisung! who pulls you away from him
at first he wanted you to go to the party with your friends because he convinced himself he was too clingy and wanted you to have some fun
when you convince him you want him there with you and he can bring his friends so yall can all hang out he says okay
y’all are all hanging out together at the party in a big group, and some guy asks you to dance
he notices him waving you towards the dance floor and comes over and literally grabs your waist and takes you to dance with him instead while the guy stands there like ??
“ dance with me , im better anyway ”
you can tell he’s jealous by the way he follows you around after that
tells you you’re pretty like 20 times as if he didn’t already worship the ground you walk on
“ugh why does everyone else have to find you so attractive”
still wants you to have fun with your friends so just checks on you every once in a while with a kiss and goes back to his friends
sees the guy he turned down for you glaring at him and makes a peeing motion with his imaginary penis
only ends up going home when YOU want to. (your feet get tired and he gives you his crocs he keeps in the car because he knows you)
minho! who’s incapable of hiding his jealousy
ik yall are tired of the basic party scenario but it adds to the plot okay
barely even wants to go to the party and tries convincing you to stay home but he always wants you to get your way so he agrees to get dressed up and go with you
knows you wanna have fun so he’s your personal butler for the night
getting you drinks, holding your purse for you, letting you sit on one of his thighs on some random couch while you yell over the music to your friends
immediately turns his head when some guy sits next to the both of you and starts flirting
doesn’t even try to hide the way he’s absolutely mean mugging him. glaring, face disgruntled, tongue poking at his cheek from the inside
eventually the guy notices and he’s bold enough to say some dumb shit like “is your guard dog okay??”
“ yea , i’ll be okay when you stop speaking to my woman . ”
pulls you down to sit in his lap instead and rests his head on your shoulder with his arms around your waist, lipstick stained cup in his hands
only cheers up a little when you giggle at him and tell him he’s silly for being jealous
tells you you’re too nice and you need to start pepper spraying men for looking at you, rolls his eyes when you tell him that’s what your guard dog is for
you only go home after all your friends leave and he’s thanking god silently
bonus: scares the guy from earlier by driving to close to him in his car and feels better immediately
seungmin! who makes you jealous right back
doesn’t take much convincing for him to wanna go with you, he likes a party once in a while
only is slightly jealous when he sees you talking with a guy but it really gets him when he hears you laugh with him like you laugh with him
is so distracted with watching you interact he doesn’t even really catch on that this random girl that started talking to him is flirting (doesn’t even really notice he’s responding till she laughs a super high pitched annoying laugh)
whenever you look back at him (you’re trying to get out of it) you’re confused as to why some girl is yapping at him
only catches on when you look upset because he hates seeing a pout on your pretty face
walks away from her and over to you leaving her offended while you laugh at her face
“ hi baby !! ”
drags you away from him and makes you dance
you go home right after that to bully little kids on roblox ( @cosmicalily ref )
changbin! who texts you to get away from him
comes with you no questions asked because he adores you
coos at the way you say hi to everyone excitedly and how pretty you look in your dress
you end up having small talk with one of your friends boyfriends when she goes to get something from her car
you get a notification from him after like 15 seconds
“ come here , hes ugly ”
you smile at your phone and excuse yourself as your friend walks through the door
he’s pouting at you from across the room where he’s leaning against the wall
you wrap your arms around him and explain and he feels dumb but says he can be jealous cause he loves you
you cling to each other the whole night so just end up going home after being told to get a room 20 different times
ends up taking you for a drive and hot chocolate because it’s getting cold
carries you inside (pretend he’s the hulk)
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅
a/n: req done ! @furioussheepluminary ,, remember to follow my other accounts and feel free to req ✦
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currentfandomkick · 1 day ago
Text
Everyone thank @harvestandhearth for this ^^
Heads up, i’m going with intersex danny as ectoplasm exposure and presumed afab until he was able to clarify which gender he was (toddler) and chose his own name as Danny for this. Tim is still a nicu baby, and the two were presumed fraternal twins until a lot later.
And possible trigger warning, while not in Danny’s POV talking about what vlad did with the clones does trigger an episode to a degree, but this is all third POV with it being others’ observing Danny trying to ground himself after a stressor triggered something.
And as a personal headcannon, since Danny can turn parts of himself intangible, a nervous stim for him when he cant remove himself and go where he feels safe is to pull at his arteries or nerves—never managing it but passing through them as a target is soothing as its a tiny challenge, repetitive, and doesn’t hurt him but he can feel it happening so it helps ground himself after a trigger.
Timothy Jackson Drake nee Fenton pt2
Cyborg had two options with the news Red Robin and Phantom were twins: update the League files and let the paranoid bastards monitoring them find out that way, or telling them.
He did have a front row seat to the Dick and Kori’s disaster era many of them blame Dick for.
He updates Phantom and Red Robin’s files, links them as “twins raised apart geographically, and very attached emotionally” and let the cards fall where they may.
If Dick wanted to bring drama to the titans way back when, he can discover batfam drama on bis own time and away from Cyborg this time.
Tim was getting ready for patrol after his Call with Jazz and Dani. Danny crashed his pre-patrol routine to looking over possible redesigns from ghost fashionistas on a call.
The hooded cloak concept is popular and growing on Tim.
Apparently giving him a dragon as his callsign was also popular.
He was liking some of redesigns as different birds. Rook’s and Cardinal having a functional glider built in. Someone with the call mabychan didnt go too far off his current look, and it was possible to add the flight functions. The aesthetic addition of gold or yellow onto the suit proper rather than just his gear was interesting enough to explore later.
Danny continued to advocate for Tim playing with ecto-infused tech to be less trackable and was ignoring the very fact ecto signatures are very trackable and are transferable to people.
He was debating the winged cape-hood combo when his work phone kept going off.
“So, cutting this early again?”
“They can wait. Now, do you think maby could mix the hood and wing cape into her design? Like, my hair is wrong but it’s not far off from what i was going for, i think these two,” Tim grabbed his favorite Rook and Cardinal designs and lifted them to show Danny, “are a good reference for how i want the glider part to work.”
“I’ll contact her and see what she says,” Danny raised an eyebrow as his work phone began to flash red as it kept going off. “You gonna answer that or…”
“They’ll live, i’m not on the clock yet, and they interrupted my cases so many times this week with these stupid team building exercises. Like, hoe, i have a life outside of my two jobs, shut the fuck up and let me live!”
“You sure they aren’t a johnny-skulker hybrid?”
“Positive. They don’t hunt me for my pelt. Most of the time—Hood and mini Robin might if they have a mental break again.”
“Why have i not kidnapped you home sooner?”
“You respect my boundaries and are eviler for doing so.”
“Clearly, my evil-self solo-ed the Justice League and affiliates.”
“I’m still certain if i was alive, i would have beat evil you’s ass.”
“Dipshit, i would not have gone evil i would be a shaky chihuahua following your ass everywhere if any of my idiots didnt die in that accident.”
“Fair. So, i get Val, Anita, bart, Kon will try but he may run late with chores at the Kent’s, Cassie is coming, and against the odds you get to face an olympic archer too!”
“Oh my god, you guys could stand a chance if Dad’s aim doesn’t obliterate your points. How did you get Cissie to agree?”
“I told her Greta’s on your team and reminded her they were still tied for who was winning a bet way back when. Then called her a dick for deserting us in our time of need.”
“At least i don’t have to worry Slobo.”
“He’s on kiddo duty while we play.”
“So strategic sabotage.”
“You know me so well.”
“Evil, evil bastard brother!”
“Don’t talk about our mom like that.”
“I was talking about Aunt Janet.”
“Never mind, carry on.”
“Nah, but your phone is annoying me so—“ Danny shifted and Phantom burst out of his screen. “Ancients that sucked!”
Tim rolled his eyes as Danny bemoaned his latest fire walls.
“Use real fire ants next time, Ancients Damnit!”
“No.”
Danny snagged his phone as he reloaded his smoke pellets. “Now what does—holy shit. Did you not tell them you’re co-workers?”
“It was obvious—why do they think I turned down the family dinner invites unless Steph was there? I need bestie backup to handle their shit off hours.”
“Oh my god, you didn’t. They think you’re a Bat when you’re a fucking Fenton. Holy shit!”
“I never hid it,” Tim defended, “They’re detectives, they dan detect.”
Danny began wheezing, curled around the phone and cackling.
“…did B send anything yet?”
Danny shakily passed the phone. Tim ignored the group chat and looked to his private one with Bruce and Alfred.
“Cave. Now.”
“I was unaware of your living relatives Master Timothy. Do invite them over, we have much to discuss. From, Alfred Pennyworth”
Tim groaned, moving to put the last of gear in place.
“I was invited by your co-parent, I’m coming.”
“Chaos gremlin.” He waved Danny to follow him into the elevator, away from his (relatively) civilian quarters.
“You say that like you aren’t one too.”
“I hide it better, when it matters,” Tim shrugged. “Blame Aunt Janet’s social chameleon lessons.”
“Deceiver of all,” Danny narrated with the utmost dramatics as they exited the elevator. “be evil with your whole chest or be the Good Twin!”
“Fuck that. Now get your ass in gear, you’re riding Bitch.”
“Hey, if guys at school are going to keep calling me Fentonia, I believe I can say you gotta stop calling it that. Clearly I’m the tagalong and a snack.”
“Nope,” Tim readied Red Bird. “You smell like a bitch and look like shit. Why Val likes you, the world may never know.”
“Fuck you. And we share a face!” Danny got on behind him, ignoring the offered helmet.
“I wear it better and dont have baby fat. Safety first lab accident.”
“You look like that brainless dipshit from Oz, but boned,” Danny snapped as he put on the helmet and waiting for Tim to go.
“At least when I crossdress, it’s not a question of which gender I’m presenting as,” Tim grumbled as they sped out.
“Eat a cock, you know they thought i was a girl for a year.”
“I mean—“ Tim took a sharp turn out of the garage and merged into Gotham’s traffic .
“Abort, no sex stories from my twin this early—.”
“It’s 9 at night mostly ghostly.”
“—And did you forget i ate your fraternal twin in the womb and we became identical in a case of severe Gray’s Anatomy BS?”
“Look, the Nicu was A Lot, and with how much medical mystery shit our family has going on, can you blame me?”
“Yep. Medical mystery, magical mystery, family curse and Fenton Luck must be kept
Separate big brother, or are you getting sennial in your old age?”
“Fuck off.”
“And once again, your 9 pm is my 4 am. I’m a witching hour girlie, Reddicus Robininous.” Danny snarked as they sped outside of Gotham City proper into the Rich Bitch greenery and woods.
“I blame Pix,” Tim groaned.
“Beanie taught me that!”
“But Pix taught you to say it.”
“She did, she did.”
The ride to the Cave was quiet, Danny frowning at the lack of stars.
“Leave it.”
“But i can probably pull it out of the atmosphere.”
“And put it where?”
“… my chest?”
“Nope, no self experimentation without scientist supervision.”
“Don’t you count?”
“I am a detective, combatant, chemist and hacker. I am not a scientist.”
“Sounds fake.”
“You’re fake.”
“I’m ghostly, and a member of the cloned kids club.”
“You ate my twin in the womb.”
“So i get to be evil!”
“No. I’m evil; I’m a ceo and help a lot of coverups as a vigilante for other vigilantes and a handful of anti-heroes.”
“Evil me took out your not-son and his friends!” Danny argued.
“Please, three separate evil me’s managed that, and came back to gloat.”
“Well, those three ceased to exist or evil last i checked. My evil me’s in therapy and still murdery.”
“I know—how’s Dan doing and are we going with older brother cover or cousin like Dani?”
“His call, and he’s… unpacking still.”
“Eh-hem,” Alfred interrupted as Tim parked Red Bird. “I believe we need to have a family meeting are your other family members joining, excusing this Dan?”
“No, they don’t know this is happening,” Tim answered.
“That,” Danny looked around at the… trophy wing(?) of the cave. “Aannnd Jazz would enjoy psychoanalyzing you all too much. So, is this a ‘check all the info for verification cautionary tale’ or something else?” He asked as he turned his attention back to the bat-butler. Batler(?)
“Something else, Master Daniel.”
“Just Danny. I chose it, I get to keep it in all contexts.”
Alfred moved to open his mouth.
“Only one to not call him that made him an unwilling teen parent,” Tim interjected before Alfred could start up on formalities.
Alfred narrowed his eyes. “Has this individual been taken care of?”
Tim and Danny shared a look. “Working on it,” Tim answered, rubbing the inside of Danny wrist before he could start tugging his arteries or nerves as a stress stim.
Alfred looked between them. “Anything else i should be aware of Master Danny?”
“Just keep toast away from me, and I’m not a solid foods person—can do solid food in shake form just uh, jaw tends to freeze and lock at random since my powers came in.”
Alfred hummed in response to that. “Soft solids are acceptable, yes?”
Danny slowly nodded his head, and moved his hand to the thermos on his hip.
Tim squarely kept Danny on the side he could better block the cameras from as they followed Alfred up.
“I made a batch of chocolate salted caramel chip oatmeal cookies. I will bring you a more drinkable version of the batter with a strawberry smoothie on the side. Master Tim, your usual will be beside your serving.”
Tim grunted in response, checking his phone and keeping a steady hand on his twin’s pulse. Which was far too fast for Danny’s normal… trying to appease Tim’s co-workers by masking the liminality, or stress response to casually outing himself or to Tim dropping the Vlad forced cloning thing (Tim’s helped him with so, so many nightmares of watching his clones die. The fact one was identical to Rim didn’t help. Tim being present and alive did).
Danny smiled at him. Mask smile—so hiding Phantom’s impact or ignoring the trauma trigger he pulled. Yep, Tim is winning the evil twin contest for the wrong reasons again.
Alfred turned to see Tim analyzing his twin, who was more flushed in his face than before… he’d have to inform the Wayne clan to gentle their interrogation regarding Master Danny’s existence. Master Tim’s explanation helped explain the name situation, however it could have been done without triggering the poor boy. Had Master Tim given him a moment, he would have found the explanation unnecessary.
The twins stalled at the threshold of the meeting room.
