#I don’t know if they know he has meds he needs to take
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I am helping Gitte in the kitchen. The extractor fan roars, and everywhere there are spills, a toppled bag of sugar, a sticky puddle of redcurrant jelly, bay leaves, onion skins and needles of rosemary litter the floor underfoot. I open the oven to a billowing waft of steam. “I think the thing is ready.”
“The potatoes or the pork?”
“The pork thing. What’s it called again?”
“We can call it roast pork for you.”
“Yes, but what’s the proper name?”
Gitte chuckles and pulls an oven glove over her hand. “We say Flæskesteg, but you don’t need to.”
“Flæskesteg,” I murmur it, and Astrid’s sisters laugh. They can’t contain themselves each time I attempt something in Danish. “Oh, it’s wrong!” they’ll cry, delighted by my ineptitude. “Not like that,” and they’ll make me repeat a word, four, fives times until it is right. It feels like blind luck. My ear cannot pick up on the tiny discrepancies, and I won’t remember the right way in ten seconds, but I enjoy entertaining them. The Christmas-eve-dinner clown.
“Now say ‘rødgrød med fløde’,” says Mia, the middle sister, taking a knife to the red cabbage, and behind her comes an exasperated groan from Astrid. “God, stop bringing that up. He cannot say it. How long will it be funny to you?”
“It’s alright,” I interject swiftly. “It’s good for me to learn. If I want to really know who Astrid is, then I should know her in her native language, so… every little helps.”
“How romantic,” says Pernille, the eldest, distracted as she pries her eight-month-old’s fist from her earring. “And what have you learned so far?”
I grin, self-indulgent. “Vi snakkes ved.”
Everyone applauds, and I bow.
“That’s just something he’s heard me say on the phone,” says Astrid in this apologetic voice, as though personally responsible for my total incapacity for languages. “I’ve been teaching him more, but many of the sounds are difficult.”
“Like teaching a baby, then,” Mia says. “You go through the alphabet sound by sound.”
I smile at the infant behind her, drool all over his chin while Pernille bounces him on her hip. “We’re in this together, you and me. Right, Felix?”
He gurgles.
“Ah, my phone,” Pernille says, reaching for her pocket. The baby squirms. “Hold him, won’t you, Astrid?”
My girlfriend pales. “Oh, well–”
“Just for a moment. Take him.”
Astrid holds him at arm’s length. Her chubby, giggling nephew kicks the feet buttoned inside his bodysuit. She grimaces. “Hey.”
Mia calls after Pernille. “It’s Jacob?”
“Ha! No,” she shoulders through the door and into the hallway.
Gitte purses her lips. “Hold him correctly, Astrid. With his head supported.”
“I don’t know how,” she whines. “I’m not good with babies. They don’t like me.”
“Nonsense.”
“They don’t,” Mia snipes. “They are born with an instinct about her.”
“Oh, give him to me,” Gitte abandons her saucepan and marches to retrieve the baby. “Look, like this,” she says, holding him against her chest. “Really, Astrid, it is not difficult.”
She shrugs. “Okay, sorry. I just don’t know.” She joins me in the kitchen, muttering to herself as she washes her hands in the sink. Her movements are short and jerky, yanking open the drawer, pots and pans clanging as she pulls one free. Whack onto the stove, ignitor clicking, blue flame roaring to life, but I am happy watching her. She’s more real here, in Denmark, than she has ever seemed before. Astrid, with that pouty face, talking back to her mother. The tone of voice she uses — she never uses that around me. In Berlin, she is so cool and indifferent, keeps the world at an arm’s length, impassive, unphased, but here she is something else completely.
Yesterday, when we arrived, I zeroed in immediately on a childhood photo hung in the hallway. Little Astrid with a shock of white hair, sitting in a paddling pool in a pink swimming costume. “Oh my God, look!” I said. “Proof you used to be a child. I’ve rumbled you, Larsen. You thought you had me fooled.”
“Oh, stop,” she said. “I hate that picture. I’ll go through the house and take them all down if you can’t contain your excitement.”
I found more later anyway, in the study, among the books on shelves in the living room. Casual ones, candids of her finger painting at the kitchen table, or scowling in a photography studio at eleven, maybe twelve, that awkward age where a child becomes conscious of themselves, gap toothed with braces, shrinking away from the lens. I wanted to take a photo on my phone just to prove it was real.
“I hope you aren’t missing your family too much today,” Pernille says, at dinner, now, the table flanked on three sides by windows so coated in condensation from our cooking that they have obscured the expansive view of the fjord. At four, the sun is mostly gone, and we sit in candlelight.
“No, I’m delighted to be here, actually.” I scoop potatoes onto my plate. “Christmas at home is always the same thing, and I get fairly tired of it. It’s pretty cool to learn about other traditions.”
“Well, your family will miss you, I’m sure,” says Gitte, and I nod. “Yes, I’m sure they will.”
At the head of the table, in his high chair, Felix gurgles with delight. His pureed food smeared on his face, on his bib and on the tray. He decides to eat it off without his hands, and Pernille tuts, “Oh, Felix,” she says, and soothes him with gentle Danish as she attacks him with a wet wipe. Gitte watches on with adoration.
“Your first Christmas with a baby in the house for quite a while,” I comment.
“Ah!” she says. “Yes. I love babies. They are wonderful to have around.”
“Lucky for us, you stopped at three,” Mia says. “This house hardly fit us as it was.”
“It fit the babies, but maybe not quite the personalities.”
I’ve got Felix’s attention now, pulling stupid faces at him. My peekaboo skills excite him so much he is bouncing around in his seat, hands waving about like he wants to applaud me but doesn’t know how yet. I add in some sound effects to up the ante, all sorts of “yoop!” noises to accompany the visual comedy. He laughs with sheer glee. Joyful little shrieks.
“See?” Astrid says, throwing an exasperated hand. “I do that for him, and he doesn’t like it. He just looks away from me, completely bored.”
“He knows you don’t mean it. And by the way, you don’t do that.” Mia circles the tines of her fork in my direction. “Definitely not so energetically.”
“Well, I’ve made faces for him. I’ve tried.”
“You’ve never made a face so expressive in your whole life. Maybe you’ve gone so far as to grant him a weak smile with your mouth closed, but that is all.”
“I have certainly smiled, Mia. I know how to smile.”
“Well, I am sure you are used to it being enough to get a man’s attention, but you might have to actually try with an infant.”
Gitte shuts her eyes and clutches her forehead as though wrestling a migraine. “Please don’t argue. Not today.”
I roll a potato around the centre of my plate. “If it makes you feel better, it’s kind of something you learn. If you haven’t been around babies that much, then I can imagine it’s hard to know what to do. To be honest, I kind of know babies, so.”
Pernille, then. “You have babies in your family?”
“No, not right now, but my sister is quite a lot younger, so I’m used to the whole baby thing. Actually, sometimes I still kind of forget she’s not a baby, like, I used to be giving her bottles and spooning pureed food into her mouth and now she’s, like, painting her nails and going to the cinema without parental supervision.”
“And what age?”
“She turned eleven in September, so there’s nine years between us.”
“She was a surprise baby?” says Mia, and I huff out a laugh. “Well, no. I was the surprise. She was the plan.”
“Oh.”
“It’s fine. I’m not, like, upset about being accidental. It’s just the facts.”
“So, are your parents married?”
Astrid interrupts before I can reply. “It’s not polite to ask personal questions. Jude doesn’t want to talk about that.”
I hesitate, awkward about being spoken for, but shrug at Mia as the conversation moves swiftly on. This has become a pattern for Astrid and I, skirting around personal things, but never delving in deeply for fear of, I don’t know what. Vulnerability? Becoming too emotional about it all? I know the same level of detail about her life as she knows about mine. I know why her father isn’t here, about the acrimonious divorce, the other marriage, and the other child. There was the nameless stepfather, too, “our wicked stepfather,” come and gone within three years, leaving nothing much behind but a contempt in the sisters for American canned-laughter comedy shows and motorcycle enthusiasts. I don’t know how Astrid feels about that. Not really, but assume she doesn’t care. There are reasons, naturally, for her mutual contempt for Mia. But they are mysterious, sisterly reasons, too tedious to share. Astrid doesn’t bother to explain herself. Doesn’t need me on her side, when she already knows she’s right.
Beginning // Prev // Next
I want to thank the amazing @sirianasims for her help during this entire arc. I knew hardly anything about Denmark, and knew I had written myself into a corner when I decided to making Astrid Danish in Lucky Girl just for the hell of it - I never predicted a visit to her home. For teaching me about Christmas traditions and recipes, common baby names, tidbits of language, and helping me to understand what it feels like to be in Denmark, this arc would not be remotely accurate without Siri's guidance <3
#lucky boy 2011#almost 2012 though woo#remember what Evie was doing in her timeline?#fighting with her family and then attacking kelly in the pub#lmaoo mess#very excited for this arc anyway#because i think it's interesting#plenty of relationship stuff#and what is this story about but relationships
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Having a trump supporter mom who USED to be your ally is a hell I wouldn’t wish on my worst fucking enemy
Having a step dad who’s an ex-gay white Christian nationalist is an endless nightmare
I cannot wait to go no contact with these fucking freaks
#I hate her I hate her I hate her I fucking hate her#she’s a fucking nightmare#she gets manic and immediately becomes a facsist#i cannot comprehend#this is the same woman who moved a homeless trans youth into her house#and now she has a fucking ‘I identify as an American’ sticker on her car#I literally can’t even talk to her at all without feeling like I’m going to have a breakdown#and she doesn’t understand why I’m upset with her#I had to painstakingly explain that a trump presidency means me and theos baby plans are insanely comprised and that theos literal jobs are#at risk because they’re trans masculine and a lesbian#and my mom does NOT understand why this reflects badly on her#having a shitty neglectful abusive mom with bipolar and BPD was one thing#at least about half the time she was lovely and fun and we could have fun together#dangerous and reckless and with zero regard for what a child is but still like fun#but now ??#now she’s just fucking evil and married to the worst person I’ve ever fucking met#and I still feel so bad for him#he’s an ex gay who went to conversion therapy as an adult after joining a white nationalist Christian church#I’m having parent Trouble out the ass right now#my dad just got reincarnated#I cannot get the Knox county jail on the phone for some reason#I don’t know if they know he has meds he needs to take#or if he’s even like okay or lucid#he’s an abusive fuck too but I don’t want him to DIE IN JAIL#my mom genuinely seems confused that I a lesbian am upset that marriage equality is on the chopping block#this woman HOSTED MY GSA!!#who THE FUCK IS SHE
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Hey gang guess who’s had another meeting with That Doctor I See Once In A Blue Moon Who Could Be Replaced By A Robot And I Wouldn’t Tell and guess what
I had a special look at him last time cuz I have pretty fucking good facial recognition and I deadass never recognize him even in his own office
He was like. Short and kinda buffer and tan.