Tim waved at Stephanie, Cass and Barbra sitting in the same general area together as he moved further in front of Danny and switched which hand was grounding him and monitoring his pulse. Stephanie was gleeful to say the least, Cass unfazed and Barbra giving him a too knowing wave back.
Dick was sitting between Damian and Bruce, the three dissecting every move Tim and Danny made. Tim made sure to shield him as much as he could from the imminent psychological warfare Bruce was planning. Damian would likely aim for any potential insecurity once he got too aggravated with everything, and was likely to say something that could set off Danny. He only really went through his firewalls instead of waiting for Tim to let him in when he was having a particularly nasty day and needed some twin time.
Tim couldn’t fathom what Dick’s plan was. The one he saw as his found older brother would laugh at him managing to fool everyone one on a loophole and tell him how to further the ruse. But the one who took up the cowl was different from the brother that mentored him and helped with everything from girls, leading a team and homework.
Duke and Jason were to the side. Jason looked morbidly amused while Duke seemed curious, so no worries on that end for Danny. Operation: ‘air out Batcorp’s laundry if they start shit’ was a go.
Okay next round i will want an idea of how you want batfam members to respond to the fact Tim ‘hid’ his family from them—as that’s how these chuckleheads are entering this meeting.
Tim’s got receipts and Danny is there mostly to divide Tim’s attention and watch the show.
Tim Drake’s Coworkers (ft. The Fenton Family)
It’s not that Tim doesn’t like the Batfamily. He tolerates them just fine. Damian is great for sparring (if you like sparring with a tiny murder machine), and Jason’s brand of dark humor isn’t too bad once you get used to it. Dick’s a bit too much sometimes, but overall? Fine. Totally fine.
But the thing is… they’re just his coworkers.
And it never really clicks for the Bats until Danny Phantom joins the Justice League and everything starts unraveling.
———
The revelation comes during a League meeting. They’re strategizing about some ghost-related chaos, and Danny floats into the Watchtower, bright and glowing.
“Oh, hey, Tim,” Danny greets casually, giving him a little wave.
Tim doesn’t even look up from his tablet. “Sup.”
Superman looks between them, confused. “…you two know each other?”
Danny grins. “yeah, he’s my brother.”
Dead silence.
“WHAT?!” Bruce’s bellow shakes the entire room.
Tim finally looks up, unfazed. “What? Did you think I just spawned into existence?”
“You have a brother?!” Clark sputters.
“Two siblings, actually,” Tim corrects, utterly nonchalant. “Danny’s the younger one. Jazz is the older one. She’s great. Super organized. Kept me alive in middle school.”
Bruce’s eye twitches. “Why—why am I only learning this now?”
Tim shrugs. “It didn’t seem relevant.”
“Relevant?” Diana repeats, incredulous. “You’re the brother of Danny Phantom and it’s not relevant?”
Danny, who’s been munching on some ectoplasm candy, jumps in: “Honestly, Tim’s always been kind of private about his personal life. We just figured it was his way of coping with the whole ‘raised-by-rich-neglectful-aunt’ thing.”
“Yeah, about that,” Tim interjects, glaring at Danny. “Thanks so much for dumping me with Aunt Janet, by the way.”
Danny shrugs sheepishly. “Mom and Dad panicked! They thought you’d get ghost-napped next!”
“Uh, correction: Aunt Janet left me to raise myself, so that plan was awesome.”
Bruce, trying to keep up, interrupts: “Hold on. Your parents left you with Janet Drake?”
“They didn’t know she sucked at raising kids,” Tim deadpans. “And to be fair, they did call. A lot. I just didn’t pick up.”
Jason, who has been cackling this entire time, leans forward. “Wait, wait, wait—so you’re telling me that the Replacement’s entire family is a bunch of ghost hunters?”
“Yup.” Danny pops the “p” with a grin.
“You’re kidding me,” Steph says, borderline hysterical.
Tim sighs, clearly over it. “Look, it’s not a big deal. Jazz keeps the parents in check, Danny handles the ghost stuff, and I… stay out of the way. It’s fine.”
“FINE?” Damian glares. “Drake, you’ve been fraternizing with ghost hunters while working with a vigilante group, and you think that’s fine?”
Tim raises an eyebrow. “Dami, chill. It’s not like it affects work. You’re my coworkers. They’re my family. Separate categories.”
Cue collective Batfamily malfunction.
———
Later, Danny is chilling in the Batcave, feet kicked up on the Batcomputer, chatting with Alfred. The rest of the Bats are still spiraling.
“Tim, we’ve lived together for years!” Dick exclaims, sounding genuinely hurt. “How are we only your coworkers?”
“You’re not my family,” Tim explains, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Danny and Jazz are my family. You guys are my teammates. It’s different.”
Jason throws his head back, laughing. “Oh my god, Replacement, you’re stone cold.”
“I’m not cold,” Tim argues. “I just don’t think we need to make it more complicated than it is. We work together. That’s enough.”
Meanwhile, Danny is wiping tears of laughter off his face. “Oh man. Jazz is gonna love this.”
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covenofagatha · 18 hours ago
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Saw you're taking requests and decided to toss one your way!
Agatha x reader, reader has had a really tough day and Agatha helps put her into subspace to relax. Some soft!dom Agatha with a splash of praise, degradation, mommy and maybe some size kink? And of course some fluffy aftercare after reader has been thoroughly fucked out of her mind❤
Hope you enjoy! (Disclaimer: I've never written subspace before so hopefully I did it justice, along with everything else you wanted)
Bad day
When Agatha comes home to find that you had a bad day, she takes it upon herself to make you feel better
Word count: 2600
Warnings: praise kink, degradation kink, subspace, size kink, mommy kink, oral, strap-on, aftercare, smut, and fluff (I may have missed one)
You’re on your last nerve when you get to your afternoon class on Wednesday. 
Your car didn’t start in the morning so your girlfriend, Agatha, had to drop you off at work, which you’d never complain about, except she had still been asleep when this happened so you were almost late because she had to get ready. 
And then work was awful. You had a shift at the popular retail store in town and it seemed like every customer who came in was on a mission to personally ruin your day. 
From dissatisfaction with the prices to vomit all over the restroom floor, it seemed like nothing could go right. 
Agatha had been at work herself so you had to call one of your college friends to give you a ride after. 
And now you had to sit in a class on Personality Theory for the next three hours and listen to your professor drone off on tangents. You would be getting your tests back from last week though, and you were hoping you had done well. 
“Alright, before we get started, I’ll go ahead and pass out your exams. Once I call your name, you can come up and look at it,” your professor says and you anxiously tap your fingers on the desk while you wait for your turn. 
Finally, he says your name. Butterflies in your stomach, you walk to the front to look and it’s like you’ve been punched in the gut. 
There must be something wrong, you don’t understand how you missed this many. 
Red ink stains the page and you have to clench your jaw together to keep your composure. Tears prick at your eyes as you hand the exam back to your professor and head back to your seat, burning with shame. 
It seems like it’s just one thing after another. 
You barely pay attention for the rest of class, head spinning with thoughts of how bad you did, how everything sucks, how you just want to go home. 
Agatha texts you a few times during the three hour time span, just checking in on you, but you don’t even respond. She always says that you get too wrapped up in your own brain and you know she’s right. You do let her know that you won’t need a ride home, not sure you could take the older woman’s softness right now. 
You just want to take a shower and lie in bed. 
Class finally ends and you order an Uber instead of asking a friend to take you home. When you get in these moods, you don’t want to talk to anyone. 
You grunt in response to the driver’s question of asking how you are and then the rest of the ride is spent in silence. It’s not often you get in such a foul mood, but when it does, it’s tough. 
When you make it through the front door of Agatha’s home, you immediately collapse on the couch and breathe in the blanket that still has her scent. She’ll be home soon and now you just want her to give you a big hug and tell you that everything will be alright. 
You hear keys jingle in the front door maybe ten minutes later and you sit up on the couch expectantly, heartbeat picking up. You’ve been with Agatha for six months now and she still managed to have the same effect on you that she had at the beginning. 
“Hey, baby,” she calls out, seeing the lights on, and she makes her way to the living room to find you swaddled in her favorite blanket on the couch. She frowns, instantly able to tell something is wrong. Usually you get up to give her a kiss. “You okay?” 
And then it’s like a dam breaks. You start sobbing and telling her all the things that have gone wrong that day and she instantly sits down next to you, engulfing you into a hug and whispering that everything will be okay. 
She lets you cry for a bit, hand stroking your hair, making soothing sounds. Eventually, you calm down enough to take slow, shaky breaths. 
“I’m sorry, doll. Sounds like you had a rough day,” she says, pressing a kiss to your head and wiping the tears off your cheeks. You nod in agreement. “Is there anything I can do to help?” 
You shrug while you think about it. And then you lean in and chastely kiss her lips. 
When you pull back, she’s smirking. 
“You want mommy to help you?” She coos and instantly, a fire awakens in your belly at the use of your favorite name for her. Your head bobs up and down eagerly but she tuts and grabs your jaw to hold it still. “Words, baby.” 
“Yes please, mommy,” you whisper. No one can make you feel as good as Agatha can. 
“Good girl,” Agatha hums and the fire gets worse. “What do you want?” 
You squirm on the couch, just looking at her, begging with wide eyes. 
“Why don’t you show me what you want?” You whine and grab her hand and bring it down to your shorts. “Oh, do you want me to touch you?” 
“Please,” you force out again. “Touch me, mommy.” 
Her grin is wicked as she lays you back down on the couch, positioning herself so she’s holding her weight above you. Your noses are almost close enough to touch. 
“Does my little baby want me to reward her like the perfect little angel that she is?” Agatha purrs and you gasp, feeling your head start to get fuzzy. She plays with the waistband of your shorts and your hips buck up involuntarily. You make a sort of strangled noise from your throat – all you can do, really – and she shushes you. “Just relax, doll. Let mommy take care of you.” You whimper as she kisses your nose and moves down your body to undress you. 
You feel like you’re on a different planet when Agatha pats your waist so you can lift yourself up for her to take your shorts and underwear off. 
“There we go, so good for me,” she says, leaving kisses against your thighs. You moan, senses heightened. You babble something incoherently and you can hear her chuckling at you. “Baby, you’re absolutely dripping for me.” 
Her fingers move up and down your slit, collecting wetness, and sounds are pulled out of your mouth by her administration. 
“Does that feel good, hon?” 
Your head lulls back on the couch and you try to say something to affirm her question. 
“Aw, is my little baby in subspace right now?” Something in the back of your mind tells you that you must be, but you’re too blissed out to answer. 
And then her tongue is on your pussy and you couldn’t say a word even if you tried. If you didn’t already feel like you were floating then, you sure do now. Your back arches off the couch as she sucks on your clit but her hands come up to hold you down. 
“Be a good girl for me and let mommy do all the work.” 
Your moans get louder as she keeps eating you out and you’ve never felt this good before. It’s like all your worries and stress and frustration that built up over the day are melting away to leave you in a puddle of pleasure. 
“Mommy, so close,” you slur, hands digging into the couch beneath you. Her teeth scrape against your clit and she moans into you and it sends you into an explosive orgasm. 
You’re not sure you’ve ever cum that hard. 
She licks you through it and you have to pull her away after a while because you become sensitive. 
Agatha comes up to kiss you, long and hard, and you can taste yourself on her tongue. 
“Do you want to try something new tonight, baby?” She asks once she pulls away and you nod eagerly before even asking what it is. You trust her more than anyone. “I’ll be right back.” She gives you one last parting kiss and quickly runs upstairs. 
She’s up there for a few minutes while you lay on the couch, still in a trance-like haze. 
And then she comes back down and your mouth falls open. 
Attached to her hips is the biggest strap-on you’ve ever seen. She must have just bought it. You had gotten to where you could take the toys you had pretty easily, but you are certain that this will stretch you out so much more than them. 
“Mommy,” you whisper, eyes widening as she comes back over to the couch. You can see that she’s holding lube in one hand. 
“Mommy wants to see if your tiny, little pussy can fit her big cock,” she says and a thrill runs through you despite yourself. “Might have to work you up to it.” 
Your legs part without thinking and she laughs. 
“So desperate for me, aren’t you? My perfect, little slut.” You gasp at the words, feeling yourself get even more wet. 
While you loved the praise from her, degradation almost turned you on more. 
“You have to relax, baby,” she reminds you, moving to kneel on the couch between your legs and pushing them even more open. She rubs your clit and slides two fingers in easily. You grind up on her fingers, trying to pull them in more. “Look at how well you take my fingers. So good for mommy. You can’t get enough of them, can you?” 
You shake your head and groan when she curls them just right. 
“Such a good whore for mommy,” she sighs. “Can you take another?” 
“Please,” you gasp out, walls clenching around the two already inside you. She pulls them and you feel empty, but that feeling is quickly gone when she pushes three in you. The stretch feels so good and your hips meet her every thrust, the pleasure in you already growing. 
And then it’s gone. Your head flies up to look at her wrapping the hand wet with you around her strap and coating it. And then she opens the bottle of lube and pours a hefty amount in her other hand to also stroke the toy with. 
“Are you ready, baby?” 
“Go slow, mommy,” you tell her, even though you know that she will. “You’re so big.” 
“You’re going to look so pretty, sweetheart, stretched around my big cock,” she says and positions the tip at your entrance. “Like a little, perfect slut. 
The first push steals all the air from your lungs. 
“Fuck,” you groan. You’ve never been so full in your life and you barely have any of it inside you. Agatha doesn’t move, just rubs small circles on your thighs and waits for you to tell her you’re okay. 
It takes a few moments for you to adjust. It’s definitely easier in the headspace that you’re in right now. 
“Okay,” you say and Agatha obeys, slowly moving forward inside you. She stops when your breathing gets strangled and doesn’t move again until you’re back to normal. 
“God, your little pussy looks so good taking my big cock so well,” she grunts once she finally bottoms out. If your mind was clearer, you’d tease her about the size kink she so clearly has. “How are you doing, baby? Can I move?” 
“Please, mommy,” you beg, still feeling euphoric. Every drag of her cock against your walls now feels like heaven. She smirks and starts to move.