And I have a call with him now and just.
NOPE. Could be a completely different guy, he’s pale as hell and kinda drawn and looks about 10 years younger, does not look familiar
It’s just this one guy too, anyone else I see even just passing in the halls I can usually pick out of a crowd but this one doctor
(The one where a 4 hour wait in his office is standard but WE ARE GOING FOR A RECORD TODAY GANG 6 HOURS BETWEEN APPOINTMENT TIME AND CALL BACK)
I recognize half the nurses it’s just him
#that one doctor whose face is a blur#doctors#mystery man#also the saga of switching off the $$ drugs has a new#apparently i’m not allowed to have it on a weekly basis but fuck you that is when i need it#as in ‘if i miss a dose i am ouched within 2 days’#this is helpful for the adhd reminding me to take my meds#also: no one ever mentioned it was a problem with the switch before??#i’m just throwing up my hands on the whole thing it is not my problem#good news is he 1000% wouldn’t recognise me on the street either it’s fully mutual#i see him for 5min per appointment so the not recognizing wouldn’t be weird but i know half the nurses and i don’t even talk to em
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I just get so tired of waking up every day and having to claw my way up to some emotional baseline
#but really what choice do I have#just not wake up? not the healthiest option#probably need to up my meds#I just feel so defeated living each day like this#bleggghhh#so I take a small handful of pills and vitamins and drink my little coffee and chug water and try try try to distract myself#wining. whinging and wining and bitching and moaning.#what would my therapist suggest? try focusing on what’s real and logical and rational. not feelings and emotions?#but I just can’t always be logical with fucking chemicals in my brain#I can’t outthink chemicals or the days when my hearing gets real bad or even when I just don’t feel too fucking good my dude#try to focus on the good parts of tinnitus and bug hurty tummy ya butthole#okay he’s not a butthole he’s actually very very nice and has been very patient with me#but just let me be negative about this for a minute jeez#I’m so fucking grumpy these last few days#trying to… ugh I guess eat my feelings? I hate that phrase and I’m not over eating#but I have been I guess STRATEGICALLY EATING things I hope would temporarily boost my mood. sugary stuff. caffeine. junk.#god I wish I just had drugs for this. for when it gets too hard.#this sounds so pathetic. oooo nooo I just want to get high because im soooo sad 😭#I have three (3) klonopin left I save for bad days or anxiety or whatever and I doubt my doc is gonna give me more#I’ve been taking buspar for the past couple of weeks and I really don’t know if it helps#hell im not entirely convinced buspar is not only NOT adding anything but if I stop my body will hate me#need to go talk about that with the dr but my appointment is next month and im lazy about pushing it up sooner#we’ll see. probably do that tomorrow after I run some errands#is this exciting? getting to see me plan out my day tomorrow? gonna grab groceries and med refills. wow it’s an inside scoop just for you#anyway this is a lot of rambling and I’m sorry if you read any of this#I’m super duper poor right now but I think I’ll run to the gas station and get a big fucking huge soda so I can ride a small sugar high#uggghhhh what a waste of a post#you can ignore this#text
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*rattling the bars of my cage and screaming*
I WANT TO TAKE CARE OF MY HEALTH I JUST DONT KNOW HOW TO ASK FOR HELP IN A WAY THAT WILL LET ME BE TAKEN SERIOUSLY
#blue chatter#I know I need to talk to a doctor abt the pain issues#I know this#my concern is that the focus of my past few visits has been purely about my BMI#which is not helpful.#even if that is relevant to the current concerns. massively altering my weight would me a work intensive long term goal/pipe dream#sure. me weighing less could reduce my joint pain. it’s a possibility. I cannot snap my fingers and lose 20 pounds.#sure. my weight could affect my heart rate and my ability to exercise.#you could even argue that I’m pretty sedentary and could stand to exercise more#I still cannot snap my fingers and lose 20 pounds.#my heart rate is still really high *now*. it is hard to exercise without feeling like I can’t catch my breath *now*.#sure. my breasts are not entirely fibrous tissue. if I lost weight they would probably be smaller. reducing my back pain.#I *still* cannot snap my fingers and lose 20 pounds.#but somehow every conversation in the doctor’s office comes back to my weight#especially if *gasp* it’s gone up in the past year#yeah. I’m aware. it’s not something I can super control.#the fact remains that I do not have the spoons to spend on the diet and exercise plans I know I will get recommended#and I know I will get recommended them because my parents go to this doctor and my dad went through an intense weight loss program#which. by the way. despite him heavily restricting his diet and exercising to run a 5k. did not lead to long term weight loss.#and he did not end up sticking with it long term bc it made him actively miserable and he enjoys things like food with fat in it and wine#but I also know that I should not be ignoring all these red flags.#I’m also worried that if I bring up heart issues again then they’ll take me off my ADHD meds#which would be fair as a first trial to see if it helps reduce symptoms#but also. I don’t get shit done without my meds. I wasn’t consistently medicated in high school or freshman year of college#and I was so exhausted all the time just doing the bare minimum#it felt like running headfirst into a brick wall constantly. and I don’t want that for myself.#also in the periods I went off of my meds myself for a week to try and lower my heart rate it did very little#bc believe me. I would love to be able to donate plasma. but I can’t bc I’m over 100BPM at rest.#I would make so much money if I could sell my blood water but I Cannot
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DPxDC Mechanical Engineer Danny
Danny caught the attention of Batman while studying at Gotham University for his alternative energy projects. He’s hired right out of college to work on the Watchtower.
He shows absolutely no tell of his abilities till there’s a dire situation- Flash’s electric discharge messes with one of his projects in progress and the whole base would have lost air pressure if he hadn’t done a quick fix using telekinesis and ice.
Of course Batman notices.
Batman assumes the worst- he suspects Danny’s a rogue of some kind, someone who has infiltrated the Justice League with an ulterior motive. But he can’t just fire Danny now- he’s the only one who knows how the new Watchtower energy source works. Plus, he’s not letting Danny go anywhere until he’s figured out his true motives.
Cue Batman subtly testing Danny- tossing things at him to trigger inhuman fast reflexes, having him lift too-heavy machinery, setting up convenient opportunities to steal or snoop or otherwise be up to no good. Danny does take advantage but only once, to use a computer terminal with unlocked clearance. He didn’t plant any bugs that Barman could find, and he otherwise kept up his powerless civilian act perfectly.
Still, Batman’s not satisfied. He brings an infrasonic sound emitter to Danny’s lab one day, and that, of all things, is what gets Danny to break.
“I know what you’re doing,” Danny admits with a sigh, finally. “If you’re really that suspicious of me, I can leave, but I kinda like my job so I’d prefer not to. The benefits are insane compared to what’s standard.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure. yeah. How about you turn off the freaking noise generator and we can talk?”
“Hm.” Batman obliges, and he takes the stool next to Danny at his gesture.
“Number one, I’m not a meta. Despite all the data and conclusions you’ve probably drawn otherwise. Number two, I’m on your side. I’m here to work on the base, that’s it. I follow your rules to the letter.”
“The-“
“The classified files I looked at? Yeah that was the one exception. You already know what I looked at, I’m sure, but maybe you haven’t figured out why. It goes back to point one- I may not be a meta, but I am something that organization, the GIW, cares about. I looked at your files on them to sus out your relations. Seeing as I don’t particularly love being the victim to twelve degrees of human rights violations if I can avoid it.”
“Hm.” The Ghost Intelligence Ward was one of many government agencies that the Justice League hadn’t worked closely with. But they also hadn’t been flagged for Justice League investigation. Danny’s comments made him doubt that call.
“Any other questions?”
“If you’re not a meta, what are you?”
“I’m an engineer. A pretty decent one. And I’d really, really like it to stay that way.”
Batman considers, and ultimately lets him stay. He likes Danny (everyone likes Danny), and it would be a massive pain in the ass to replace him. He really is a good engineer.
It’s only much later that his faith in Danny is repaid in spades.
Batman finds Danny on the Watchtower command bridge. Alarms are blaring, the station has been knocked out of orbit, out the window there’s shrapnel floating everywhere as a space battle rages around them.
On the station it’s chaos. Technicians run around, shouts from the med bay, sparks from the walls.
Batman and Danny stand at the main controls, watching the battle outside, stoic, unmoving.
Wonder Woman’s harried voice crackles through on coms: “We need backup.”
“There is no more backup.” Batman replies, while looking pointedly at Danny.
“What?”
Batman doesn’t move.
“What.”
“The impact from Darkseid’s initial attack should have sent this station on a terminal trajectory toward the planet.”
“Well. We aren’t currently plummeting to our deaths, so turns out it didn’t do that.”
“You did something.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’re lying.”
“Maybe Superman nudged us back on course in all the chaos.”
“I’ve been watching the trackers. No one else with the capability has come near the station.”
“Can’t you just be grateful we got lucky?”
Sounds of peril screech over the coms. Danny’s face scrunches.
“Luck had nothing to do with it. As it is now, we are going to lose this fight.”
“Isn’t there anyone else you can call?”
“I’m asking you. You can help, can’t you?”
The glare-off lasts a long moment more before Danny breaks.
“Fuck. Fuckity fuck.” Danny runs his hands through his hair. “Shit. You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“I’m asking you to save this and countless other worlds from a genocide. I’m also asking you to save my friends.”
Danny looks at him, hard, weary, and with a kind of deep resolve that feels far too ancient to be on the face of a supposed twenty-something.
“Fine. Fine. Okay.” He steps back and transforms. If Batman is surprised when he shakes off his human appearance like an old coat, he doesn’t show it. But what’s undeniable is the being in Danny’s place has the unmistakable presence of power.
“No one else can know.” His voice echoes in a way that’s sonically impossible, both sounding closer and further away than he should be.
He pulls a gear-shaped medallion seemingly out of thin air and puts it over his head in one motion.
“If I get in trouble for this, I’m blaming you.”
He vanishes. Outside, the shape of the battle changes instantly. The stars seem to glow brighter as the arms of the galaxy flash with the colors of the aurora. Then it’s like the void of space itself comes alive. It moves the spaceships back like they’re toys, plucking them from one side of the field to the other. It finds Darkseid at the heart of the chaos and massive arms of nothingness and darkness wrap around him. He’s screaming as it swallows him whole.
His armies scatter. The battle turns. The JL deal with the stragglers, but the air of relief is palpable.
Danny reappears next to Batman, once again donning his grease-stained coveralls. Arms folded.
“Happy?”
It took all of five minutes. Less, probably. Batman tamps down a thousand questions.
“Thank you.”
“I’m gonna need two weeks off minimum.” Danny snaps. “One to deal with the bureaucratic nightmare you’ve just caused me, and another to recover from the headache.”
Batman blanks. “Granted.”
Danny sighs. “And I’m not fixing the station until I’m back. It won’t fall out of the sky as is. Make up whatever excuse you want.”
“Done.” He considers. “I would prefer to tell them the truth. That you saved us.”
Danny glares. “I’m not supposed to save you. I made a pact not to use my power to influence the mortal realm.”
“A pact with who?”
Danny rolls his eyes. “The embodiment of Time. The concept of Justice. Among others.” He smirks at Batman’s confusion.
“And what, exactly, does that make you?”
He stands, framed by the space window, haloed by the stars. “I’ll give you three guesses.”
Batman frowns.
“Look. I like you guys. I like working on your base. I like supporting the work you do. But you can not go factoring me in to any of your plans or contingencies. This was a one time thing.
“So to answer your question again: I’m an engineer.”
#dpxdc#dp x dc#dc x dp#danny phantom#batman#justice league#dp x dc prompt#as with all my lil blurbs if anyone wants to build off it or write their version pls do#ancients aren’t technically allowed to mess with the human realm but Danny can disobey clockwork and help Batman#as a treat#dp
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Hi can u do a smau with max where reader is a doc for f1 and when max unfortunately has an accident she is one of the first responders(dont know what they are called!!!) And he just stares at her and its like love at first sight for him(he fell first and HARDER!!!!!) and everyone online could see it as well
Some teasing from other drivers as well
And proceed how u deem fit
Loved the sister in law one!!!!!!!
doctor lady | max verstappen
pairing: max verstappen x doctor!reader
summary: max never thought he would be happy getting a injury that puts him out of racing for three months, but when he has a doctor like you? he can’t help but be a little happy.
liked by landonorris, yourusername, charles_leclerc, and 816,074 others!
maxverstappen1: we are allllm good guys!!!!!!!!!!!!! we are aliveee wnd well babybyvy 🤘AND me and lanHOE (becuare he id a BOE) got a pretty doctory lady 🥰🥰🥰 she’s sooooooooioiiooooo nice and prety AND she made us NOT feel pain so we love her 😍😍😍😍😍
view comments below!
user1: they got him on those GOOD painkillers
user2: we’ve seen drunk max, but drugged max? a whole new level
landonorris: guy our lady doctor is soilioooooooooo prety 😍
maxverstappen1: HEY NO 😡😡 i alreadys called dibs!!!!!! she’s MY prety doctor lady. she game ME her instagran and i’m takin HER on a date!
yourusername: if my supervisor is reading this, i gave him my instagram and agreed going on a date with him because he was being difficult, started crying, and wouldn’t take his medication until i did.
maxverstappen1: HELLO MY BEAUTIFUL LOVE
user2: started crying??? max verstappen started crying???
user3: pain meds do that to you 🤕
user4: i need a video of that right now
user5: he is out of IT. i can’t wait till he wakes up and realizes what he’s done
charles_leclerc: happy you’re okay mate!
maxverstappen1: oh charles i have missed you dearly 🥰🥰 so happy you got 1st!!!!!!!
charles_leclerc: thank you max ❤️
maxverstappen1: i can wait for you to meet my future wife!!!!!!!! you’ll love her! she saved me life ❤️
charles_leclerc: someone please take his phone away
maxverstappen1: NOOOOO I JUST WANT TO TALK ABOUT MY FUTURE WIFR 😡
user6: max, charles is just trying to save you from the embarrassment
user7: when he sobers up, he either won’t give a shit and continue OR he’ll be so embarrassed and he’ll never show his face again
yourusername: everyone, please don’t pay mind to max, he is under very heavy drugs, and is not in a right state of mind. we have tried confiscating his phone, but he starts kicking and becomes difficult.
user8: i know this girl is scared for her job 😭
user9: having max as a drugged out patient seems horrible
user10: literal nightmare material
maxverstappen1: MYYY LOVVER HELLO
user11: good lord #freeyn
danielricciardo: i would say, i hope you recover, but i have a feeling you don’t want to recover?
maxverstappen1: I DONTTTT I NEVER EANT TO RECIVER BECAUSE THAT MEANS NOT SEEING MY BEAUTIFUL LADY DOCTOR SO NO!!! NO RECOVERY FOR ME
danielricciardo: screenshotting all of this for later 🤣
landonorris: i’m hungry, maxie can you tell lady doctor i’m hungry?
yourusername: you can talk to me lando. i’ll go get you something.
landonorris: NOOOO I CABR TALK TO THE LADY DOCTOR MAX SAID I CANT AND HE DAID IF I DID HESS GOING TO KILL ME AND I DONT WANT TO BE KILLED AHHHH
maxverstappen1: YOU FONT GET TO TALK TO MY PRETTY DOCTOR LADY IM GOING TO JILL YLY LANDO
user12: this is genuinely like the funniest shit ever 😭
user13: can’t believe in 10 years from now we’re going to look back at this and laugh
user14: 10 years?? bitch im LAUGHING RIGHT NOW
redbullracing; speedy recovery max! 💓
maxverstappen1: NOOOO NO SPEEDY RECOVERY NO RECOVERY FOR MAX
user15: head injury so bad he lost his love for racing
user16: on a serious note, his injury’s did seem pretty bad, especially his leg…
user17: honestly i’d be surprised if he returned to racing immediately
landonorris: maxie and me got separated :(((( 😞☹️😕😭🥺 lady doctor is is MEAN
yourusername: you two were arguing and disturbing the other patients.
maxverstappen1: DONT CALL MY LADY DOTCIT MEAN!!!!
user18: went from being worried to laughing out loud because wtf is this??
user27; lando and max crashing was NOT on my 2024 bingo card
user28: f1 having a big crash was not on MY 2024 bingo card
liked by maxverstappen1, yourusername, landonorris, 619,027 others!
redbullracing: unfortunately, due to last weeks crash regarding lando norris and max verstappen. max has been forced to take a three month leave of absence from racing, as he has severely fractured his lower leg. he has immediately started physical therapy, let’s wish him a speedy recovery ❤️🩹
view comments below!
maxverstappen1: what a shame 😕 truly saddened by this outcome 😞
user19: what??
landonorris: take a wild guess as to who’s going to be his doctor for three months?
user20: PRETTY LADY DOCTOR???
maxverstappen1: maybe 🥰
user21: we’ve entered the era where max does not gaf about racing as long as he gets to see yn
user22: does this mean he’s not winning the wdc?
user23: he still can, he just has to win basically every race after the 3 months, which isn’t exactly impossible for him
charles_leclerc; so sad for max!
user24: your ass does not feel sad for max 😭
user25: he has his eyes on the wdc!!!
user26: HE ACTUALLY HAS A CHANCE TO WIN BOW
maxverstappen1: @/yourusername, ready to take care of me for 3 months :D
yourusername: no
maxverstappen1: 😕
user27: HAHAHA
danielricciardo: LOSER
landonorris: HAHAH GET REJECTED
charles_leclerc: EMBARRASSING
oscarpiastri: that hurt to read
maxverstappen1: SHUT UP WHO ASKED YOU
user28: tbh i wouldn’t be excited to have max as a patient for 3 whole months with how he acted that night in the emergency room
user29: that man is secretly crazy and you can’t convince me otherwise
user30: i love how max is clearly like head over heels for yn, but she can’t date him because he’s her patient 😭
user31: she can’t?
user30: NO!!! that’s unethical, she can date him after the 3 months but not during
user32: that not being common knowledge to some people is concerning…
liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc, yourusername, and 917,027 others!
maxverstappen1: day one of physical therapy a success ✅
view comments below!
landonorris: so, how many times did she reject you today?
maxverstappen1: ZERO.
yourusername: 10**
landonorris: TENN??????
maxverstappen1: i just don’t understand why she won’t say yes 😞
yourusername: because it’s severely unethical and will get me fired
maxverstappen1: so what i’m hearing is that you’ll go out with me when i’m no longer your patient?
user33: let the countdown begin
charles_leclerc: missed you at the race today!
maxverstappen1: no you didn’t
charles_leclerc: no i didn’t! MAX IT FEELS SO GOOD TOO WIN
maxverstappen1: yeah i KNOW.
yourusername: don’t worry charles, he was watching you during his whole therapy session, and cheered so loudly when you won that we got complains from patients on the other side of the building!
charles_leclerc: I KNEW IT!!!
maxverstappen1: you said you wouldn’t tell anyone yn 😕
user34: it’s so…unsettling seeing max be so publicly affectionate
user35: RIGHT?? like why is he so open about this??
user36: he has no shame…
yourusername: i told you to stop taking pictures of me while i’m working
maxverstappen1: but you just look sooooo pretty
danielricciardo: she doesn’t want you bro
maxverstappen1: SHUT UP
user37: she’s stronger then me, because if i had max verstappen down bad like that?
user38: no literally, i would’ve made him mine the same day we met
user39: why is max posting regular pictures?? it’s weird
user40: he’s trying to impress yn
user39: well he’s going about it all wrong. because these photos just don’t match?? cat, hospital, and then a crappy photo of a therapy room?? horrible horrible HORRIBLE
user41: damn…
liked by yourusername, landonorris, and 619,017 others!
maxverstappen1: 2 months down…1 more to go!
view comments below!
user42: HE IS COUNTING DOWN
user43: WE KNEW IT!!!
landonorris: i can’t belive you tricked me into going to a photo shoot for you
maxverstappen1: that is not what happened.
landonorris: you told me we were going golfing, next thing i know i’m watching you get your picture taken like 92884 times 😑
maxverstappen1: just say your jealous
landonorris: OF WHAT???
user44: he’s getting better at being aesthetic
user45: he’s learning!!
user46: are we all going to skip past the fact that max, a hater of everything, had a whole as photo shoot for his instagram?????
maxverstappen1: yn told me i should post more photos of myself for the instagram
user47: so you had a whole photo shoot????
maxverstappen1: yes
user48: oh he’s in love
danielricciardo: looking good max 😍
maxverstappen1; thank you for the support daniel!
landonorris: was that a dig to me?
maxverstappen1: yes.
landonorris: I WAS EXPECTING GOLF
yourusername: looking good max
maxverstappen1: really??? you really think so??
yourusername: yes (with the upmost professionalism)
maxverstappen1: 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰
user49: why did max just add “yn thinks i look good 🥰” to his bio
user50: LMAOO I THOUGHT YOU WERE JOKING???
user49: no 😭 he very literally put “yn thinks i look good 🥰” in his bio
user51: why does it look like max is in the doctor training room?
maxverstappen1: because i am!!
user51: THEY LET YOU IN THERE????
yourusername: my boss is a huge f1 fan. so he lets max do whatever he wants 🙄
user51: i’m sorry that’s so funny 😭
user52: does max just follow her around all day??
yourusername: pretty much, yeah
user53: you have no idea how much i want to be you
charles_leclerc: wow max looking good
maxverstappen1: thank you charles
charles_leclerc: aren’t you going to put “charles thinks i look good” in your bio?
maxverstappen1: i don’t care about you enough for that
user54: DAMN THATS COLD
user55: those cats are so cute 🥺
. . .