She starts slow at first, just short, slow strokes to make sure that you’re still comfortable, and then she starts to really fuck you. 
The pace Agatha sets is rough and bruising and you can hear the wet, squelching sounds that the toy makes as it pushes back inside you every thrust, a mix of your wetness and lube. 
“Mommy,” is all you can pant as she fucks into you over and over again, a light sheen of sweat breaking out on her. 
“So fucking good, sweetheart, you’re taking my cock so well, such a perfect slut for mommy,” Agatha mutters, never slowing down once. If you were already in subspace before, you’re not sure you have a word for what state you’re in right now. There are not even semblances of thoughts in your head, there is only Agatha and the pleasure she is giving you. You can’t even remember what you were in such a bad mood about earlier. 
She reaches down to rub your clit again and you hear someone moan obscenely loudly. 
You think it might have been you. 
All you know is that you’re getting so close again you can taste it. She seems like she can tell because she somehow speeds up, which you didn’t think was possible. Little gasps are forced out of your mouth with every push and your walls are tightening so much around her that it makes it hard for her to thrust. 
“So good, baby, you’re taking me so well,” Agatha chants, a hand reaching up to play with your nipple under your shirt. “So perfect, such a perfect slut, my perfect good girl. Cum for mommy, cum all over mommy’s big cock.” 
She angles her hips just right and rubs your clit hard and you spasm, back bowing off the couch. You’ve never felt pleasure this extreme; it feels like you’re having an out-of-body experience. All the tension in your body is gone and you pant heavily as Agatha pulls out of you. 
“You okay, baby?” She asks and you wheeze a laugh. 
“M’okay,” you say happily, a slow smile spreading onto your face. You can feel your head clearing with the loss of her touch. 
“Let me get a washcloth, alright? I’ll be right back, I promise.” She gives you a kiss on your head and she’s back in what seems like seconds with a warm towel. You wince at the feeling of it between her legs but it helps. “Do you want to move to bed?” 
You nod, but you’re not actually sure if you can stand up based on the jelly feeling in your legs. Agatha seems to understand this without you saying anything and she scoops you off the couch bridal style and carries you up the stairs. 
You giggle and burrow your head into the crook of her neck, breathing her in and feeling her against you. 
“You did so good, baby,” she whispers. 
“Thank you, Agatha. I really needed that.” 
She pauses for a second in the hallway to peck your lips. “I know you did. I’m happy to help, sweetheart. Whatever you need.” 
Once in the bedroom, Agatha helps you into some comfy pajamas and makes you take sips of water from the bottle on her nightstand. You lay down and she pulls the covers over you both, pulling you close to her so she can wrap an arm around you. 
“You’re so perfect, baby, you know that?” She murmurs. “I love you so much.” She kisses you softly, bringing a hand up to stroke your hair. 
“I love you too,” you mumble in-between kisses. No one has ever made you feel more loved than Agatha. 
“I’m so proud of you,” she continues and you blush. “I know you had a hard day today, but tomorrow will be better. You’re so strong. You’re my perfect girl. I love you.” 
And she keeps whispering the sweetest things into your ear, and you drift off to sleep in her arms, feeling like nothing was ever wrong. 
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xetlynn · 2 days ago
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I crave s2 claggor x reader cuddling please 🙏🙏🙏 I just need to lay in a warm bed with that man for as long as possible
<3
Arcane Imagines- Claggor
Dramatic Needs
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[arcane] [main page]
Summary: in which [name] is in desperate demand for attention. (super short)
I tiredly slam through the door of my own home. I didn’t even know the time due to how invested I was in the work I did with my friends. Powder pushed us to keep going even though we were all on the brink of falling asleep. 
I shut the door behind me, leaning on it for a moment with my eyes closed, kicking my shoes off. I look around my apartment for my boyfriend of four years. My feet shuffled underneath me, somehow keeping me going toward my shared room. I opened the cracked door, pushing in and plopping right down on the bed behind Claggor who was seemingly doing something since he wasn’t paying attention to me. 
I let out a large huff of air from my lungs, clinging onto the sheets. He doesn’t even flinch. I pout, sighing once again. I see his head go up for a moment only to go back down to whatever he was doing. I scrunch my nose. Getting upset.
“Sigh!!” I flip over dramatically, flinging myself up against my boyfriend's back.
“Sigh! I’m dying!” I cry out, closing my eyes and sticking my tongue. Pretending to be dead. 
Silence. 
“The only cure… is! Attention!” I smack his back with the palm of my hand. “If I don’t get it in t-minus five seconds it will be the end for me!” I exclaim. More than five seconds pass and I sit up angrily.
“What is more important than giving your obviously distressed girlfriend attention?” I ask, shoving his shoulder but it doesn’t even move him. “[Name], please.” He laughs.
“I’m trying to finish this list.” He pushes me with his hand on my face. I fall back onto the bed, getting right back up and leaning over his shoulder. “Are you almost done?” I quietly question. He scoffs out a laugh, shimmying his shoulder to get me off but instead I grab onto both and then wrap my legs around his waist from behind. 
“I’m just trying to make sure I’m remembering everything.” He tells me, grabbing onto my calf with his free hand, massaging it gently. “It looks good enough to me.” I kiss his back. 
“I’m sure it does.” He shakes his head at my behavior. He reads over his note and writes one last thing before putting it on his nightstand.
My legs squeeze around him and he stands up. My arms quickly went around his neck. “Ack!” He grabs my wrists, loosening them. “Where are we going?” I sluggishly posed, resting my head on the nape of his neck. 
“To get some water before bed since you always need it in the middle of the night.” He answers, his hands go to my thighs to make sure I stay up. “Awe, you know me so well.” I raspily coo. 
Claggor gets the big bottle of water and heads back to our room. He sits on the bed letting me uncurl myself from him and climb into my side of the bed. 
He reaches over me, putting the bottle on my nightstand. I watch his facial expressions as he makes sure to set it on a coaster. His tongue sticking out since he was stretching out his body then goes back to his side. 
“Alright, you have my undivided attention now, honey.” He places the blankets over us. “Good. I deserve it.” I yawn, stretching my legs. He snickers. “I want to cuddle.” I tell him, throwing my body over his, his arms instantly embracing me. “Alright.” He whispers.
“Want to tell me about your day?” He asks, his hand rubbing up and down my back. “Mm, boring. I want to listen to you talk.” I tiredly say, closing my eyes. My arms were around his neck as my right leg hooked over his torso and my left leg laid on the bed. 
“Well, I had to stop Mylo from embarrassing himself in front of Gert for the hundredth time.” He chuckles and I hum out, amused. 
“Then I just helped out Silco and Vander for the rest of the day, just waiting for my lovely girlfriend to come home.” He kisses my head a few times. “You’re obsessed with me.” I whisper. 
“I guess so.” He squeezes me and I let out a small huff. 
“I’m falling asleep.” I mumbled right as I was dozing off. 
“Love you too, hun.” I feel his body shake from him laughing at me but I was already in dreamland to say anything back.
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subcultureblues · 2 days ago
Text
Don't You Want Me (Baby?) Pt 4
———
Steve and Eddie are either hooking up or dating - and are about as bad at keeping a secret as they are dealing with their feelings. (Dustin POV)
1 / 2 / 3 / 4
———
“I don’t know Dustybuns…. I know you mean well but - “
“But? I mean well, but what?”
“But sometimes, well sometimes you get these ideas in your head. And really once you think you’re right, there’s just no convincing you otherwise. I just wonder if maybe - you don’t have a full picture of what’s going on with those two.”
“Seriously? They’re my friends, Suzie. I think I understand them just fine. I mean it’s not thermal dynamics. And even that, I’ve got an understanding of the basic fundamentals!”
———
When Dustin got home that night he blew through his homework within the hour. He’s a sophomore - advanced placements even! Still, the work they’re giving out this year is child’s play.
He grazed on snacks until he was slightly less bored. Read the X-Men issue that came out this week - guess Jean Grey alive again. Wonder how long that’ll last…
He tried calling the Wheeler house to see what Mike was up to but he was out, over at Will’s apparently. He tried Lucas after that but he couldn’t really talk since he’d had to put Max on hold just to pick up.
Dustin had to kill a few more hours but eventually he was able to get on the radio with Suzie. Hearing her voice - it’s like seeing the clouds part and the sun light up the sky. Never really gets old.
“That! That tramp!” She said, when Dustin told her about the Flower Situation.
“Right!?” Dustin huffed.
He told Suzie he planned to give Steve a serious talking to, even though Robin had kinda, sorta expressly asked against it. To Dustin’s shock, however, Suzie took Robin’s side.
“I don’t know Dustybuns…. I know you mean well but - “
“But? I mean well, but what?”
“But sometimes, well sometimes you get these ideas in your head. And really once you think you’re right, there’s just no convincing you otherwise. I just wonder if maybe - you don’t have a full picture of what’s going on with those two.”
“Seriously? They’re my friends, Suzie. I think I understand them just fine. I mean it’s not thermal dynamics. And even that, I’ve got an understanding of the basic fundamentals!”
“Oh, Dusty…. Oop. I hear footsteps downstairs.” She whispered. “I think they’re doing a bed check. I gotta go.”
“Bye Suzie. I love you.”
“Love you too.” He could hear her smiling through the crackling radio transmission. Even from this many miles away he couldn’t help but smile back. Suzie paused. “And Dusty, just - be careful. Promise?”
Her line cut out. Dustin switched off the ham radio and frowned. Usually Suzie was so smart. Literally the smartest person he knows. How is it possible she couldn’t see that his friends were in dire need of help?
No way was he gonna abandon them to make a mess of things by themselves.
Though. Maybe there was something he was missing. Some unknown element.
Earlier today… Eddie seemed to know more than he was letting on. Dustin frowned harder.
He creeped downstairs to the landline. Wayne’s at work and Eddie’s a nightwalker so he didn’t feel bad about calling at almost 9pm. He didn’t even feel bad about calling four separate times.
He shook his head when he was sent to voicemail again. He put the phone back in the receiver.
Dustin huffed.
Only then he remembered - the walkie talkie. It had ended up in Eddie’s trailer after the whole Vecna fiasco… Dustin never did get it back. In fact, he’d totally forgotten about it. And if Dustin forgot about it, Eddie definitely had too.
“Eddie. It’s Dustin. Come in, Eddie. Over.”
It took a few tries but eventually he heard a crackly - “sus Christ, how does this thing work, again?”
“Eddie!”
“Dustin?” Eddie said, deadly serious. “What’s wrong?”
“Are you home right now, over?”
“Uh, yeah.”
Dustin waited.
“Yes, I’m home. Over.”
“Then why the hell aren’t you picking up the damn phone?” Dustin said. “Over.”
“I uh - must be off the line or something.”
“Whatever, look I just got a few questions about - “
“Dustin! Is the world ending right now this exact second or what?”
“No but - “
“Jesus…”. Eddie sighed in relief. Then he muttered, “The last thing I need right now is The Monster-pocalypse Part 2 : Electric Boogaloo.”
“We are well past that by now. Gotta be on the fourth or fifth straight to TV sequel at least.”
“Well whatever it is, it can wait. I gotta a lot of - I got enough shit going on right now.”
“You know, you’ve been pulling that card a lot recently.”
“Tell me about it.” To Eddie’s credit, he did sound stressed out. “Anyway - if this is about D&D, sessions canceled tomorrow.”
“Wait, what?” Immediately switching course, Dustin’s thoughts of Steve vanished like smoke.
“Yeah, sorry. Jeff was gonna tell you guys tomorrow at school. There’s this bar in town, their Friday gig canceled on them. Unlucky for them, our merry band of metalheads were the only ones they could find to fill the time slot on short notice.”
“What? Eddie that’s awesome!”
“Yeah, fucking big place too. Me and the boys are there a lot when we’re in the area - The Squeaky Wheel down in Indie. Probably gonna be the biggest crowd we’ve ever played for.”
“Well, I’m definitely coming then.”
“You’re definitely not. We need to be there early. Leaving for town 2pm, sharp.”
“Jeff won’t still be in school?”
“Not if he cuts last period he won’t.”
“Well, what if I - “
“Are you kidding?” Steve’ll fucking kill me.”
“But I still haven’t seen you guys perform for real yet!”
“Maybe next time, little man. Look I gotta go, I’ve been trying to actually get some fucking sleep and having the phone going off all night really isn’t helping.”
“I thought you said it was off the line?”
“Huh? Right, yeah.”
“Nevermind that. You nervous?”
“So fucking nervous I feel like I’m gonna puke or something. Just like, go full exorcist. All over the stage.”
“Ok yeah, don’t do that.” Dustin suggested.
“Hah. Yeah.” Eddie chuckled.
“Come on, you guys are amazing! You’re gonna be great!”
“No, you’re right. It’s gonna be good.” Eddie said, clearly trying to psyche himself up.
“Well, I guess good luck. Over and out.”
“Break a leg you mean. Over and out.”
Dustin sat there fiddling with his walkie for a long couple minutes. There was something kicking around in his brain. A plan, formulating. Even Dustin himself was shocked by its elegant efficiency.
Get to see Corroded Coffin perform? Check. Bring a mob of Eddie’s friends out to support him? Check. Finally get a chance to meet this super secret girlfriend (because who would miss their boyfriend’s bands biggest show yet?) Check! And he can get Robin and Steve on a fun night out together and hopefully smooth over the ‘flower incident’? Check check check!
He tuned his walkie to the open line the party was synced into.
“Everybody, come in. It’s Dustin. We got a code blue which means all hands on deck. We’re going on a field trip…”
Dustin had spent the rest of Thursday night and Friday morning making sure everything was in perfect order.
He didn’t call until Friday, after he got confirmation from Max, the last person he was waiting on.
Only then did he call Steve.
“Corroded Coffin has a show tonight.” He said as soon as Steve picked up.
It was lunch hour and him, Mike, and Will were outside the school building standing around the pay phone. Lucas and Max were on a lunch table near by arm wrestling - those weirdo’s version of PDA.
“Hello to you too.” Steve said, vaguely amused.