. . .
liked by yourusername, landonorris, and 914,078 others!
maxverstappen1: guys i did!!!! i got a date with the pretty doctor lady 🥰🥰
view comments below!
user56: when he falls first and harder >>
user57; this man is literally obsessed with yn it’s insane
landonorris: beat me too it
landonorris: THIS IS A JOKE PLEASE DONT KILL ME
maxverstappen1: nothing funny. i didn’t laugh. you aren’t funny.
landonorris: 😕
user58: WE CHEERED!!!
user59: i still think it would be funny if she just said no even after the 3 months
yourusername; i thought about it, but he’s rich and pretty so 🤷♀️
maxverstappen1: pretty :D
user60: she’s so pretty
maxverstappen1: like i’ve been SAYING.
user61: i’ve never seen a man so down bad before
user62: it’s unnerving
user63: a doctor, pretty, and funny?? max hit the jackpot
user64: they both hit the jackpot 😒 it pisses me off
user65: LMAO WHY??
user64: seeing people live the life i want makes me unexplainably mad
danielricciardo: you’re joking right? she’s not actually dating you?
maxverstappen1: what’s that supposed to mean
danielricciardo: it means she’s too good for you @/yourusername are you being held hostage
yourusername; yes
danielricciardo: OH I KNEW IT. DONT WORRY HELP IS ON THE WAY
maxverstappen1: you guys are mean.
yourusername: this means i can never be your doctor again
maxverstappen1: what if once day, on my way home i crash, and its a big crash with smoke and fire, and i get taken to the hospital but i refuse to let anyone touch me that isn’t you, would you still not help me?
yourusername: there’s just something so undiagnosed about you
user65: HAHAHA
user66: max is just so unexplainable
charles_leclerc: are my eyes deceiving me or did she finally say yes 
maxverstappen1: SHE SAID YES
charles_leclerc: OH YEAH OH YEAH I KNEW YOU COULD DO IT BUDDY
maxverstappen1: OH YEAH OH YEAH
user67: my lestappen heart 💔
. . .
notes: enjoy this while i spend the rest of my night learning how to play the sims
thank you for requesting!!
#max verstappen smau#max verstappen x y/n#max verstappen blurb#max verstappen fluff#max verstappen x you#max verstappen fic#max verstappen imagine#max verstappen fanfic#max verstappen x reader#f1 x reader#f1 fanfic#f1 imagine#f1 fic#f1 x y/n#f1 x you#f1 x female reader#f1 social media au#f1#f1 fluff#formula one smau#formula one x y/n#formula one x you#formula one x reader
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Take My Love and Wear It
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.
#logan howlett#wolverine#wolverine x reader#logan howlett x you#logan howlett x reader#wolverine x you#deadpool and wolverine#logan howlett fic#logan howlett fanfiction#logan x reader#logan howlett smut#logan howlett x fem!reader#wolverine smut#wolverine x men#wolverine fanfiction#old man logan#old man logan x reader#old man logan smut#logan x you
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JASON TODD has a habit of coming home half-dead.
it’s not like he means to. things just have a way of escalating—one broken nose turns into three cracked ribs, a couple of thugs turns into an ambush, and before he knows it, he’s limping through the door at three in the morning, blood dried in places he doesn’t want to think about.
tonight is no different. he barely makes it to the couch before you’re on him, fingers prodding at a forming bruise on his jaw, lips pressing into a thin line.
“you look like hell,”
“you should see the other guy,”
he shoots back, but it’s half-hearted, his body slumping into the cushions as his head tips back. you sigh, shaking your head before grabbing the med kit. he watches, eyes half-lidded, as you kneel between his legs, pulling his jacket off his shoulders. carefully pressing against his ribs, his stomach, his arms—checking for anything broken. he watches your brows furrow, how your teeth sink into your lower lip as you focus, and it’s not fair—not when he’s been running on adrenaline for hours, not when he’s still strung too tight, still riding the sharp edge of a fight he hasn’t come down from yet.
“you’re tense,” you murmur, hands smoothing over his shoulders.
“yeah, well,” jason exhales sharply as you press against a sore spot, “gettin’ the shit kicked out of you’ll do that.”
you don’t say anything, just keep working, fingers pressing into the muscles of his shoulders, his neck. it’s meant to soothe—but it just makes it worse. every touch burns, every brush of your fingers against his skin pulls him tighter, until his hands snap up, gripping your wrists.
your eyes flick up to meet his.
“jay.”
he swallows hard, his grip loosening, but he doesn’t let go.“just—” his voice is gruff, hesitant. “needed something different to take the edge off.”
your lips part, but he doesn’t wait for permission. he surges forward, capturing your mouth in a kiss that’s an awkward clash of teeth and desperation. hands find your waist, pulling you onto his lap.
you don’t resist.
his fingers slip beneath the fabric of your shirt, dragging up over warm skin, thumbs pressing into your hips. your hands fist in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan, and the sound goes straight to your core.
“this what you need?” you murmur against his lips. he huffs out a laugh, but there’s no humour in it—just want, exhaustion bleeding into hunger.
“yeah,” he breathes. “this is exactly what i need.”
#jason todd#jason todd x reader#jason todd x you#jason todd x y/n#jason todd fluff#jason todd imagine#jason todd drabble#dcu#dc fanfic#batboys#red hood#red hood x reader#red hood x y/n#red hood fanfic
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Danny, being a halfa, falls under the strange category of people who can converse with the dead and act in their names. Most mediums simply convey messages. It was rare for someone to be able to fulfill a ghost’s dying request and have that act tied to the ghost’s core.
Honestly it’s annoying.
He doesn’t get any alone time anymore for homework or hobbies. The dead are constantly pestering Danny to help with their desires - which, sure, it helps them move on which means they’re out of Danny’s hair, but come on!! Give a guy a break! Just because he doesn’t need as much sleep as a fully living person doesn’t mean he can go without entirely!
“No Scott,” Danny repeated for the fifth time, “I am not flying to California tonight. Do you know how far that is? Literally the other coast of this massive continent. Meet me there in August like everyone else on the list.”
Spending the first spring break of college creating a map and calendar for Last Rites was not something Danny expected when he moved to Gotham.
Why did this city have so many ghosts?! It was ridiculous. And he thought Amity Park was bad? At least the ghosts here were mostly Shades. Not visible to anyone unless they were also dead-adjacent or had The Sight or a bloodline curse or a magical amulet… you know what? There were enough of those in this curse ridden city, why couldn’t these ghosts go find one of those people instead? Danny was exhausted.
So exhausted he didn’t notice the vigilante dropping down from the rooftop.
“Hey there kid, you alri-”
“Yeah yeah,” Danny waved a hand dismissively at the voice without looking up. “Wait in line like everyone else. But honestly you’d be better off coming back tomorrow when I’ve had some sleep.”
“Think maybe you outta get started on that sleep now, bud?” the voice behind him spoke in a calm careful tone.
One Danny had heard all too often since dying.
His head jerked sideways to stare wide-eyed at Nightwing, who tensed just a little as if expecting Danny to run or fight. Instead he let out a groan and slumped onto the park bench, rubbing his eyes to ease the burn of fatigue. He’d been coming out to this park at the corner of campus each night to keep the Shades from mobbing him all day long in classes, but they’d spread the word around Gotham that he was here and his precious spring break had become a non-stop line of requests and arguments. Made sense he’d caught the attention of one of the Bats. Should have expected it sooner.
Danny ignored all the voices around him and looked at Nightwing directly as he prattled off his usual list when someone caught him talking to thin air.
“No, I’m not hallucinating. I got all my Rogue Gallery immunizations the day I checked onto campus. I’m not schizophrenic. The only meds I take are for adhd and the occasional Tylenol. I’m not a danger to myself or others. Unless they attack me first.”
Nightwing nodded along, but tilted his head at the end.
“I’m talking to the dead,” Danny answered the unspoken question in a tired monotone, waiting for the usual skepticism or plea for help with lost loved ones.
“Oh. Okay then.”
“What?” That wasn’t expected.
“No yeah, that makes sense.”
Danny was sure his jaw was on the ground. “You… you believe me?”
“Well sure,” the hero shrugged and chuckled. “I can’t see ghosts myself but I know a couple magicians who work with one, and my little brother Robin has a ghost on his team - she’s actually visible most of the time so I don’t know if that’s a special skill or something else going on. But I’m glad you’re okay and don’t need any emergency medication. I know a couple 24 hour pharmacies that would help but it’s nice when they’re not needed. We don’t get a lot of mediums around Gotham holding court at night so you really can’t fault me for checking in.”
Danny was still floating in the relief of not being questioned or doubted. That hadn’t happened since Jazz found out his secret. She’d had plenty of questions about his halfa status, of course, but never called him crazy for talking to things others couldn’t see. Even Sam and Tucker would forget sometimes and give him strange looks before realizing he was dealing with a Shade, Wisp, or Memory.
He didn’t realize he was wobbling until Nightwing’s arms shot out to stabilize him.
Danny blinked up at the pretty face that was trying not to chuckle, held by strong arms, and so far past tired he might be getting delirious after all because his brain seemed to have lost its filter and he said out loud,
“You actually believe me. I think I love you.”
Then the horrifying embarrassment hit at the same time as Nightwing’s laughter. Which… sounded delighted rather than mean spirited?