“Hello. Corroded Coffin has a show tonight and we’re going.” Mike gave him a thumbs up and Will, an encouraging smile.
“Oh yeah?”
“And before you ask, yes we’ve gotten permission from our parents, yes we have a curfew but - we don’t have to be home till midnight, the bar is 16 and up, I called, itsallthewayinindianapolis but wait ok, before you say no - “
“What time are we leaving?” Steve said.
“I - really? That easy?” He glanced at Will and Mike who blinked at him with hesitant excitement.
“No. This… this is actually perfect.”
“Come on man. I had a whole - thing, prepared. I practiced for this. Flashcards! I made flashcards.”
“What time are we leaving?”
Dustin sighed.
“Six o’clock. If we leave Hawkins by then, we can get there twenty minutes before their show starts. Plenty of time to find parking and get into the venue. Were you wondering how everyone’s gonna fit in your car?”
“Yeah, sure.” Steve humored him.
Dustin flipped to the corresponding flash card. “They don’t have to.” He read verbatim. “I’ve already taken the time to ensure Jonathan could accompany us as well - also Joyce wouldn’t let Will come if he didn’t. Jonathan and Nancy are driving Will and Mike. You just have to grab me, Lucas, and Max. Leaving one seat open for you to bring a plus one.”
“Robin.” Steve said, impressed. “Very thorough.”
“I’ll see you at my house at 5:30 on the dot. We need to be on the road by 6. And Steve? Please try not to dress like a dork.”
Steve laughed.
“Funny how I could say the exact same thing.”
“Also don’t tell Eddie.” Dustin ordered. “It’s a surprise.”
“Dustin, you’re a genius...” Dustin could hear him grinning through the phone.
“I know, I meticulously organized everything down to the last detail.”
“Yeah, uh huh.” Steve said, distractedly. “Shit, ok, I gotta go - and shower pretty much right now if I want enough time to airdry my hair…“
“Well. That was easy.” He said, hanging up the phone rather anticlimatically.
“But he said yes?”
“Oh, we’re going!” Dustin confirmed.
———
Just a few hours later Steve’s Beemer sat on the street out front of Dustin’s house.
Dustin emerged from the house at 5:36 in a huff. He got a few steps before he remembered his mom was out and backtracked to lock up behind him.
HONK.
Dustin jumped, almost dropping his keys.
“I’m coming!” Dustin shouted over his shoulder. When he turned Steve was grinning at him, snickering to himself. He peered over his douche-glasses and gave Dustin a goofy little wave.
Dustin rolled his eyes and tugged at the car’s door handle. It didn’t budge. Steve hit the button for the passenger side window and Dustin was forced to wait for it to slowly roll down.
“Taxi to Indianapolis for a Mr. Henderson. Got the right address?”
“Open the door, Steve.”
“Sorry, I’m gonna need you to confirm the passphrase. Company policy.” He shrugged.
“Is it, we’re already running late so open the goddamn door?”
Steve rolled his eyes but unlocked the door so Dustin could finally get in already.
“And whose fault is that?” Steve asked as he started them down the road. Dustin huffed. He was still mad at Steve.
“Yours. You said you’d have Robin already - so now we’re behind schedule.”
“It was please by the way.” Steve glanced his way grinning as he turned on the radio. “Wanted to pick something you’d never in a million years guess.”
“Har har.” Dustin said, humorlessly as he buckled in. He eyed Steve. “You’re in a good mood.”
“I am.” Steve said, checking his hair in his review mirror and flashing himself a grin.
Dustin did a double take when he noticed - Steve was wearing Eddie’s vest. It definitely looked like it had been dragged through the Upside Down. But he had to admit the battle worn look suited it. To Dustin’s surprise, it kind of suited Steve too. He had a white T-shirt underneath, blue jeans, and red converse sneakers. His hair was tall and meticulously coiffed.
Dustin spent quite a while on his own hair tonight, though it wasn’t nearly as expertly styled. Never gonna beat the master at their own game right?
Dustin was glad Steve made an effort to blend at least. The rest of the party had too. Dustin was wearing a black tshirt with ‘Corroded Coffin’ painted in angular white lettering across the front. Dustin had made sure they all brought shirts to school today for Will to paint. He’s glad he put Will in charge of that because they actually came out pretty awesome.
“What’s up man?” Steve asked, taking off his sunglasses when he noticed Dustin’s sour face.
“How’s Robin?” Dustin asked pointedly.
“Uh, she’s fine, thanks.” Dustin glared at him, unimpressed.
“Uh huh.” He said shortly. There was a moment of silence before Steve spoke again.
“So uh, how’s Eddie?”
“Why do you care?” Dustin said.
“I don’t.” Steve shrugged. “Just makin’ conversation.” He said. There was another pause. Steve was drumming along to the radio on the steering wheel. “You guys have been hanging out a lot this week.”
How would Steve even know that?
“What? Did Robin tell you after we came by the store?” Steve looked over at him, as if confused by his antagonist tone.
“Uh, nope. I- “
“She knows about the flowers, Steve.” Dustin said. Steve squinted side long at him, opening his mouth and closing it again.
“Ok?” He said. Waiting for Dustin to continue. Dustin waited until they rolled to a stop at a stop sign.
“What the hell Steve!” Dustin said, smacking him in the arm.
“Hey! You what the hell.” Steve said, holding a palm up to shield himself from further abuse.
“I can’t believe you! I asked her how she liked the flowers you got her and she had no idea what I was talking about!”
“What? Ok, Jesus Christ. Dude, how many times do I have to tell you, we aren’t dating. It’s - it’s not like that, alright. We’re just - Robin’s my best friend.”
“Yeah well have you told her that? She seemed really hurt Steve.” Dustin scolded him.
“Man, I don’t know what you thinks going on but it’s not. I promise.”
“Just, talk to her ok?”
“What, suddenly your the love guru?” Steve huffed.
“Yes!” Dustin cried. “You have a really good thing, Steve. Don’t fuck this up. Have you guys even had an actual conversation about this shit? Like talked about what you guys are in plain words even once.”
Steve sighed, beleaguered. Steve stopped at a red light, fully turning to face Dustin. As if he thought looking him in the eye would better get his point across. Or more likely, finally get Dustin to shut up.
“I’m not having this conversation. You’re a kid, alright. You just don’t get it. You don’t always need to - spell everything out. We’re on the same page, trust me.”
“I don’t know Steve. That sounds like a really easy way for someone to get hurt.”
“I - “ Steve started but then he stopped himself. He paused for a moment, staring into space. The light turned green.
“Steve.” Dustin said, and Steve’s head jerked back up. “The light.”
“Yeah. Right.” He turned onto Lucas’ street.
“So you’ll talk to her?”
“God, is there a reason you have to be so nosey. Me and Robin have nothing to talk about. We are definitely on the same page.”
“Definitely?”
“Definitley.” He assured Dustin. Dustin continued to glare at him.
“Look, I’ll - “ Steve sighed, passing a hand through is hair before quickly checking it’s structural integrity in the mirror. “I’ll think about what you said ok?”
“You better.” Dustin huffed, trying to keep up his stone cold front at least a few seconds longer. “I don’t want to see you fuck this up. You seem, I dunno - happy? Or - whatever.”
Steve hummed, looking out at the road with a contemplative smile.
They stopped at Lucas’ house to grab him and Max, and then headed to Family Video.
“Dude, are you wearing Eddie’s vest?” Lucas said as he and Max climbed into the back seat. Lucas was wearing a matching Corroded Coffin shirt. Max was not. She’s too cool to participate in things.
“You know, just once you could say something like, hey Steve, thanks for the ride. Maybe? Just to keep things interesting.”
“Yeah did you really never give that back?” Max said, ignoring him.
“No, Eddie, he uh, told me to hold onto it.” Steve said, smiling and adjusting the collar in the mirror.
Max scoffed a little laugh, but kept her eyes out the window.
Next they went to pick Robin up from her late shift.
It took a few honks before Robin emerged from the building, calling “Thanks, Todd!” over her shoulder.
She crossed the parking lot, struggling to get into her denim jacket.
“Sorry it took so long Steve, I had to change in the bathroom and let me tell you, that little - “ she managed to crawl into her jacket, then halted when she looked up and saw Dustin in the front.
“You didn’t pick me up first.” She said, standing outside the passenger side door.
Steve shrugged half heartedly apologetic.
“Out of my seat, Gremlin’s 2.” She opened the door and jerked her head in a motion that made it clear she expected Dustin to clear out.
“Yeesh. Not even the original?” He said, reluctantly acquiescing and going to jam in with the others in the back.
Robin got into the car stared at Steve intently.
“You didn’t pick me up first.” She repeated. “I told you to come get me first.”
“I - yeah. The kids were closer. Didn’t want to waste time backtracking in case there’s traffic.”
“Pft. He was just running late.” Dustin said.
“I bet it was because he spent like, 2 hours doing his hair.” Max snorted.
“Alright, that’s enough - from the peanut gallery. Sorry, Robbie.” Robin frownedz. “Don’t worry, you’re still my favorite.”
“Why, what’s up?” Steve said, pulling out of the parking lot so they could finally get on the rode. It was already 6:07! The whole night was turning out to be a disaster.
“Nothing. Nothing. Just was hoping to chat.”
“I literally just called you.” Steve raised an eyebrow.
“Just - Nevermind.” She grimaced.
Dustin caught her eye in the rearview mirror and winked.
Her face paled in a mask of frustration and horror. A look that said, what did you do now, if Dustin’s ever seen one.
“Jesus Christ.” She murmured quietly.
“Hmm?” Steve titled his head towards Robin.
“Nothing!”
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p0orbaby · 2 days ago
Note
I have a possible blurb request for mary earps please??
r still lives in england and mary’s over with psg. mary comes back from paris for international duty and finally gets to see r again.
maybe mary surprises r by coming back a day early and comes home to see r in mary’s psg shirt
-
The flat is too quiet, but you’ve learned to live with that. Mary’s voice used to echo through the place—she’s not exactly subtle when she’s home—but with her in Paris, it’s been quieter. Not lonely, exactly. Just… quieter.
Now, the only noise comes from the hum of the kettle and the faint tinny sound of some reality TV rerun you’ve half-watched four times already. You’re standing in the kitchen, her oversized PSG shirt hanging off you, half-distracted as you wait for the water to boil. It’s the away kit—black and gold—soft from too many washes. She left it behind, and you’ve convinced yourself she wouldn’t mind.
The kettle clicks off. You pour the water over a tea bag, take a sip too soon, and immediately regret your life choices.
It’s fine. It’s all fine. You’ve survived this long-distance thing so far, even if it’s been weeks since you’ve had so much as a proper hug. Mary texts, she calls, she sends voice notes when she’s bored on team buses, but it’s not the same. You keep busy—work, friends, this new phase of your life where you apparently cosplay as a PSG superfan when no one’s looking.
Then there’s a sound. A faint jingle of keys.
You freeze.
No one else has keys.
“Don’t freak out,” comes a voice from the door. Familiar. Dry. A little smug.
Your tea sloshes onto the counter as you whip around, heart hammering.
Mary’s standing there, suitcase at her feet, coat hanging off one shoulder like she’s just walked out of a bloody rom-com. Except this is your kitchen, and rom-com Mary probably wouldn’t be grinning so much at the sight of you in her shirt.
“You’re back,” you say, because your brain is apparently still catching up.
“Early,” she clarifies, stepping inside. She looks far too pleased with herself, green eyes glittering as she takes you in. “Nice shirt, by the way”
You look down like you’ve forgotten what you’re wearing. “Oh, this old thing? Found it lying around”
“Hmm. Looks better on you, honestly.” She sets her suitcase aside and crosses the room in two strides, pulling you into her arms before you can think of a reply.
The hug is as good as you remembered. Maybe better. Her warmth seeps into you, and you breathe in the familiar scent of her—something clean, fresh, with an undertone of cheap hotel shampoo.
“God, I missed you,” she mutters against your hair.
“You didn’t tell me you were coming back early”
“Yeah, well.” She pulls back just enough to look at you, hands still on your waist. “I thought a surprise might be fun. Looks like I was right”
You laugh softly, looping your arms around her neck. “You were right. For a change”
She tilts her head, grinning. “This time? How often am I wrong?”
You don’t answer, just kiss her instead. It’s been too long, and judging by the way she immediately tightens her grip on you, she feels the same.
When you finally pull away, you’re both a little breathless.
“So,” she says, voice lighter now, “are you going to keep that shirt on, or do I get my wardrobe back?”
You raise an eyebrow. “What makes you think I’m giving it back?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she says, her grin turning cheeky as she leans in, voice dropping just enough to make your heart stutter. “I might have a few ideas to convince you”
Your tea goes cold on the counter, but you don’t really care.
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atleastpleasetelephone · 2 days ago
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You are my absolute favorite Elvis writer. I have a request...😏🙏🏻. Could you doooo smut with either 1964 E ike Frankie and Johnny ...or bde.. I'm torn between the two. Can you doooo like the reader gets really mad at Elvis for some reason and she tries to dominate him but he puts her in her place?
Hot 'n' Cold
A/N: Thank you so much anon, that's so sweet! I went for 1964 E as I feel he doesn't get quite so much love on here. This turned out a little... mean? Perhaps the closest to a yandere Elvis I have ever written (but still not that close!)
Pairing: 1964!Elvis x reader
Word count: 1.6K
TWs: Slapping (reader slaps E), infidelity, rough sex, possessive kink, breeding kink, reader cries, mood swings, p in v sex.
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“Don’t be silly, baby. I have to kiss her. It’s in the script.”
Elvis has just returned from filming Viva Las Vegas and he’s already a little frustrated with your lack of enthusiastic welcome home. He knew you’d be annoyed with all the stories in the papers, but he wasn’t expecting to be ambushed with questions the minute he walked through the door. He’s trying to play it cool though, hands thrust in his pockets, a neutral expression on his face. 
You draw yourself up to your full height (all five foot two of it) and shake your head determinedly. 
“It’s not just kissing, El, and you know it.”
“Baby. Come on,” he wheedles, closing the distance between you and putting his hand on your cheek. This sort of thing usually does the trick when you’ve heard something about some other woman.
You push him away, angrily. “No. You can’t charm your way out of this one, Mr Presley.” 
He sighs loudly, letting his hand fall back down next to his hip. “Whaddya want from me, then?”
He’s basically pouting at you now, and you don’t think that’s fair. He doesn’t get to pout, when he’s the one who’s been fooling around. You’ve seen the papers, you know the story, but this time it seems more serious than usual. What do you want from him? Marriage, commitment, babies… the whole fairytale. But right now? Right now you want to get even. 
“I want you to learn your lesson.”
Elvis cocks an eyebrow. “What lesson, honey?” You’ve never spoken to him like this before and he’s not sure he likes it. 
You huff now. “That you can’t mess around with other girls, El.”
He shakes his head. “I’ve told you, I’m not messing…”
You stare at him, angrily, trying to think of the sorts of things he usually says to you and how you can turn them back on him. But you’re too worked up, so you can’t think of anything other than slapping him across the face. 
“Ow!” 
He stares back at you in complete disbelief, his hand moving to rub his stinging cheek. You’ve definitely never done that before and he’s sure he doesn’t like it. 
“You deserved that!”
You kind of enjoyed slapping him, the rush of adrenalin through your body and the look on his face afterwards… In fact you enjoyed it so much you’re about to do it again, but he anticipates it, grabbing your wrist roughly. 
“Uh-uh, no you don’t.”
You try to wriggle out of his grasp but it just gets firmer and he catches your other hand now too, since it’s flying around dangerously close to his face in a way he doesn’t care for at all.
“Elvis!” You just about shriek, as he spins you around and walks you backwards until you collide with the wall. 
“Shush.”
He’s never known you to be like this, but then he’s never had a relationship go quite so public. He certainly didn’t want it all over the papers, it was embarrassing for God’s sake and he’d told Ann as much. But you can’t slap him. Whatever he might’ve done. 
He stands, pressing you against the wall with his body, holding your hands out to either side of your head for just a moment. Your head swims, wondering what he’s going to do next, your body reacting embarrassingly quickly to him being so close and so dominant. You’re supposed to be pissed with him but your panties are already soaked. His lips collide with yours in a bruising kiss and you can’t help yourself, moaning into his mouth. His hand is under your dress and pulling down your panties and then you hear him undoing his belt. He grabs your leg and forces it up as high as it will go (which is pretty high, you used to be a gymnast), stopping kissing you to watch your reaction as he thrusts inside you in one quick movement. Your eyes roll back in your head and you groan. 
“Whose pussy is this?” He growls, lips and teeth finding the skin below your ear.
“Y-yours, El…” you moan. 
He’s let your wrists go since you’re impaled on his dick now, trapped between him and the wall, and your fingers find the hair on the back of his head and knit themselves into it. 
“Good.”
He starts to move, short little thrusts, trying to drive himself somehow even deeper inside you. You whimper, fingertips pressing into his scalp, feeling almost uncomfortably full. 
“I decide when I want it,” he continues, his voice low and dangerous. “You make sure it’s always ready for me. Y’hear?”
His eyes are staring into yours now and it’s all you can do to nod and tell him yes. He starts to thrust a little more now, drawing out slowly and then slamming back into you full force. Your body rocks and you cry out. 
“No tellin’ me who I can see and who I can’t.”
You look down at him through tear-filled eyes as he keeps up the torturous rhythm. 
“I’m Elvis Fucking Presley and I’ll fuck whoever I want.”
You’re still whimpering, so he stops moving, grabbing your cheeks with one hand and squeezing them, forcing you to look at him. A tear runs down your face. 
“Did you fucking hear me?”
“Y-yes. Yes. I’m sorry. I sh-shouldn’t expect you to j-just want one girl.”
He lets go of your face, suddenly seeing the tears there and gently wiping them away with his thumb. 
“Good girl,” he says, softly, picking up a much gentler pace now. “Takin’ me so well.”
You try to steady your breathing but you feel all over the place, he’s being so gentle now it makes you want to cry more, somehow. 
“I love this pussy, baby,” he murmurs, sensually. “It’s so good to me.”
You still can’t speak so you just sniff in response. He starts to kiss your neck, rolling his hips into you in a way he knows is guaranteed to make you cum. Your sniffs turn to soft moans. 
“You gonna cum for me, baby?”
“Mmmm. Yes.” You bite your lip, trying to control the tears. His mood swings can be so difficult to deal with.
You can feel the edges of your orgasm as he keeps rolling into you, his heavy breath hot on your ear, little moans falling from his lips as he feels your walls start to flutter in anticipation. 
“C’mon baby. You can do it.”
The words of encouragement push you over the edge and you squeeze him, your orgasm ripping through your body and making you moan. He moans too, feeling you and hearing you, and he knows it won’t take much for him now either. He starts to pick up the pace, quick thrusts that slam your body into the wall repeatedly. 
“You want me to make ya a mama?” He pants. 
Your eyes go wide like saucers and you nod quickly. “Yes, y-yes please.”
“I’m gonna fill ya up… make ya mine…”
You can’t believe what you’re hearing. He’s never spoken to you like this, he always pulls out and cums somewhere else, so worried about accidentally getting you pregnant, so sure about it not being the right time for a baby yet.
“Please… please El…” you can’t believe you’re begging him right now, when you’ve already cum, but you want a baby so much. 
“Can’t wait ta see ya growing that baby inside ya…” he continues, thrusting even faster. “Knowing yer gonna be mine forever…”
“Yes. Yes. Fuck, yes.” It’s like his words alone are pushing you to another orgasm. 
“That what you want?”
“More than anything, El.”
There’s a wicked glint in his eye as he pushes your leg somehow even higher and hits somewhere deep inside you. You cry out in ecstasy and another orgasm hits you, almost as strong as the first, and you find yourself hanging on to him desperately as your legs turn to jelly and he pounds you through it. 
“Fuck!” 
He cries out, shooting his release into you, your walls squeezing it out of him for what seems like minutes. When he’s finally done he staggers backwards and pulls you with him. 
“Lie down on your back and put your feet up in the air.”
You stumble over to the bed and do as you’re told, your brain foggy and confused and unable to fathom why you’re doing what you’re doing. Eventually you ask.
“What’s this for, El?”
He’s lying next to you, holding your hand kind of sweetly. 
“It’s the best thing to do to make it take.”
You look at him, baffled. 
“To make a baby, honey.”
Your eyes go wide again. “You meant it?”
“Of course I meant it, honey. Imagine a little Presley runnin’ around the place. Can’t think of anything better.”
“So… you… are we gonna get married?” 
He nods. “When the time is right. You’ll see. For now you just concentrate on eating right and growing that little baby inside you. And if this one doesn’t take, there’s plenty more chances to practice…”
You smile and let him kiss you, enjoying the feeling of his lips against yours, but you can’t help wondering when exactly the time will be right. As you curl up in bed with him later that night, and he rubs your belly and tells you he can’t wait for it to be full, you wonder if this will mean he’ll stop wanting to be with other girls. Surely if you’re married and you give him the baby you both want so much, he’ll be happy? And surely you will too?
***
Taglist:
@vintagepresley @arg-xoxo @from-memphis-with-love @msamarican @blursedblegh @returntopresley @eapep @everythingelvispresley @i-r-i-n-a-a @sissylittlefeather @arrolyn1114 @jhoneybees @cattcb @polksaladava @lookingforrainbows @jkdaddy01 @ccab @epthedream69 @lustnhim @elvisslut @pomtherine @that-hotdog @ladelinee @angschrof @fairybloodsucker @deltafalax @makethemorning @elviswhore69 @ilovequeen978 @wildhorseinkansas
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covenofagatha · 4 hours ago
Note
Mistakes have been made this afternoon. I have had sake and no food, so fuck it, I'm going to be brave. Agatha/reader, semi-public sex, vaginal sex, oral sex, degradation, praise, and breeding kink if you are still taking requests.
Of course! And to everyone else who requested a fic, they should hopefully be up soon!
A gala to remember
You're feeling a little neglected by your girlfriend so you take advantage of her unfounded jealousy while at a work event for her
Word count: 2400
Warnings: literally pure filth, semi-public sex, girl penis Agatha, cum, creampie, blowjob, vaginal sex, degradation, praise, breeding kink, I think that's it
There’s not enough appetizers at the fancy annual gala for the company your girlfriend works at to make you stop being mad at said girlfriend. 
That doesn’t mean you’re not going to try though. 
You’re on your second shrimp cocktail when Agatha comes over to where you’re standing and tightly grabs your arm. 
“Come over here. And put that down,” she hisses in your ear and drags you across the room. You yank your elbow out of her grasp and deliberately pretend that you don’t see her scowl at you. 
It has been a week since the two of you have had sex. You can’t blame Agatha, work for her is really busy this time of the year, but she has come home late every single night since Monday and you’ve barely seen her. 
She had been promising all week that on Friday night – tonight – she would be home early and the two of you would make up for lost time. You had even gone out and bought some new lingerie. You missed the feeling of Agatha’s cock inside you and you couldn’t wait for the end of the week. 
Until Thursday morning, before she had rushed out of the house, she had told you that she was expected at the company’s gala the next night and she wanted you to come with her. 
Normally, you wouldn’t mind attending a work event with your girlfriend, but a lot of feelings had become pent up over the week and there was also the fact that she had given you a day’s notice on cancelling the plans she had made. 
So yeah, you were being a bit of a brat. 
And Agatha was fully aware of that, and wasn’t having any of it. 
“You need to behave,” she whispers before the two of you approach a group of co-workers. 
“Or what?” You scoff sardonically. “Not going to fuck me for another week?” 
“Watch me,” she shoots back. And then she plasters on a fake smile. “Hey, guys, this is my girlfriend, y/n.” She introduces you to everyone, three men and two women. You politely shake their hands, barely even looking at them, until you get to the last woman, Rio. 
She’s a little younger than Agatha, her pale skin contrasts beautifully with her golden-brown eyes. She’s wearing a perfectly tailored suit, like Agatha, and there’s something about her intense energy that seems to draw you in. 
Speaking of Agatha, she must notice how you’re staring at Rio because she clears her throat and wraps an arm around your waist. 
“Oh, that reminds us, Agatha,” one of the men booms. They’ve been talking about something for the past few minutes but you’ve been zoning out, bored almost to tears. “We need to borrow you for a few seconds upstairs. There’s a contract we need you to look over.” 
Agatha squeezes your waist and you shoot her a pleading look but she’s already leaving with two of the guys. The group disbands and you awkwardly go find an empty table to stand at and eat more shrimp.
Great. Now you’re mad, miserable, and alone. 
Except, maybe not all alone. 
Rio saunters up to the table, holding two glasses of champagne. She hands one to you and silently toasts. You take a sip. 
“Big fan of these parties?” You ask, trying to break the uncomfortable silence that has settled over your table. She shrugs noncommittally.
 “They’re good for the company,” she says. “I don’t particularly enjoy parties.” 
You raise your glass to that. “Join the club. I’m only here because Agatha made me.” Maybe you shouldn’t be speaking ill of your girlfriend to her co-worker but you kind of want to vent to someone. 
Rio rests her head on her elbows and her eyes widen. “Agatha Harkness’s girlfriend. What is that like? Is she as much of a boss in the bedroom as she is in the office? Or is she one of those powerful people who submits completely?”
Images and memories of Agatha in the bedroom flit through your mind (she is definitely not the latter) and you choke on your drink, sending you into a coughing fit. Rio chuckles knowingly.
“That’s an interesting question to ask someone you just meant,” you say once you’re finally able to breathe again, raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah, well, I’m an interesting person,” she retorts with a smirk. You nod in agreement and laugh. 
And that’s when you feel a hand on your lower back and a presence right behind you. You whirl around, afraid it’s some old man, but it’s your girlfriend. 
“Agatha!” Rio exclaims with delight. “What a coincidence. We were just talking about you.”
“Excuse us,” Agatha says rudely and grabs your hand to drag you up the stairs of the event center. 
You roll your eyes exasperatedly. “What, Agatha?”  
She doesn’t say anything until you’re past the top of the stairs and she spins you around and shoves you against one of the pillars. You wince at the cold marble on your cheek but you’re quickly distracted by the feeling of Agatha’s body against your back. 
Particularly, her semi-hardened cock. 
“Were you seriously flirting with Rio Vidal?” She taunts right into your ear. “Was that some pathetic play to get me to notice you?”
You want to tell her that no, of course not, you weren’t even flirting and the only reason Rio had come over was because Agatha had left you all alone, but you don’t do any of that. Instead you wiggle your ass against her, enjoying her sharp intake of breath, and ask, “Did it work?” 
She growls and flips you around, forearm coming up to your throat. “Listen to me, little girl,” she says threateningly. “You are mine.” 
“Oh, am I?” You simper innocently. “I must’ve forgotten in the past week while you’ve been too tired to show me.” 
Her eyes flash with something dangerous. “Get on your knees.” 
It makes you falter. “What?” You look around the two of you. There’s no one up on the second floor right now, but Agatha and her co-workers had just been up here a second ago so who’s to say that won’t happen again? You aren’t exactly hidden from view from the people on the ground floor either. 
“Did I stutter?” 
Despite your reservations, you can feel how wet you’re getting and how much you’ve missed having Agatha like this. So you hike up your floor-length gown and slowly drop down to the floor. The tile hurts but you don’t care. 
You reach up to unzip Agatha’s pants and pull her cock out. The tip is already red and leaking with precum and you gasp at the sight, feeling an ache start to grow inside you. 
“Better go fast before someone catches you,” she says, weaving her hand through your blonde hair. You’d like to remind her that if you get caught, she’ll be the one who gets in the most trouble, but she’s right. There isn’t time for that. 
You drag your tongue up the bottom of her cock and swirl it around the tip, getting immense pleasure when she lets out a small groan. You’ve almost forgotten how good she tastes. 
“God, you’re such a good slut for me,” she says. She collects your hair in a pony-tail as you start to bob your head up and down her dick. You can feel it twitch in your mouth and you tease the vein along the side which makes her hips jump. 