“Well now it’s your turn to wait in line, cuz that’s the fourth confession I’ve had this week!” They both devolved into snorts and giggles, Danny still relying on those arms for balance, but when they’d caught their breath the vigilante said, “Come on, you’ve really got to get some sleep. I’ll walk you back to your dorm.”
Ignoring the whispers and grumbles of the Shades was easier with someone walking beside him.
This is so incredibly cute oml. It’s so rare to see the bats actually go with the flow and god it isn’t done enough. 12/10 immaculate, glorious.
The entire plot I can see so clearly in my mind dude:
Danny chatting to Nightwing as they walk to his dorm
Nightwing asking some casual questions about ghosts and Danny asking about vigilante work.
Nightwing informs the Bats of Danny as he might be a valuable asset in the future.
Nightwing helps free shades with Danny and he realizes why Danny is so incredibly tired all the time.
Nightwing managing to stumble into Danny every day of his break, slowly getting to know each other more and more and becoming really good friends (perhaps lovers 👀).
Wonderful stuff man ty for the ask!
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🦑 hwang jun-ho; headcanons 〇△□
content warning: gn!reader. fluff. mentions of death, coma and jealousy. pet names. no season 2 spoilers. let me know if i missed anything.
word count: 941
author’s note: well, my man is back, and i had to write some headcanons for him. the OBSESSION that i had back in 2021 needs to be studied, omg. anyway, as always, constructive criticism is welcomed, english is my third language, so i apologize for any mistakes. in case i don’t post anything else this year, happy 2025 everybody!! enjoy! 🩷
divider by @k1ssyoursister
〇 pre-games
best. boyfriend. ever.
that’s it, thank you for coming to my Ted Talk
🙃🙃🙃
his love languages are:
1) quality time
he may be a police detective, but he ALWAYS tries to make time for you
and see you every day, and if he can’t, he’ll save some minutes to call you
loves to hear about your day
big on communication, that’s key on your relationship
type of boyfriend that picks you up after work, or anything really
he just wants to see your cute face :3
takes you out on cool dates
to the park, to eat, to cute animal cafés
he’s okay with staying in too, just cuddling, talking, watching something….
and 2) acts of service
will drive you anywhere you need
you get ‘good morning/night’ texts every single day you’re not together
makes you breakfast
and has no problem with cooking for you
opens doors for you
pulls out the chair at the restaurant ☝🏻
he’ll simply do anything you need
loves coming home to you, it doesn't matter how shitty or overwhelming his day was, you just put a smile on his face
his favorite thing to do with you is eating
it may sound boring, but he loves to see you taking care of yourself, well-fed and happy
takes you to meet his family
his mom loves you
even his brother likes you
he’s a tease and enjoys seeing you all flustered
i feel like he’d be the type to have many pics of you on his phone that he goes back to whenever he misses you
you’re probably his wallpaper, perhaps even on his wallet too 🤭
some pet names like: “honey”, “love”, “beautiful”, “cutie”
would never cheat
a guard dog
not super jealous -a bit tho- but won't hesitate to step up if someone acts stupid
(picture that one scene in season 2 when that man mocked him and didn’t believe he was an actual police detective hehe)
shows you off 🤩
checks you out :p
his hand is on you in some way when you’re out
has good emotional intelligence
big spoon
reminds you to take your make up off before bed if you wear any -he may even do it himself if you're too tired
or to take meds
he is just really caring and supportive
doesn't like seeing you worried or anxious because of his job
absolutely hates to see you suffer
doesn’t mind that you may be struggling financially, it won’t change what he feels
will help you with whatever it is
just don’t hide it, he hates secrets and lies
i hate doing it, but there always has to be some 🚩
he’s the first one that would do it (lying and hiding stuff) to ensure you’re okay and don’t get worried
on a particularly overwhelming day, he will raise his voice at you
can get really overprotective
some days you may not hear from him, or at least not much
will sometimes struggle to open up about his issues or what’s upsetting him
△ during the games
after your sudden disappearance, worry and fear ate him up
while checking your house he found a weird card
and once he discovered the exact same one at his brother’s, he knew something was going on
heard gi-hun at the police station rambling about some weird symbols and immediately recognized the design
interrogated him about you, desperate to know about your whereabouts
as soon as he successfully infiltrated the games, he began your search
almost had a heart attack when he spotted you
had to make the effort of his life to stay calm and not run to you
would somehow manage to get you two alone so he can get you out of there (i wrote about this)
almost gets caught
feels betrayed you didn’t tell him and quite angry you’d risk your own life like this
but mostly relieved you’re okay (and still alive)
watches you like a hawk from the distance, ensuring your safety
constantly around, you continuously sense his presence close by
□ post-games (you died)
had to see your death and practically went numb
blurry vision, ringing in his ears, shortness of breath, sting in his throat
the worst thing tho, was finding out his brother had been behind everything
how could he have done this to you? you trusted him!
feels completely disgusted
after his coma, he blames himself for everything
your name was his first word after waking up
dreams about you
gets you a cenotaph given that your body will forever remain strayed
nevertheless, he still talks to you like you’re there
tells you about his recovery and his progress finding the island
you are his strongest motivation
he’s doing this for you, to provide the love of his life a much deserving peaceful rest
gets you new flowers every few days
he’ll never stop feeling guilty
〇 post-games (you survived)
has nightmares he failed and left you to meet your demise on those cursed games
always there when you have them, and so is his shoulder if you need to cry
reassurance king
hides the identity of his attacker from you
becomes even more overprotective
shared location on at all times
gets paranoid if you don’t text him all day
he swore to never miss a single detail of your possible struggles. not again
you can still tell he holds himself responsible for your time on that island
stays awake at night just watching you sleep safe and sound (will never say it tho)
babies you
bigger spoon
doesn’t let you go out on your own if it’s late, afraid that something may happen and those psychopaths will reach you again
#squid game#squid game 2#squid game season 2#wi ha joon#wi ha jun#hwang jun ho#hwang junho#squid game headcanons#squid game x reader#squid game x you#wi ha joon x reader#wi ha joon x you#hwang jun ho x reader#hwang jun ho x you#hwang jun ho headcanons#Spotify
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Had a nightmare last night that many different large scary animals were trying to break into the house I lived in in New Hampshire and I kept running around and locking doors and screaming and crying and begging for my family to help me and they were just sitting and laughing or sleeping or living their lives and I was watching huge black bears pound on glass sliding doors and fog them up with their breath as they drool over the idea of demolishing my family and there were like big mountain lions finding small holes to crawl through trying to get in and I’m sobbing and bleeding and kicking them and trying to get my family to do something and they don’t even notice and act like I’m crazy
#hahahaha that’s totally unrelated to me having a panic attack and calling out of work only for my mother to tell me that she’s disappointed#in me and I should’ve just sucked it up and gone to work#my life is honestly me vs my mental health vs my mother#like if she could just. no. I’m the one with the problem. I stopped taking my meds. that’s on me. she shouldn’t get mad at me for the way I#deal with my own brain especially cause the first half of June went so well for me. but whatever. she’s allowed to be upset when her child#isn’t taking care of themselves. that’s fair. however. FUCK OFFFFFFFFFF#I DONT WANT NIGHTMARES WHERE IM DYING AND THEN I WAKE UP AND STILL FEEL LIKE IM ABOUT TO DIE#LIKE GIRL BE THE LITTLEST BIT SUPPORTIVE OF ME INSTEAD OF SAYING YOURE MAD AT ME BC I HAD A PANIC ATTACK SO BAD I COULDNT HANDLE A FIVE HOUR#SHIFT AT WORK LIKE JUST TELL ME IVE COME SO FAR FROM WHERE I WAS LAST YEAR (bad panic attacks every day) AND THAT I JUST NEED TO BREATHE AND#ILL GET THROUGH IT AND ITLL BE OKAY AND YOU CAN GO TO WORK AND EXPLAIN NEXT SHIFT AND APOLOGIZE AND ITLL BE FINE#INSTEAD OF SAYING TO YOUR KID ‘are you TRYING to get fired so you don’t have to go to work anymore?’ WHILE IM SOBBING WITH MY HEAD IN A#TRASHCAN DRY HEAVING LIKE YEAH MOM THATS JUST WHAT I WANT TO HEAR YOU THINK IM NOT FREAKING OUT ENOUGH ON MY OWN WHAT DO YOU THINK SENT ME#INTO THIS PANIC ATTACK LIKE SHUT THE FUCK UP#sorry. having a moment.#I just keep getting really vivid flashbacks to my dream and it’s like I was trying to protect my dad bc in my dream he was still alive and#then I woke up and felt so powerless to everything and remembered my mom still being mad at me which I’m sure is going to continue and I’ll#be guilt tripped for the rest of the weekend at least#and she’s going to be on my ass about going back to therapy when therapy has nothing to do with this#rage rage rage rage fear fear fear fear fear that’s all I seem to know anymore
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mouthwashing post. jimmy is a raging narcissist and im tired of people trying to give him benefit of the doubt. his inability to see two feet beyond what immediately concerns him dooms everyone on the tulpar, and even in the end, he only really cares about himself.
big list of all his narcisstic bullshit below bc im here to motherfucking prove it (mouthwashing spoilers of course)
most obviously: everything is a personal attack on him. EVERYTHING. you can see it most clearly at the birthday party; while everyone else is understandably freaking out about being laid off, jimmy starts telling curly off and insulting both him and everyone else at the table, as if being laid off is a personal attack on jimmy specifically. it doesn’t matter that anya has nothing to go back to, that swansea’s life is thrown away- jimmy is the ONLY victim here, apparently. curly is personally responsible for getting laid off, in his eyes.
i don’t actually know the words for this but the way he’s constantly going “i have to do EVERYTHING around here”- again, feeling like its a personal attack to be asked anything at all. anya asks him to take care of curly because her entire fucking life is falling apart, its her end of days, but somehow shes the villain for struggling.
also the general antagonization of anya. she’s extremely competent for the hand she was dealt! shes too poor to attend med school yet shes very knoqledgable in medication and wound care! and yeah no shit shes struggling now, someone she cared deeply about is suffering immensely and now the ship is being “run” by a man who assaulted her. no fucking shit shes breaking down. but jimmy makes it clear time and time again that this is somehow her fault, all this shit of “shouldn’t nurses EARN their titles?” while she’s having a mental breakdown.
similarly, swansea being villainized for holding the cryopod for daisuke and killing him. like, i get it, but jimmy’s whole thing of saying he can fix daisuke is… c’mon man. he’s a hero to himself, he “always” fixes things the same way he “fixed” the ship, and he will fix daisuke and claim heroism even though it’s very clear nothing else can be done for him.
“someday you’ll thank me” while forcing curly to eat his own leg. the incredible confidence that he is in the right even when literally torturing someone.
MOST IMPORTANTLY: the final scene with curly burning. jimmy doesn’t earnestly believe he has anything to be sorry for. even when apologizing to curly he says “we can BOTH be heroes!” despite everything, he still thinks he’s in the right. he STILL thinks he’s a hero, because he’s right, he’s ALWAYS right, surely. he can apologize and grovel all he wants but in the end he still thinks he’s the hero of this story; he doesn’t genuinely think he has anything to right, he’s only doing this to be freed of consequence. and/or believes a simple “sorry” is enough, that it can fix completely ruining the lives of four people with his own inferiority complex.
i do think the choice to put curly in the pod instead of himself is the only time he recognizes his own guilt, if any. maybe it’s realizing that he DOES need something more than a simple “sorry” to even begin to try to fix things, maybe it’s that he thinks this will cement him even further as a hero. even then, does this fix anything? all it’s doing is making curly suffer more. is this actually a good thing?
to him, he’s the hero here. he always is. crashing the ship is a heroic thing, putting all his crewmates through hell is a heroic thing. all because something nobody can control is somehow a personal attack on jimmy.
not to mention all the “hallucinations” he has- it’s what he thinks should happen, it’s what he wants to hear. curly still calling him a friend, the dead corpses of his crewmates praising him, even in the final cutscene with curly burning where he says “no, YOU take the pod”. none of it’s real. it’s just what jimmy thinks is “right”. despite everything, he thinks everyone should thank and praise him, because he can do no wrong.
conclusion: jimmy is a narcisstic piece of shit.
#mouthwashing#mouthwashing game#sorry not sorry for being so incredibly fucking passionate abt this#its partially bc. if im being real! i see a lot of my narcisstic mother in jimmy. like almost one to one#so im really really angry abt him.
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I’m so over emotional right now. read that Jimmy Buffett died surrounded by his friends and family and started crying. not that he died. that everyone he loved, that loved him, was there with him in his final moments. and his dogs! his dogs were there, too! something about it is so beautiful and nice and fuck, I am bummed he died, but that he went out surrounded by his loved ones makes it seem okay. I’m glad he got that in the end. That knowing you’re loved and you’ll be remembered. I think that’s all we can really hope for in the end.
#hi I am in emotional crisis#I can’t say I was a HUGE Buffett fan buuut…#I do have at least one of his books (ironically?) and who can’t get down on some of his music?#but also my dad is a big Jimmy Buffett fan and so it feels like a part of his has died now#I love my dad but in a distant diety way. the kind you prayed to as a child but now you only really know in memory#I never talk to him but I love him and whenever one of the few things I know he enjoys dies it’s like I lose another little connection#he loved Anthony Bourdain. He loved Jimmy Buffett. god please someone watch over Chris Isaak for me!#I’m a mess#my emotions are everywhere tonight.#I was angry and disconnected for hours and now I’m just sad and lonely and anything could make me cry#I need a hug#I don’t want pity but I do want love#blegh#anyway… my brain is slowly coming back online. I can read a bit better now.#just needed to take meds and eat and whatnot#going to take a shower and I went and got some snacks to treat myself#but whatever. I love you stranger#or I don’t but pretend I do. I’ll pretend too. I want you to feel good.#you can ignore this#hug your pets please#hug me too if your arms can reach#text
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— FLESH DIVINE.
♱ TRIGGER WARNINGS: Johann purposely weakens reader's body on this one, manipulation, Johann and the reader have an established friendship, reader has a crush on Johann?, suggestive kiss at the end ig. word count: almost 2k.
Johann was always meticulous, almost maniacally so. Maybe that was why he never got along with other people—he always had a way of pushing people away with his complicated nature. Always controlling, observing, and criticizing, a guy like him was hard to deal with, and you knew that very well.
Even though you managed to get through almost five years of friendship —a very rocky one at that— it still amazed you how someone who could seem so utterly unapproachable stuck by your side. Have you needed a shoulder to cry? Johann was there. Need a hand with your work? Johann is an expert on this, somehow. Need someone to remind you when to take your meds? Oh, he had the days marked down in his calendar already. No way he could forget such important details, he was a meticulous man after all, remember?
Not that you weren’t reliable either, during his first breakup you were there. The memory was still fresh in your mind as you recall how utterly bored he looked as he told you about that girl you thought was his soulmate. Couldn’t help but wonder if he truly cared about any of the relationships he had before, or even if he cared about the ones he has now, but you held back from asking at the time. Johann really cares about you, if he didn’t then he wouldn’t go and take such measures to ensure you’re doing alright, or checking up on you, right?—the little bug gnawing at the back of your mind didn’t think the same.
He cares about you, he really does, right? Even when you’re this weak and unable to do anything for yourself, he doesn’t think you’re an annoyance.
“You’re spacing out again.” Johann’s deep voice pushed those thoughts away in a split second, the man stared at you, leaning in to tap with one finger against your forehead in a playful gesture that was a little strange taking into account he looked as expressionless as always. “You’re thinkin’ too much, gonna fry your brain into jelly if you keep doin’ that.” A small smile rose on the corners of his lips, black eyes staring at you with a little glint on them you couldn’t quite decipher. “I like you better when you don’t think.” The words made you shiver a little, ‘I like you— ’ and the rest was a blur inside your head. A part of you wished he genuinely meant that in another way, he liked you truly, entirely, not just a small part of you. “What’s that even supposed to mean?” You laughed a little, forcing a smile.”Last time you told me you ‘liked me better when I was sick’ should I be worried?”
Johann’s eyes scanned your face for a second before he went back to pay attention to the stove; he was boiling some water to make you tea, Johann always made you some when he came home, you didn’t know why, he wasn’t even a fan of tea, but the gesture was sweet enough to make you forget how utterly weird it was the fact he only made one cup.
“Worried ‘bout what? I just said I like you when you’re sick because you’re more obedient. That’s it.” He turned to grab some cups from the cupboard as he spoke. “You’re less prone to pull out some bullshit and get hurt.”
Your face twisted a little into disappointment, oh, so he meant that. With a deep sigh, you tapped your fingers against the table, head resting against the heel of your hand. His words really weren’t laced with any malice, he spoke with his usual soft and calm tone, so you knew he wasn’t jabbing at you or even really blaming you for anything, but it still hurt a little. Noticing your expression Johann quickly approached, leaning over the counter to pat your head, his hand lingering on top as he scratched a little, like you would do with a dog. “Hey, sorry, was I too harsh? Y’know I don’t mean it for real.” “I know, I do. But it just feels bad… I’m always depending on you and I— I’m starting to feel that I’m just a burden, you know.” Johann lifted his hand, the sudden movement making you stare back at him. Eyes widen a little as you notice how his hand is still hovering on top of your head, it was like his brain stopped midway, his black eyes pierced through you. “You’re not a burden. Not for me.” Your head fell downwards as you managed to speak again, fingers fidgeting against the edges of your clothes, Johann’s stare was like a nail digging onto your skin, it felt so fucking unyielding you just wanted to pull back, to get away from his eyes. Why is he even staring at you so intensely? You didn’t say anything that bad.
“Yet I’m still calling you each time I can’t get out of bed in the morning. I really don’t fucking know why my body is like this, I-I’ve been healthy all my life, and then all of the sudden—”
His hand shooted to grab at the sides of your face and tilt it upwards to stare back at him, his fingers weren’t harsh on your skin but you could still feel the lingering threat of his nails about to dig, veins around his forearms bulging with barely restrained rage, yet his face remained so calm. “You’re thinkin’ too much again.” He continued. “Will you just let me take of you? I don’t care if I need to get up the bad at fucking three in the morning to help you go to the bathroom, I will.”
Your hand reached to grab his, trying to peel it away from your face, but Johann’s doesn’t even budge. “You’re not my family to have me as your responsibility, I’m really thankful, trust me, I am. But you’re my friend, and it’s not your job to take care of me when you’re always busy with college and—.” “I’ll quit college for you then.” What the fuck. Your eyes widen at his words, but he doesn’t look any less cold than a few seconds ago. “W-What…?” “You’re worried I’m wasting my time? I might be. I’m wasting my time by being away when I could be here with you.”
You should be happy, really, he’s telling you something so sickly sweet yet the way his eyes never waver away from yours, the way he holds your face like he’s about to break you and yet still remains so gentle, the way he’s speaking so carefree about something that important— yes, you really can’t be happy. “What are you talking about? I don’t want you to do that. Hell, you worked so hard for this career!” “I worked hard for this, for us. My career? It’s just a fucking side hobby at this point when I want to distract my head for a little while.”
You didn’t even notice when he walked around the kitchen counter, now he stood there before you, crouched down to meet your eyes. His thumbs caressed your cheeks with a tenderness you never imagined a guy like Johann could have, the feeling helping your already confused and dizzy head become even dizzier. “You know. For the only thing my studies have helped me is to know where to start.”
“Start—what?”
A dark chuckle escaped his lips, it was rare to hear him laugh and it was even weirder to see him with such a delighted smile, if you squinted you could even see a small blush forming on his cheeks. His fingers kept caressing your face as he kept your head still, unable to make any movements, forcing you to stare. “Oh, don’t play coy. You said it yourself, your body was never like this, right?” “Feeling sick all of the sudden, being unable to walk sometimes due to your debilitating state, damn, sometimes when I look at you I wonder if you can even breathe for yourself. I would love to help if that isn’t the case.”
Cold sweat began to form on the palms of the hands you clutched so tightly against his wrists, nails digging past the bandages and reaching to his skin, Johann didn’t even react to the stinging sensation, too lost on the heady feeling of excitement coursing through his veins. Leaning forward he pressed his body against yours, caging you against the chair. “That was me. All me. I even made sure you didn’t do any kind of physical activity to be extra sure you wouldn’t be able to handle it by yourself.” Bile rose inside your throat, what kind of fucked up person could say such things with that gleeful glint in their eyes? Was this the same Johann you knew all your life? Something felt so wrong, something with him was off this time, the hints were there but you were too blind to see.“And eventually like a flower, you bloomed into something beautiful and mine. Scheiße.”Your hands fell helplessly by your sides, you couldn’t even speak anymore, words long gone together with all the thoughts inside your head, the confusion and fear took a toll on you, and your weakened state made you unable to struggle, even if you wished to do so, your brain screaming to fucking kick him and run away. “You look pale, baby. Is your blood sugar running low? Here, let me help you.” Peeling his body away from just a second but not giving you enough room to even stand up Johann reached for something on the counter, you could some kind of paper being ripped, probably with his teeth or the free hand he didn’t hold against your shoulder, and then he went back to look at you again. “Here, say ‘aah’.”