You swallow around her and try to push yourself further down. When you get close to gagging, you come back to lick at her tip while your hand strokes your saliva up and down the rest of her cock. 
“You look so fucking pretty with your mouth stretched around me,” Agatha groans. “Fuck, baby, can I use your mouth?”
You nod eagerly, peering up at her through your eyelids. Something about her using you like a toy really gets to you. 
And then you open your mouth wide and let her fuck her cock into you. You really hope the wet sounds you’re hearing are not as loud for everyone else. 
The need to breathe is burning in your lungs and your eyes are tearing up, but you can tell Agatha is close to cumming based on the tightening grip in your hair, the blissed expression on her face, and the way her cock is stuttering on your tongue. You want her to cum all over your face when she suddenly stops and pulls out of you. Air rushes into you and you cough weakly. 
“What?” You ask, a little disappointed. Without answering, she pulls you off your knees and pushes you back against another wall. She parts your dress at the slit and slides a hand through it to cup you over your underwear, smirking triumphantly when she finds you soaked. 
“God, sucking me off where anyone could see like a whore really does it for you, doesn’t it?” She taunts. “So pathetic, baby. So needy. You want me to fuck you so badly, don’t you? That’s why you’ve been such a brat this whole night, right? You want my attention, my cock in you so bad that this is how you’re acting?” 
Embarrassment colors your cheeks but you hold your head high. Nothing she said was false. “What are you going to do about it?” 
She scoffs and smirks. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m going to remind you who you belong to, because apparently a little slut like you needs a constant reminder.” She directs you to hike your dress up and she slides your underwear to the side. She positions one of your legs over her hip and without preamble, she thrusts her cock all the way into you. Your head falls back against the wall with a loud moan. 
Agatha clamps her hand over your mouth and stays still. She is filling you up so perfectly, even if it’s been a week since you’ve taken her. The delicious stretch is exactly what you’ve been missing. 
“Please, Aggie,” you whimper and she starts to move, hitting your special spot every time. “Feels so good.” 
“God, you’re taking my cock so well,” she grunts, picking up her pace. Your mouth falls open but no noise comes out. “It’s like you were made for me. So perfect, angel. Such a good girl.” You nod your head and roll your hips with every one of her thrusts. 
“Agatha, oh my god,” you moan, feeling her nails dig into your hips through her dress. You know that she’s close, can feel her throbbing inside you, and you’re not too far behind. 
“Such a desperate slut,” she croons. If there’s one thing about Agatha you love, it’s how quickly and effortlessly she can go from praise to degradation and back. “Needing me so bad, making me fuck you at my work event because a whore like you wants to be filled. Where anyone could walk up here and see how desperate you are for me. I want them to see what a whore I make you into. Especially Rio. Want her to know who you belong to. Fuck, sweetheart. Want me to fill you up, baby?” 
The thought of her spilling her cum inside you makes you clench even more around her cock. You absolutely love the feeling: the warmth, the way it feels leaking out of you, the times Agatha would eat you out after and taste the mix of your wetness with her cum and then kiss you so you could taste it too. 
“Yes, please, Aggie, fill me up, breed me,” you whine, whispering the two words that the both of you only use on special occasions. 
It has the intended effect because a feral look settles in Agatha’s eyes and she fucks into you with renewed vigor, hands gripping you so hard you think you’ll have bruises tomorrow. 
Or at least you hope. 
“Gonna breed you, baby, gonna fill you up with my cum,” she pants, the effort getting to her a little. “Cum all over my cock like the perfect slut that you are.” 
You take a hand off her shoulder to reach down and rub your clit and that little extra spark of pleasure sends you orgasming all over Agatha’s cock. Her hips splutter and she lets out a long sigh before you feel her twitch inside you and then a spurt of warmth fills you. You moan at the feeling, almost cumming again.
She stays in you until she softens and the second she pulls out, she wipes her cock all over your pussy to clean herself off, smearing the mess all over you, and tugs your lacy underwear back into place. You bite your lip at the feeling of her cum dripping out of you and when you take a shaky step towards her, you can feel how drenched your panties are, coated with a mixture of the two of you. 
And now you have to spend the rest of the night like that. 
“I promise I’ll clean you off when we get home,” Agatha says, teasing smirk telling you that her tongue will definitely be involved. You clench around nothing at her words and the images they bring, and you can feel more of her cum ooze out. You’re able to tell that some of it is on your inner thighs and you really hope it’s not visible through the dress. Or on the dress. 
But you don’t have time to worry about that. Agatha kisses you softly and pulls you in for a hug. 
“I’m sorry I haven’t made time for you this week,” she murmurs. “I’m all yours this weekend, I swear on my life. I told the guys earlier that if they had a problem, they’d have to figure it out themselves or wait until Monday.” 
You tighten your arms around her, feeling suddenly giddy. “Thank you, baby.”
Agatha reluctantly steps away after a few more moments of holding you close and you miss her body against yours. “Shall we rejoin society?” 
You pretend to think about it for a second until she smiles and then you take her hand. She leads you back down the stairs, her cum still seeping out of you. 
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kaiyunsim · 3 days ago
Text
abscence of you —
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pairing : bf!jaehyun x gn!reader
summary : you and jaehyun are caught between love and personal needs. you both watch as your relationship slips away, knowing they could never give eachother what they needed the most.
genre / warnings : angst, swearing (1 f-word), reader is lwk a red flag, maybe more
a/n : I LOVE BOYNEXTDOOR AND GRENTPEREZ ! also i rewrote this like two times cuz i was unhappy and still kinda am but i hope u guys enjoy ! (lmk if u want more cuz i like writing angst)
currently playing : absence of you - grentperez
— not proof read — wc : 1.1k —
you are always busy with making music but jaehyun never minded it because it’s your passion and he found it cute that you put your efforts into something you both like. he hasn’t seen you in a while thought and he really started to miss you so be wanted to surprise you at your apartment.
jaehyun opened the door quietly, not wanting to disturb you, knowing you are probably working on something. he made sure to get ramen that isn’t that spicy and has some mushrooms because it’s the way he likes it but also gets your favorite. he leaves the takeout on the table and sees you typing on the laptop.
“i got your favorite, let’s eat,” he says with happiness, finally getting to see you after a while. he approaches you and gives you a back hug.
“thanks, give me five minutes to finish this,” you say, not taking your eyes off the screen.
he only nods, moving to the table and unpacking the food and set up the table for the both of you. eventually, ten minutes pass and he just watches you work.
“are you going to eat before the food gets cold?” he asks gently, trying to remind you.
you glance at the clock, “oh, shoot. sorry, i lost track of time,” you reply, getting up and taking your seat at the table.
jaehyun begins to eat and you are about to start before your phone starts buzzing. you pick up the phone and start answering texts and he just watches.
“do you ever just stop?” he asks gently again. bothered, but not wanting to cause trouble.
you look up from your phone, which is now facedown on the table, and frowns slightly, “what is that supposed to mean?” you asks.
“forget it.” he pushes it off.
after that, you guys don’t see eachother for a while due to your conflicting schedules. whenever you could spare some time, he would be working on his songs. whenever he would be free, you would be busy with songs of your own.
the next time you would both see eachother is when you went on a hangout with your friends. they wanted to invite jaehyun so they asked if he wanted to join and he accepted.
you picked him up from his place and they all meet up at your place. it starts off as awkward before sungho, being the oldest hyung, wants to break the ice and asks a question to the couple.
“so what’s the next for you two? moving in together? engagement?” he asks lightheartedly, the last questions were in a more joking manner.
he replies half jokingly, rolling his eyes, “if i can ever get them to take a break from producing music on soundcloud.”
you laugh awkwardly, “what? i like where we are now. there’s no rush”
and the silence came back, as if nothing ever happened. but something did happen, tension increasing and sungho started to feel awkward.
his smile falters and he chugs the rest of his drink, not wanting to push the answer out of you.
later, you give jaehyun a ride home and the tension continues to seep into him but he decides to break it.
“you didn’t have to laugh it off like that…” jaehyun comments hesitantly.
“what are you talking about?” you ask, confused.
“the future, us. do you think about it?” he clarifies.
“of course, but i’m just… not ready for anything long term. there’s still so much i wanna do”
“yeah, and i guess i’m not a part of it” he murmurs to himself.
“hey thats not fair. im trying to build something for myself. that doesnt mean i don’t think about us” you answer. you sound somewhat annoyed at the constant comments from him.
“of course you think of us,” he says sarcastically.
“i don’t have time for this” you roll your eyes.
“you don’t have time for me, you mean” he says, raising his voice slightly.
“i didn’t ask you to come” you exclaim, matching his energy.
“jesus fucking christ y/n, i’m sorry i wanted to see my partner after a long day of promotions. i’ll just schedule an appointment next time.” he says sarcastically, throwing his arms up.
just as he says that, you stop the car as you guys are in front of his house. he undoes his buckle and gets out of your car, not wanting to deal with more of you for today.
days later, jaehyun hasn’t reached out, and neither has you. both being consumed by their own thoughts.
jaehyun replays their argument, torn between guilt and frustration. he wonders if he’s asking for too much or if you love him as much as he does you.
you try to focus on your work but feels a hollow ache whenever you check your phone and find no messages from jaehyun. you wonder if he’s tired of you completely.
jaehyun decides to stop by your place to talk. he just wants to communicate how he feels. when he arrives, he sees you on a video call with your team, all animated and smiling. he watches you through the party opened door, realizing how vibrant and alive you seem in your own world.
you spot him and quickly end the call knowing your team would understand. you open the door, your smile fading as you see the look on his face.
jaehyun looks at you with a weak smile, “you’re amazing, you know that?”
“what?” you reply, confused with where he’s taking this.
“you’re incredible at what you do, i just…”
he pauses.
“don’t think there’s space for me in your life.”
you sit there. letting the words sink in.
you shake your head, “that’s not true jaehyun, i’ve always wanted you with me.” you say, gripping onto his hands, eyes starting to water.
“but not enough to make me feel like i belong.” he says. finally being able to confess his feelings.
they both sit in silence. neither knowing what to say. finally, jaehyun breaks it.
“i love you, y/n. but i need more than this…”
jaehyun walks away, not wanting to turn back, leaving you stunned with tears streaming down involentarily. it’s not like you were sobbing, but god damn did you wanna crawl up and just cry. but your breath hitched, refusing to cry further
in the quiet of your apartment, you whisper his name into the empty air, knowing it was the closest you’d ever get to having him back.
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dissapointu · 2 days ago
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“Shadows of Us” Sevika x Reader Angst Story
The streets of Zaun were as chaotic as ever, thick with the acrid stench of exhaust fumes and desperation. The flickering neon lights cast eerie shadows on the crumbling walls, illuminating the decay that festered in the heart of the Undercity. It was in these shadows that you found yourself, caught between love and survival, tethered to a woman who was as dangerous as she was captivating—Sevika.
You leaned against the cold metal railing of the Last Drop’s second floor, nursing a drink that had long since lost its taste. The rowdy patrons below shouted and laughed, unaware of the storm brewing inside you. Sevika sat at her usual table near the corner, her mechanical arm glinting under the dim lights as she leaned back, relaxed and confident. She was playing cards with a group of thugs, and from her smirk, she was winning.
But you couldn’t relax. Not tonight.
The weight of your doubts pressed on your chest like a vice. You had been with Sevika for nearly a year now, drawn into her orbit by her raw charisma and the promise of something real in a city that chewed people up and spat them out. But love wasn’t enough to drown out the screams of the people she hurt or silence the nagging voice in your head whispering that you were losing yourself in her shadow.
As if sensing your gaze, Sevika looked up from her game, her sharp eyes locking onto yours. She tilted her head in a silent question, but you quickly looked away, pretending to sip your drink. You felt her eyes linger for a moment longer before she returned to her game, dismissing your unease as one of your moods.
It wasn’t always like this. When you first met Sevika, she was magnetic. She had a way of making you feel seen, even in a crowd. Her touch was grounding, her voice a low, steady hum that made you believe everything would be okay. She was your anchor in Zaun’s chaos. But over time, that anchor began to feel like a chain.
Sevika’s work with Silco grew darker by the day. She never told you everything, but you didn’t need details to understand the consequences. The bloodstains on her clothes, the haunted look in her eyes after a job, the way she avoided your touch some nights—it all painted a picture you didn’t want to see.
“Y/N,” Sevika’s gruff voice snapped you out of your thoughts. She was standing next to you now, her broad frame blocking out the light from the bar below. “What’s with the face?”
You forced a smile. “Just tired, that’s all.”
She frowned, unconvinced. “You’ve been ‘just tired’ for days now. What’s going on?”
Your pulse quickened. This was your chance to speak, to let it all out. But the words caught in your throat, tangled in fear and love. Instead, you shook your head. “It’s nothing. Really.”
Sevika’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t push. “Fine. Let’s get out of here. I’m done for the night.”
You followed her out of the bar, the distance between you feeling greater than the mere steps it took to reach the door.
The walk back to Sevika’s apartment was silent, save for the hum of machinery and the occasional shout from the alleys. Sevika lit a cigarette, the glow from the ember briefly illuminating her sharp features. She looked as untouchable as ever, her presence commanding and unyielding.
But you couldn’t stay silent anymore.
“Sevika,” you began, your voice trembling slightly. “Do you ever think about… leaving all this behind?”
She exhaled a plume of smoke, her pace slowing. “What do you mean?”
“This.” You gestured vaguely to the city around you. “The violence, the bloodshed. Working for Silco. Don’t you ever want more than this?”
Sevika stopped, turning to face you fully. Her expression was unreadable, but her eyes burned with intensity. “Where’s this coming from?”
“I just… I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” you admitted, your voice breaking. “Watching you come home covered in blood, wondering if the next job will be the one that—” You stopped, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I’m scared, Sevika. For you. For us.”
Her lips pressed into a thin line. “You knew what this was when you got involved with me.”
“I didn’t know it would feel like this,” you shot back, anger and despair bubbling to the surface. “I didn’t know it would feel like I’m losing you. Or maybe I’m losing myself.”