As you didn’t even make the attempt to move Johann frowned slightly. “Y’know I don’t want to be forceful with you, sometimes I’m afraid you might break if I do too much. But you don’t leave any other options, do you?”
Next thing you know, Johann’s lips are against yours, tongue sliding with ease against yours, you could even feel his tongue piercing scraping against the roof of your mouth, he lets out a low amused sound like he was approving the taste of your lips. Being suddenly snapped out of your daze your hands reach to clutch against his shirt, clinging onto dear life as he devours you with eagerness. The kiss is unusually sweet, and you notice the small wrapper of the sugar you use for the tea empty on top of the counter. You close your eyes, embarrassed at how utterly disgusted you felt, not because of the sensations or the fact he was kissing you, but at how much you enjoyed it.
Once the two of you separated, you let out a breathy sigh of relief, and Johann wipes away your lips with his thumb, then his with the back of his hand. “There, much better now, right?”
You were right, Johann was truly a meticulous person.
#eng sucks please ignore that#also the ending is VERY rushed lol#anyways#yandere#yandere oc#male yandere#yandere x reader#original character#johann the bastard#chrona... writes stuff?
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☁ blade x f!reader s.mut, honkai: star rail ☁ reader is afab and goes by she/her. alpha/omega dynamics. blade helps you out during your heat, calls you “girl” “sweet girl” “baby”, consent is sexy and blade is very adamant about it. reader is jing yuan’s assistant. ☁ A/N: i cannot get sweet gentle blade off my mind after that car scene and this fic is what happened ☁ 5k words
“Watch where you’re going, miss.”
His hands fall to your waist as your back crashes against his front, attempting to blink away the frazzled state you’re in. Despite his warm hands, his touch feels like the first gulp of ice cold water on the hottest day.
Alpha, your head wants to reel. It’s sickening sweet, the way your slick pools at just a whiff of his scent.
It’s even worse when you turn around and realize who it is. Even with the mask and the sunglasses (does he really think that helps?), your heart drops.
Blade. The Stellaron Hunter who escaped from the Shackling Prison less than an hour ago.
Aeons, this really is the worst day to be getting your heat, isn’t it?
Blade immediately retracts his hands when he realizes your state. He’s been alive too many years to need to run away before his body starts reacting, but he’s still — at least partially — human. Your scent is sweet, almost needy, has his biology wanting to follow you wherever you go.
You whine at the loss of contact, your hand immediately slapping across your mouth as you come to terms with what just happened.
“I-“
“No need to apologize, it’s perfectly natural.”
This little alleyway is only used by those working with the Divine Foresight, and in the middle of a work day, nobody is walking through it. Nobody was supposed to walk through it. Maybe you should’ve figured a long lived, previously acclaimed man like him would’ve known about it and used it.
That thought would’ve been way more helpful when you were trying to track his movements earlier.
Blade’s in no rush. He hasn’t been for a long time. The time will pass anyways, after all. Elio makes no mistakes in his script, so he’s sure whatever happens here won’t affect the later situation. It’s whether you’re in the right mind state to know what’s happening, that’s his biggest concern.
“You’re-! You know rightfully, I should cuff you and bring you back to the Shackling Prison.” You try to be stern, but your core turns, causing you to buckle forward. Blade swiftly reaches across to hold you up.
“I… can help you get close to a medical bay. If your mind is still clear-“
“My mind is perfectly coherent,” you snap, and then your face immediately winces with regret. He might be a so-called criminal, but it’s not like he’s hurt you personally, and Jing Yuan strangely but oh-so-kindly asked for your understanding of him. “It only started today. My mind won’t fog until at least tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
“Hold up. You’re a criminal. On the run. And you want to help me get to a med bay? Shouldn’t you be… I don’t know, running away?”
“All will come to be as it should.”
You roll your eyes. It’s like when Jing Yuan tells Fu Xuan that it’s “not her time” with some fancy words.
Blade rephrases. “I have nowhere to be, as of right now.”
You feel your knees threatening to buckle, wincing as your hand squeezes Blade’s shoulder tight. If it affects him, his face doesn’t show it.
“Fine. Since you’re the nicest criminal looking to be a Samaritan, please help me get home. It’s not far from here.”
~
Blade is surprisingly patient, even bothers to remove his shoes before coming into the house, gracefully placing you on your sofa.
“Thank you, wanted criminal.”
He scoffs at that, but nods politely. His sunglasses and mask are tucked somewhere away now, no need for them since you know exactly who he is.
There’s a beat of silence. He should leave. He’s done his job. But you’re an omega in distress, alone. And the worst part is, you’re not doing anything.
You’re not grabbing items to make a nest, or calling an alpha, or taking any medication. Are you waiting for him to leave? You likely would’ve said something, given your clear ability to clip back. Your scent most certainly tells him to stay, but he knows better than most what it’s like to be a prisoner to your own physical body, in more ways than one.
All you do is grip at the edge of the sofa and stare at your coffee table, like an endangered animal with nowhere to go.
Maybe it’s his biology talking, but he somehow feels like he should do something.
“Is there anything else you need?”
It’s your turn to scoff, doing your best to shake off your mind. “Wow, you really are nice.” You remove your shoes, slotting them under the couch for later. And then your eyes narrow. “Or were you just looking for a pretty little omega to fuck, hm?”
If this were any other situation, he would’ve taken this opportunity to turn on his heel and leave right out the door, but something about the situation prickles at the back of his neck.
“Is this your first time handling a heat?” He asks directly.
You wince at that, wrapping a throw blanket over yourself. “No… Is it that obvious?” You sigh, bringing your knees towards yourself and pressing them against your chest. “I’ve been on suppressants for a long time.”
Blade gives you your options sincerely. “There’s an app. For those in your predicament. Otherwise, you might want to consider a nest. If you have painkillers on you, that could help too. I’ve heard it’s not much help, but it’s better than nothing.”
You breathe. “Nest. Right.” Your eyes scatter around, holding the blanket around you tight. You look like you want to get up and then you don’t, mind volleying between thoughts and decisions that end up leaving you nowhere. Blade’s chest can’t help but tighten at how lost you look.
“May I?” he asks for permission to step further into your home.
What a criminal, you want to remark. But the way your heart is pumping both from the stress and the heat within you just has you nodding. He opens your bedroom door before walking back towards you and carefully picking you up, slowly, like he’s giving you every chance to interject. To your surprise, you let him, the omega inside of you feels like it’s almost cooing at his embrace. He places you down on the armchair in the corner, washing his hands in the bathroom before taking your blanket and bunching it up in a circular motion, propping up your pillows around it.
“Okay. This is a good start. Add things that bring you comfort around you. If you like soft toys, or something like that. If you’re up to it, it would be ideal for you to shower and get into something comfortable.”
Your scent peaks, making him turn around. Your knees are tucked close to you once more, your eyes glassy. You can feel yourself descending into something, more quickly than you realized.
“Whilst I’m still coherent… I would…” you swallow, your throat feels like you’ve drunken something sweet and forgot to drink water before falling sleep. “I would appreciate if you stayed. Since you said you’re not doing anything. Not that I’m pressuring you. Your scent is…” you feel your face get hot, but Blade just nods.
“I’ll be just outside.”
~
It’s perfectly normal.
Okay, that’s not the right word. Maybe more like, it’s perfectly natural. To ask an alpha to stay with you during your heat. There’s apps for that. That’s what Blade said, right?
The shower water beats over your skin as you lightly scrub it.
Definitely not embarrassing. Or strange. Even if he is a wanted criminal. What was it, something like 8 billion credits? Would Jing Yuan even give you that if you turned him back in?
You press the edge of your palm against your eyebrow. His scent, like the woods and bergamot and faintly of incense. The wanted posters did not do him justice.
~
Blade presses a hand to his pants the moment he closes the door.
Your scent, sweeter than any sin, the glassy look in your eyes that you were so desperately blinking away, the way you gripped him as you gasped into his touch… He is not someone who struggles with self-control, but he can’t deny the way his member hardens.
He desperately tries to think. What do omegas need again? Medication. Something soft. Water.
He hears you enter the shower, the thought of you naked passes quickly in his mind, but has him gripping your doorknob tight all the same. You said something about his scent too, didn’t you? He removes his outerwear, shuffling back into your room to place it on the armchair. Just in case.
He spots your laundry hamper on his way out your room, and forces himself to look away before he gets carried away.
~
As he places a jug of water and a couple glasses on your bedside table, you chuck your hand holding a towel into his field of vision.
He doesn’t take it, instead curiously arches an eyebrow at you.
“Okay, fine, I’ll say it, since the shower cleared my mind. I am aware that you are a big bad criminal. And we’re both aware I’m in heat. But you’ve been nice. So this is my official invitation. Stay with me during it.”
“That sounds more like a demand.”
You push the towel into his hands, and this time he takes it. “We both know you’re perfectly capable of leaving here if you wanted.” You stomp back to your nest, courtesy of the handsome man in front of you, and wrap yourself into your blankets.
“The jacket gesture was nice,” you add, “but you’ve been in the Shackling Prison. Aeon knows what’s down there. So shower, and come back here.” Maybe he’s right. This does sound like a demand. “Is this arrangement… okay with you?”
The corner of Blade’s mouth upturns just a bit, but he steels himself for what he’s about to say. “I’m one of the most dangerous men the IPC has a bounty on. You’re clearly under the influence of your heat, which means we can’t be perfectly clear of your consent.”
“My mind is clear. I’m Jing Yuan’s assistant. You might be strong, but I can take a fight too. Also…” you flush with embarassment, “I have no idea what I’m doing. You clearly know more than me, and I’m guessing I’m about to get worse. Also… Jing Yuan may have told me to be nice to you even though you’re a criminal.”
Blade laughs at that, a warm sound that hits straight to your core, your hand pressing against your stomach.
“You trust the General’s words that much?”
“There’s a lot going on right now! Just take the goddamn shower!” You chuck a pillow at him, which he catches with ease and throws back.