Sevika took a long drag from her cigarette, her expression hardening. “This is who I am, Y/N. I can’t just walk away. Silco trusts me, and I trust him. That’s not something I can throw away because you’re having second thoughts.”
Her words hit like a punch to the gut. “So that’s it? I’m supposed to just accept this? Accept watching you destroy yourself for him?”
“It’s not that simple,” she said, her tone clipped. “You think I enjoy the shit I have to do? You think I don’t wish things could be different? But this is Zaun. You survive, or you die. That’s the way it is.”
Tears pricked at your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “Maybe I don’t want to just survive, Sevika. Maybe I want more.”
She looked away, her jaw clenching. For a moment, the vulnerability in her eyes threatened to crack through her tough exterior. But then, just as quickly, it was gone. “Then maybe you’re in the wrong place.”
Her words were a dagger to your heart. You took a shaky step back, the weight of her dismissal crushing you. “I guess I am.”
The apartment was cold without her.
After that night, you left. You didn’t pack much—just a bag of essentials and the memories you couldn’t bear to leave behind. Sevika didn’t try to stop you. She let you go, her pride or her pain keeping her from saying the words you so desperately needed to hear.
The days that followed were a blur. You stayed with a friend on the other side of the city, trying to piece yourself back together. But every corner of Zaun reminded you of her. The scent of smoke, the sound of heavy boots on metal floors, the faint whir of machinery—it all brought her back to you in flashes.
You wondered if she missed you. If she thought about the way you used to curl up together on the couch, her arm draped protectively around you. If she remembered the late nights spent talking about dreams you both knew would never come true.
But Sevika was nothing if not stubborn. If she regretted letting you go, she wouldn’t show it. That was her way—burying her pain beneath layers of steel and defiance.
Weeks passed before you saw her again.
You were on your way back from the market, the bag of food in your arms feeling heavier than usual. The familiar hum of the Last Drop’s neon sign caught your eye, and before you could stop yourself, you stepped inside.
She was there, of course, sitting at her usual table. She looked tired, her shoulders heavier than you remembered, her hair messier. For a moment, you thought about turning around and leaving before she saw you. But then her eyes met yours.
The air between you was electric, charged with unspoken words and lingering pain. She stood slowly, her towering frame cutting through the crowd as she approached you.
“Y/N,” she said, her voice softer than you expected.
“Sevika,” you replied, your heart hammering in your chest.
There was a beat of silence before she spoke again. “I didn’t think I’d see you again.”
“I didn’t think you’d care,” you said, your tone sharper than intended.
Her jaw tightened, but she didn’t argue. “Look, I’m not good at this… talking thing. But I—” She paused, struggling to find the words. “I miss you.”
Your heart ached at the admission, but the wounds were still fresh. “You miss me, but you let me walk away.”
“I thought it was what you wanted,” she said, her voice tinged with frustration. “You said you couldn’t do this anymore, and I—” She ran a hand through her hair, exhaling sharply. ���I didn’t know how to fix it.”
“It’s not about fixing it, Sevika,” you said, your voice breaking. “It’s about choosing. Choosing us. But I don’t think you can.”
Her expression crumbled for a split second before she schooled it into indifference. “Maybe I can’t.”
The finality of her words shattered you. You nodded, tears spilling down your cheeks as you stepped back. “Then there’s nothing left to say.”
And with that, you turned and walked away, leaving Sevika behind in the shadows where she belonged.
The pain didn’t fade, but over time, it dulled. You found a new rhythm, a life that didn’t revolve around the chaos of Zaun or the unpredictable storm that was Sevika. But late at night, when the city was quiet and the memories crept in, you wondered if she ever thought about you. If she ever regretted letting you go.
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lynzishell · 3 days ago
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Prev // Next
Transcript below the cut:
Atlas: I’m going out for a run. Asher: ‘kay. Atlas: Looks like the taco stand is open today. I can bring back lunch. Asher: ‘kay.
Atlas: Are you sure you’re alright? Asher: Yeah. I’m fine, I promise, I’m just tired. Atlas: Hm.
[Knock at the door]
Atlas: For the record, I don’t believe you. But I can wait til you’re ready to talk.
Atlas: Hey Lex. Lex: Where is he? Atlas: On the couch. I think he needs you. Lex: I’m on it.
Lex: Baaabe, you look so sad. Asher: I am sad. Lex: Are you really watching Lost Dog’s Journey Home right now? Asher: What? It’s my comfort movie.
Asher: What are you doing? Lex: I am curing your sadness with cuddles. Asher: Feels more like you’re crushing me. Lex: Well, in the words of my comfort movie, [in her best old lady voice] “It has to hurt if it’s to heal.”
Asher: [small chuckle] I don’t think this is what she meant. Lex: It could be. You laughed. Asher: … Lex: Do you want me to move? Asher: … No. Lex: Didn’t think so.
Lex: I’m sorry about Jasper. Asher: Thanks. Me too. Lex: Congrats on getting married, though. That’s exciting. Asher: Yeah, I’m really happy. Lex: Wow. Convincing.
Asher: I am! I just… [groans in frustration] I feel weird. Lex: Alright. Sit up. Talk to me.
Lex: Now, what do you mean “weird”?
Asher: I don’t know. It’s like… when we went to Selvadorada… it feels like the world we left is not the same world we came home to. I know it sounds crazy, but I don’t know how else to explain it. Everything looks and feels and even smells different.
Lex: To be fair, when you came home, you’d lost a dog and gained a husband. You’re starting a new chapter in your life. Things are bound to feel a little different. Off even.
Asher: I guess. And it’s not just those things. We’re giving our notice at work on Monday, and we’re gonna start looking for a new apartment. New career, new home, all of which are things that I want, things I even suggested, but I can’t get myself to be happy or even excited. I just feel…
Lex: Overwhelmed? Asher: Maybe. And, as if that isn’t enough, there’s something else. Lex: There’s more? Babe, no wonder you’re paralyzed on this couch. You need to slow down. Asher: That doesn’t feel like an option. Lex: Of course it is. Asher: …
Lex: Okay, well, look, everyone is coming to my place tomorrow. You should come. Hang out with friends and take your mind off things for a bit. Asher: I don’t know. I feel like I’d be such a downer. I don’t want everyone to see me like this. Lex: Maybe it will boost your mood. You might even have fun. Asher: …
Lex: Just stop by. You don’t have to stay long if you don’t want, but at least come say hello. Asher: … Lex: Please? Asher: [nods] Okay. You’re right. It might be good to see some friendly faces, get out of my head for a bit.
Lex: That’s the spirit! Asher: Ahhh [laughs] What the hell?! Lex: I love you.
Asher: Love you too. Now get off me please. Lex: Only if you let me pick a movie for us. Asher: Fine. Atlas is bringing home tacos. Should I have him grab you some? Lex: Obviously!  
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krirebr · 17 hours ago
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Thanksgiving has always been… a little difficult with your family, but whose isn’t? You tried warning Curtis about how terrible they could be, but he didn’t think it was this bad. Year after year, they ask you if you’re bringing a special someone, giving fake sympathetic smiles when you say ‘no’ yet again. So they stopped asking, until you showed up with this beefcake on your arm this year. And of course you cousin gets up to instantly tear you apart in front of him, like she always does because how dare someone have something better than her. Jealous priss. But you’re not gonna let her get away with it. Not this time. And as soon as you stand up to her, Curtis is so proud to be with someone so strong, giving you this look, an admiring smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye, from his spot next to you at the table.
Oh Essie, this prompt tapped into some extended family stuff for me. It's been many years since I've had to do the whole big family holiday thing, and I'll be honest, I don't miss it.
I hope you enjoy what I came up with!
Let Us Eat Quickly
Pairing: Curtis Everett x demisexual demiromantic female reader
Word Count: ~1.5k
Warnings: friendly but toxic family, probably a little aphobia, amatonormativity out the wazoo, explicit language All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI
Dividers by @strangergraphics
Masterlist
A/N: Big thanks to @stellar-solar-flare who helped me gut check this and @darsynia who poured through so much Thanksgiving poetry to help me settle on a title. It comes from Home for Thanksgiving by Linda Pastan
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You stood at the door, Curtis beside you with his hand on your back. “It’s not too late to turn around,” you mumbled to him.
He just chuckled good-naturedly. “I thought I was supposed to be the nervous one, meeting your family for the first time. Relax, I know how families can be. It’ll be fine.”
“That’s what you think,” you said under your breath, then pasted on a smile as the door opened to reveal your aunt.
She immediately threw her arms around you. “Oh my god! It’s been so long!” She pulled back and then looked at Curtis, her eyes widening. “Holy smokes, he really does exist! When your mom told me you were bringing someone, I couldn’t believe it. Figured it had to be a figment of her imagination. But look at him! He’s real!”
You took a deep breath. “Uh, yeah. This is Curtis. Curtis, this is my Aunt Jan.”
Curtis reached out to shake her hand, a completely bewildered expression on his face. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Jan pulled him into a hug instead. “So nice to meet you, honey! You don’t know just how much of a miracle you are!” Once she let him go, she ushered you both inside. She called into the house, letting everyone know you were there. “And she’s brought her real-life boyfriend!”
“What the fuck?” Curtis mumbled.
You squeezed his hand. “That’s just how she is,” you whispered.
You moved through the house, greeting various aunts, uncles, and cousins, weathering the over-the-top shock from all of them. You could tell Curtis was getting irritated, so you tried rubbing your thumb over the back of his hand in soothing circles. You finally reached the den and found who you’d been searching for. 
Your dad leapt up from the couch excitedly to wrap you in a big hug. “Hi honey,” he said. Then, low enough for only the two of you to hear, “You should have turned around when you had the chance.”
“Yeah, well, this idiot,” you affectionately gestured to Curtis, “really wanted to meet my family.”
Your dad shook his head with a chuckle, “Rookie mistake,” he said, then pulled Curtis into an equally big hug. It’d never not make you so warm inside, just how much your dad loved Curtis. 
Once he’d been let go, Curtis just sort of gaped at the two of you sheepishly. “I’m not sure I knew what I was walking into,” he muttered. 
“Rookie mistake,” your dad said, again, before sitting back down. “Your mom is in the kitchen.”
You made your way there, finding her cooking away with Jan and the rest of her sisters. Just like your dad, she was thrilled to see Curtis. It made your heart swell.
A few of your aunts continued to make “good-natured” comments on what a surprise and relief it was that you’d finally brought someone. You nodded through it, barely listening, before tugging Curtis behind you to go find your grandma. 
He stopped you as soon as you were in the hallway. “Babe, do they not know you’re demi?”
You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you. “God, no! Can you imagine? It’d take forever to explain it, and then when I was done, I’d just get a lot of ‘Isn’t that how everyone is?’ while still giving me all of this bullshit. It’d be a waste of breath.” Curtis did not look happy about that, so you grabbed his hand. “Hey, all of the people I actually care about know. That’s enough for me. These are just people I have to see once a year because of an accident of birth. They don’t get to know all of me.” He seemed to relax a little at that and you smiled. “All right, let’s go find Grandma. Get ready. She’s gonna say all sorts of shit that’s gonna make you really uncomfortable.”
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Sure enough, the first thing your grandma said to Curtis was, “I’ve been praying a nice young man would come into her life. She’s been so lonely for so long.” You turned your head away as you rolled your eyes, hard. But luckily you looked back in time to see the shocked look on his face when she said she sure did hope she didn’t die before she got to see you get married. You tried so hard not to laugh, that you sent yourself into a coughing fit.
Extracting yourself with a chipper, “Ok, grandma! We’ll see you at dinner!” you took Curtis into the backyard to kill time before food.
Sitting on the decorative retaining wall, Curtis threaded his fingers through yours. “I can see why your sister doesn’t come to these things.”
“Oh yeah,” you laughed. “She has to deal with all that and go hungry. These people have no idea how to cook for a vegetarian. They put chicken broth in the mashed potatoes!”
He just stared at you for a moment, then shook his head. “You’re too nice to them.”
You took a step closer, fully in his space, and shrugged. “They just– They can’t conceive of a life experience outside of their own. They all got married in their early twenties and had kids right away. The traditional way works for them, so why wouldn’t it work for everyone else? They don’t really know what to do with someone with different priorities, different feelings, and attractions. It’s how it’s always been. I’m used to it. I mostly just think it’s funny now.”
He wrapped you in his arms so that you could feel his warmth in the crisp fall weather. “I hate that you’ve had to get used to this.”
You rested your head on his shoulder. “You make things better,” you said softly. “I’m really happy you’re here.”
You stayed like that for several moments before your phone buzzed with a text from your dad, letting you know that dinner was ready. 
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You both settled down at the far end of the table, about to start filling your plates when your heavily pregnant cousin Kat took the seat across from you. “Oh, sunovabitch,” you muttered under your breath, causing Curtis to look concerned. 
Before you could reassure him, Kat got both of your attention. “Oh my gosh, it’s been such a long time! I’m so glad you could come!” Then she turned to the man next to you. “And you must be Curtis! You’re all anyone can talk about. I’m Kat, her favorite cousin.” Before Curtis could respond, she continued. “So tell me, ‘cause I’m dying to know, how exactly did she get you here?”
Curtis looked at you, confused, then raised an eyebrow at her. “Excuse me?”
“Well, she’s just never brought anyone before. Not ever. And then when she finally does, it’s someone who looks like you?? My theory is she hired you off of Craig’s List. That or blackmail.” And then she laughed, in that very specific way that was just friendly enough that she could claim she was only joking. You knew it well. She’d been doing it for over thirty years.
You felt Curtis stiffen next to you, One look at him told you he was itching to respond, his mouth beginning to open, but you knew Kat. You knew she was just getting started and whatever response would just feed into whatever she wanted. So you covered his hand with yours in what you hoped was a soothing manner to hopefully stop him.
You caught Kat’s eye and she smirked, but then it faltered when you matched it with one of your own. “Actually, Kat,” you said, so casually, “I also have something I’ve been wondering. Is it the pregnancy hormones that have made you so unpleasant or have you always been this way? Since I genuinely can’t remember the last time you weren’t pregnant, I thought I’d ask.”
She gaped at you for a moment, as you looked at her calmly, patiently waiting for an answer. You didn’t need to look at Curtis to know that he was trying to hide a grin. Across from you, Kat finally found her words, “How dare–”
“I’m sorry,” you cut her off, “was that invasive? Rude? I should probably mind my own damn business, huh?”
“I–” she started again, but you weren’t done yet.
“Someday, I hope you’ll figure out that there are so many ways to be happy, not just one prescribed path. And hopefully, you’ll find whatever you’re looking for on the path you’ve chosen.”
There was a long beat of silence. Then, quietly, her eyes a little wide, she said, “I have. I’m happy.” There was a note in her voice, you thought, that sounded a little like she was trying to convince herself as much as you.
“Good,” you nodded, decisively, “I’m glad. I’m happy too. I was happy before Curtis and I’m happy now.” Without waiting for a response, you turned fully to Curtis beside you. He was beaming at you, pride just oozing out of him, his eyes sparkling. You smiled too, the biggest since you’d gotten there. “Do you want some stuffing?” you asked him, completely shutting down the previous conversation. “Aunt Jan’s stuffing is really good.”
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Tag List
@stargazingfangirl18 @yenzys-lucky-charm @thezombieprostitute @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @bval-1 @km-ffluv @texmexdarling @ladyvenera @roxyfan14-blog @darkserenity24 @midnightramyeoncravings @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @ronearoundblindly @brandycranby @steviebbboi @missaprilt23
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emsprovisions · 13 hours ago
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Happy Wednesday to all! And Happy early Thanksgiving to my fellow American friends! I hope you guys all have some good food tomorrow or even just an enjoyable day off work/school etc, and for my international friends, I hope the rest of this week is kind to you 💕💕
The devastatingly beautiful officer has arrived tonight in tight black jeans and a green sweater. His curls are loose from their hair gel prison, and his smile is brighter than the sun, and oh, god, TK has never seen anyone more attractive. 
What’s worse is that TK has never struggled with confidence. Well, he absolutely has, but not when it comes to picking up men. TK Strand doesn’t get flustered. He doesn’t get nervous or shy. He’s boldly gone up to plenty of men before and gotten numbers or taken them home. There’s just something about Carlos that has him sweating and pulling at the collar of his cashmere sweater. It doesn’t help that Nancy has caught him staring and keeps prodding at him to go talk to the guy. It also doesn’t help that Nancy’s tipsy on wine, and even though TK doesn’t know her as well since he’s not a medic, he knows she’s more friendly when she’s tipsy, but she’s also louder and TK doesn’t particularly want the entire party to know just how flustered Officer Reyes makes him.
Finally, Nancy marches TK over to Carlos herself, and he feels mortified, like he’s back in high school, even though back then he was also always too cool to admit when he was nervous and shy around cute boys. Nancy throws her arm around TK’s shoulder and leans closer to Carlos. 
“Hey, Reyes!” She grins, “I don’t know if you’ve ever met TK, but he just joined the 126 this year. He’s on the fire side.”
Carlos turns that beautiful smile on TK and TK can literally feel his insides melting. “Hi, I’ve seen you on calls but we’ve never formally been introduced. I’m Carlos. You’re Captain Strand’s son, right?”
TK just nods, “Yeah, that’s me.”
At that, now that her work is done, Nancy slinks away, winking at TK and giving him a thumbs up from over Carlos’s shoulder.
Thank you for the tags @carlossreaders @lemonlyman-dotcom @thisbuildinghasfeelings @heartstringsduet @carlos-in-glasses 💕 I’ll be reblogging y’all’s throughout the day!
No pressure tags @ironheartwriter @strandnreyes @reyesstrand @paperstorm @henrygrass @decafdino @sapphic--kiwi @eclectic-sassycoweyes @chicgeekgirl89 @nisbanisba @welcometololaland @bonheur-cafe @whatsintheboxmh @captain-gillian @nancys-braids +open 🏷️
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harryspurpleloofah · 2 days ago
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Hii,
I just had this idea where like y/n and harry are alrrady together. Y/n sings really well, write her own songs and even record them, but is too shy to show anyone so she just keeps them to herself. However Harry came across one of her recorded songs and just FELL IN LOVE with them.
Thank you!!🥰
Hi love! I started this writing blog recently and you’re officially my first request, this means so much thanks! I’ll do my best.
You could give me a run for my money
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TW: swearing, smut at the end, Oral fem receiving, p in v sex, unprotected sex but they’re trying for a bub (use protection in real life please loves), tit sucking
The sun was setting behind the gorgeous skyscrapers of London. She hummed as she cut the vegetables for the lasagne Harry requested that night. He was working overtime at the studio tonight and she wanted to make sure she made a nice cozy meal for him.
She hummed to the tune of her latest song. She did this all the time when she was home alone when she got bored all by herself (and their cat Bowie, yes named after the rockstar. Harry’s idea but she didn’t object since she loved him too)
She was writing a little piece which was inspired all around her life and she had a basic tune for it but she kept getting stuck on the pre chorus. She hummed it again and again with the ending changing everytime she tried it.
Harry got in that same time. He closed the door quietly behind him. He heard her from the kitchen and tried to figure out what she was singing. He loved hearing her sing but she never did. For him sometimes, when she was drunk she would, but apart from that no way in hell. Especially in front of other people.
Then he realized was this another one of her own ones? He didn’t really know much since she never really told him either. He tried to listen in and it was beautiful. He snuck in slowly, and picked her up from behind to which she immediately erupted in laughs.
“Hi! You’re back.”
He smiled as he twirled her around and then put her down before pecking her cheek, “yes I am. How’re you baby?”
“I’m fine. Making lasagne.”
“Mm. Nice.”, he picks up a sliced tomato for the salad side and eats it. She smacks his hand, “stop that’s for the salad.”
“M’hungry.” He pouts.
“It’ll be done in just a bit. Go get something from the pantry till then.”
“Ok baby honey.”
He made his way to the pantry to start looking for food while humming..HER SONG??
“Where did you hear that?” She quickly asks
“Hm? You were humming it no?”
“I-..was I?”
“Yeah just as I came in. Banger tune babe. Who’s it by?” He closes the pantry and grabs a banana from their fruit basket instead.
“No one.”
“No one?”
“Nobody you’d know.”
“Hey I know everyone.”
“They’re really underground besides I forgot their name.”
“Look it up. Hey google, what song is this?” He opens his phone and hums the song. Obviously since the song isn’t out google has no clue. “That’s so weird honey. Even google doesn’t know.”
“Funny. Ok go have a shower I’ll put this in the oven.”
“I wanna know the song. It’s nice I wanna hear the rest of it.”
“Just leave it Harry.”
“But I-”
“Harry!”
“Whatt”
“Just move on”
He sighed, “ok but I just don’t get it why are you so pissed over a song?”
“Because it’s mine..”
“What?”
“I just like..make up little songs sometimes it was one of those”
“Wait wait wait! You’ve been making music this entire time?”
“Not this entire time..it was just recently. When you’d be at your studio. Basically remember you used to send me demos?”
“Mhm?”, he asks, chewing on the bite of banana.
“So I just used to get them stuck in my head then they’d only be half finished and I’d start making up my own endings for them. Then I couldn’t remember them so I wrote them down and I just started writing from there, but it’s nothing serious.”
“Have you ever recorded anything? Properly?”
She chuckles slightly, putting the knife down and turning around fully, “no. Not like you I just have some like…audio recordings nothing much.”
“Can I listen to one? Please?”
“No.”
“Please?? I really really want to.”
“Harry..”
“It can be my anniversary present.”
“A month early?”
“Yeah.”
She sighed. She handed him her phone to look through the recordings. His jaw dropped. They were fucking amazing. She took her phone, “ok enough.”
“Baby! You cannot be serious! This is so good!”
She smiles, genuinely feeling her heart warm. “Really?”
“Yes I love them.”
She wasn’t one of those people who knew her talents and still undermined them. If something she did was good she’d give herself the due credit. And she actually thought her songs were nice. But she didn’t want them out into the world. She just wasn’t ready for that sort of exposure yet.
“Baby?”
“Yes Harry?”
“Do you have like an instrumental back for this?”
“Yeah. It’s in the files on my computer why?”
“Cool…”
The next morning when she came downstairs he was on her computer.
“Haz?” She asked. “What are you doing?”
“Forget everything. Watch this.” He presses play. She’s shocked.
It’s her voice, her song, her music. He’d edited it all together and added a tiny bit of reverb and auto tune where needed. When the song finished he turned back to her, “isn’t it great?”
“I love it Harry..”
“So?”
“So what?”
“So should I talk to Jeff? Get you out there?”
“No. Absolutely not.”
“What?”
She frowned, “I don’t want to.”
“Why?”
“I just don’t..I wanna write for myself. Not anyone else.”
“Are you sure? We could really get you big. You could do this full time if you really enjoy it-”
“I don’t though Harry. I like my job this is just a hobby. I love it but not enough to do it full time. Not enough like you do.”
“Are you really sure my darling?”
“Yes. I don’t want it leaving this computer.”
Harry sighed, but then flashed her a grin, “you know what fine. Honestly m’happy.”
She smiled. “Why?”
“You could’ve been better than me baby. Thank god. You would’ve given me a run for my money.”
She laughed loudly, “really?”
“Honest. Now may I get some breakfast please?”
“Of course.”
“Or I could eat something else instead..”
“What?” She giggled
He looked her up and down ravishingly. “You perchance.”
“Huh. Let’s see..should I let you?”
“Yes. Please baby..”
She smiles.. “maybe.”
“That’s a yes,” he grabs her in a kiss, his tongue plunging into her mouth. He trailed kisses over her neck, reaching her tits. He took her shirt off and captured her lips once again before undoing the bra buckle and latching his mouth on a hardened peak.
He let out a moan muffled into her skin as she moaned and pushed herself into his mouth even more. His kisses trailed down her stomach then down to her thighs, hooking his thumbs in the waistband of her panties and pulling them down with her trousers, lapping at the arousal already running down her thighs.
“God look at you. So ready for me.” He licked a strip upwards, provoking a moan from her again. He ravaged her completely, focusing on her clit, sucking on it gently, flicking it with his tongue, not stopping despite her fingers tangling in his hair, her legs trying to squeeze shut in pleasure.
“Fuck Harry..please..I need to cum.”
“You will baby. Very soon. Just hang on two seconds for me I want you to cum on my cock yeah?”
“Yes-yeah please.”
He nudged her clit with the head of his hardened cock before pushing in with a grunt moan mix. “Yes fuck you’re so tight baby.”. He thrusted deeper, harder. He kept going until her moans were getting louder, her breath quicker and her pussy was clenching on his cock. “Ok love. Cum for me now.” He allowed her. She didn’t hesitate, costing his dick in her sweet juices.
It took mere seconds before he came with a groan, shooting hot loads into her womb. They’d been talking about hanging a baby. This wasn’t one of their planned tries but every thing counts? He gently pulled out of her and kissed her forehead.
“You were so good for me angel. Did you like it?”
“Yes Harry-god I loved it.”
“Good. You wait till tonight then.”.
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limeade-l3sbian · 2 days ago
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Im sure you have noticed many radfems talk of how men will use their spouse/partner as basically a second mother, having her do all the chores, the emotional labour, the organisation, etc. And I agree with this take.
But can we talk about how a lot of women, especially trad adjacent ones, also see their male partner as almost a parental figure. The amount of times i’ve seen women use different versions of “I just want a man that can think for me” is too many to count at this point. And it’s common. It’s seen in so much romance media, where the man takes control of everything, all the big decisions. It’s become a whole trope in heterosexual romance books and stories, of a rich man with control issues who sweeps some woman off her feet and makes it so she basically just disappears in his embrace.
This is gonna sound super harsh, but please know it isn’t meant as a critique of them as much as something i’ve noticed. I really do believe a lot of women who crave old school gender roles are very lazy, “useless”(to themselves) people who don’t want to amount to anything in life. The idea of struggle and hardship, heck, even just working TOWARDS something, it scares them so much they would rather be shapeless blobs controlled by someone else. That’s why they fetishize that traditional life style for women. Obviously WE know the women of that time and current time too in those types of homes aren’t just sitting around all day doing nothing, but I really do think a lot of women use it as an escapism fantasy from life.
The way a lot of them describe their sexual fantasies is similar, it’s always what is done to them, like they aren’t actually active participants, like they don’t actually have to make any choices.
I think the reason a lot of men crave a parental figure partner vs the reason a lot of women crave one is very different but they seem to be extremely common nonetheless. And with women I also know it’s a very complex issue of both society telling us our worth, the fact that women nowadays even as the more educated demographic STILL do more housework and emotional labour in relationships, capitalism being horrifyingly exhausting to live under, I could go on. But the point is, I think certain women crave a life of no consequences so that whole “i’m just a girl” and “he thinks for me, he makes the choices” mentality thats unfortunately had a huge uptick in popularity in recent years, I do think it’s women craving a parental figure as a partner. Not to say it’s anything linked to incest, i’m not trying to make freudian connections here, but I think the role of a parent is to take responsibility for the child and they crave that floating consequence free existence of a child.
I dunno, is what I’m saying completely deranged? Let me know.
Anon, I'm gonna try to be respectful and hold your hand when I say this... YOU'RE RIGHT! Thought I was gonna get condescending on your ass, huh? 😎🤪
Firstly, don't undercut your words with "I dunno." You made a completely logical point and casually explained yourself so eloquently I wouldn't be surprised if English wasn't your first language.
Secondly! I have seen this too! This weird, "take care of me" emphasis from both sides of the camp. Is it laziness? I wouldn't cast that aside for a second. But I think it's also this strange reaction to the present world. At least in the U.S., the economy is shit and people kind of already know that shit is just going to be hard, no matter what. And as humans, we have a weird tendency to swing the pendulum completely to the left or the right. So our reaction to very real, economic hardship that requires frequent "grinding" is to desire a complete release of the wheel, and to have someone else handle the hard stuff.
For some reason, according to social media, you either need to be grindset girl boss or a trad trophy wife which is...yeah. But I don't doubt your point being more of a reason for this. It's bizarre, and you're not crazy.
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