A closer whiff of your scent has him swallowing a noise in his throat. He rationalizes that he surely can’t leave you in the hands of a random Alpha who might take advantage of your lack of knowledge, especially not someone so close to Jing Yuan.
~
“Alphas can act more… barbaric, shall we say, the heavier an omega’s heat gets. You have to fight and say it straight if you don’t want anything, you understand?”
Maybe you should’ve thought this through a little more before, because now you certainly can’t. Blade is wearing nothing except the towel you gave him wrapped low around his waist, his muscles clear and evident, scars littering his body like streaks of comets. He’s stunning.
He watches you ogle him, sighing as he cups your face gently in his palm, forcing your gaze to his face.
“Did you hear me, girl?”
And oh, maybe that’s a mistake on his part, because the moment you make eye contact with him, his breath catches. Your lips are still slick with the water you’ve been drinking, your pupils widened and full of lust. That blank look that is clearly only thinking of him. How long has it been for Blade too, since he’s had a moment like this with someone else? Centuries? Your omega scent fills the air at the skin-to-skin contact, and it makes him feel like you’re a siren pulling him in.
He can see your mind working, doing your best to force your brain to think. “I’ll tell you. I will.”
It’s only then that Blade sits in your nest with you. He notices the way you lean into him, until your head rests against his shoulder, breathing his smoky scent in.
“Are you sure you’re okay with this?”
Blade chuckles. “My only concern is being able to control myself through this.”
You reach for him, press your face closer to his, until your noses are touching. He lets you lead, wants you to lead, so that he knows exactly what it is you want and what you’re okay with.
And you do, your mouth pressing against his, getting the first drink of what he has to offer. He thinks he could drown in you like this. His hand moves to the small of your back, his lips gentle and slow as they move against yours.
You wrap your arms around his neck, and then you’re pulling him in, and it’s like a dam that breaks open. He’s careful not to rest his whole weight on you, one hand propping himself up against your headboard, even as you squeeze your arms tighter. You didn’t realize heats could feel like this, having someone with you to hold as it sinks you in deeper. You bring your nose to the scent gland at his neck, kissing it lightly, and your scent that fllls the room in return has him making a noise akin to a growl as he presses his hand into your waist.
“Careful, girl,” he warns, but you don’t care. God, you don’t care. You feel your heat settling into your body deeper, slick pooling between your legs as you wrap them around his waist. You’re sure he can smell it, especially from the way he tries to still you.
“Mm, a little fast, don’t you think?” His teeth nips at your ear as your hands trail down his chest, over his back, the bumps from scarring only making it clearer to your heat-addled brain that he’s strong, a strong alpha.
“It’s your-,” your words die down before you can say them. It’s your job to keep us in check, you want to say. But your body starts to warm uncomfortably. Blade runs a hand up and down your torso, thumb pressing circles against your waist. Your eyebrows cinch together, kicking of the sheets yet wanting the comfort of them close to you.
“It’s okay, sweet girl. It’s called a heat for a reason.” He kisses your cheek gently, like a lover. You chase his lips, bringing him in for another kiss.
“You don’t feel hot,” you tell him as you break away, confused. Strangely enough, Blade’s body doesn’t add to your irritating warmth. If anything, it feels like the only relief. His body is warm, but where he touches you tingles softly, staving off the heaviness.
“Mm, that’s because I’m taking care of you,” he presses a kiss to your neck, dangerously close to nipping at your scent gland, before descending down your collarbone. His hands move under your shirt, a reprieve from the sweat that’s starting to sheenson your skin. You want to beg him like he’s a god to release you from the cage your heated body has become. Instead, you remove your shirt, pulling him into you once more, his skin against yours like a reverence.
He continues to kiss at the skin he’s been given access to, one hand moving to your breast, cupping it from below and pinching at your nipple. You arch into his touch, and his mind immediately goes to the thought of you arching your back as he presses his member into you.
He wants more. He wants so, so much more.
Does he dare let himself indulge? His thoughts flitter away as you release him from the death grip your arms had him in, allowing him to descend his mouth down to your breasts, to kiss at the skin, teeth scraping lightly over a nipple, his hands skating over your stomach and to the waistband of your pants.
You’re sobbing into him now, somehow he’s skin to skin with you and it feels like it’s not nearly close enough. Your head feels full of cotton, his body and the feeling of his wet tongue lapping at you, lips wrapping around your nipple, encompassing you so fully you sometimes forget to breathe.
You tap his shoulder as he kisses down your stomach, and he looks up at you with curious eyes.
“Can’t- can’t take it,” you heave, hands stroking his hair. “Take me now,” your thighs tighten around him. “Need- I need”
“No.”
His answer is so clipped that it shocks you, and you’re almost distracted by him removing your pants from you, leaving your soft panties for his view.
“Wha- Blade,” you sigh his name, you meant for it to be a scolding, but then he’s kissing right above the waistband of your panties and you feel the air rush out of you all too delicately. “You- don’t you want-”
“This is about what you want.”
“I just told you what I want!”
“You’re not ready.” His words are almost a whisper now, voice gruff between your legs, his hair tickling the inside of your thighs as he presses his nose to your clothed core and breathes you in. God, he feels like an animal, his member hardening at just the scent of your slick. Don’t you know he’s already holding back? Don’t you know the way you’re beckoning him to give it to you now is more torture for him than it is for you?
“What? Blade, you can’t be serious.”
He grunts. “I’m serious.” His saliva coats his mouth, gripping your thighs a little tighter. “May I?”
“God, Blade, yes. Do whatever you’re gonna do since you’re not gonna-”
He relishes in the way your breath catches and the words fall out of your mouth the moment he laps his wet tongue over your clothed core. The sound you let out is a wrecked thing.
You distinctly hear a ripping sound, the material giving way against your skin and chucked somewhere behind him.
“Blade!”
“I’ll buy you new ones,” he groans, and then his tongue is pressed against your folds and oh, it’s like heaven’s greatest sin, so close to the relief you so desperately want. He doesn’t sound any better, moans falling from his lips that are pressed against your core, purposefully wrapping his arms around your thighs and pressing them towards his face so he can have you all around him, your skin and scent and sweat only adding to the way he has to grind his hips into your bed.
You intertwine your fingers with his, gripping tight, and he can’t help but feel his heart lurch a little at how cute the gesture is. You know exactly who he is, but the way you’re gasping his name asking him for more, more makes him feel like less of a monster and more like a lover, your lover.
He swallows every drop of pearly wetness you afford him, his suckles over your folds slowly growing more desperate. He wants to breathe you in, drink you up, give you all he can. He settles with splitting your folds with his tongue, flicking your clit over and over again, gripping your thighs tight, and mumbling into your skin about how “you’re so pretty like this, wanna watch you make a mess on my face” between breaths.
He doesn’t have to wait long, your grip on his hand gets tighter with each lather of his wet muscle, your core tightening as you try your best to tell him that you’re close, so close.
“Yeah, baby? You’re gonna give it to me?” he whispers against your skin, lips glistening as they delve back in. “Go ahead then, show me how pretty you look when you cum.”
He watches you as you cum, letting out a broken moan, your thighs pressing against the sides of his face impossibly tighter, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. You sob as your hips thrust into his face, his hands never letting yours go, tongue working you through every shock of your orgasm. He does his best to savor every drop. It’s for him, because of him, after all.
You’re shocked he’s still going when you come back to, your thrashing going from intense pleasure to overstimulation, your hands pushing against his in an attempt to get away from the way he’s still sucking on your clit.
“Too much! Blade, I’m so sensitive, it’s so much, oh, gods.”
“Mm,” he acknowledges you, but doesn’t let up, still holding your legs tight against himself. He’s not done, doesn’t want to be.
“Blade, BladeBladeBlade, I can’t, I really can’t, wha-“ Something shifts inside of you, and the feeling is like being choked, your lungs out of breath and desperately trying to take in air as the pain gives way to pleasure. Every wave feels like a drug, so quick to become putty in his hands as he drags you to another orgasm. This time it’s slower to build, but so much more intense, your body uncontrollable as it tenses harshly, gripping his hair, and you come undone on his tongue once more.
“Blade, holy, what-“ you try to catch your breath, desperate for each gulp of air you take in.
He groans in satisfaction, his grin carnivorous as he swipes his tongue over his lips, wiping the excess with the back of his hand.
“Good girl. Came so well for me, didn’t you?” His smirk is evident, canines pressing down just slightly against his tongue. He peppers kisses against your inner thigh.
“Gods, Blade. Just-“ your legs shake as you attempt to reel him in, grabbing his hand with yours, and this time he lets you, kissing you deep, his tongue grazing against the back of your teeth.
You lay your hand flat against his abs, sliding them down until your fingertips reach the towel, haphazardly pulling it off. He draws in a sharp breath at the feeling of the cool air on his member, pressing his hand down to your waist. His mind reels with just the thought of having you, the thought of his cock sliding into you, lubricated by your slick and his spit.
When he pulls his lips away from yours, you finally get to look at him, your hand wrapping around his dick as he exhales a soft ‘mm’.
You pump your hand up once, twice, before he’s taking your hand in his and putting it away.
“Blade, please. You’re so hard,” you’re sure between your legs is shiny with your slick and his spit. He doesn’t falter anymore, pressing your thighs back towards your chest, lining himself up with his cunt, gritting his teeth as the sensitive head catches against your folds.
“You’re-,” he grips your thighs a little harder, steeling himself against you. “Stay still, girl.”
“Please.”
“I’m getting there*.”*
“You’ve been teasing me for hours-”
“You’ve cum twice. Don’t make me show you what teasing really looks like.” He finally presses himself into you, a short intake of breath passes through his teeth as the head slips in. He plays with you, he has to be, sliding in and out of you, giving you just a little more each time.
You’re gripping his shoulders, pulling his body close to yours, his grunts so soft you might almost miss them if his mouth wasn’t against your ear. You’re faring no better, pressed chest to chest against him as he sinks into you.
“Oh,” you gasp, and he grunts in return, his forehead pressing against yours so he can watch and feel your every reaction. His hand grips the headboard, the wood creaks as if it’s about to give in to him, trying his damn best not to slam into you like he knows he wants to. He sheaths himself in whole, finally, the head of his cock pressing against your cervix. It feels downright cruel, the way you grip around him, your pretty whines against his ear.
“Are you-”
“Please,” you beg him, because nothing has ever felt so right and you think you might die if he doesn’t give it to you.
He huffs. “You’re not gonna die, baby. I’ll give it to you.”
“Well hurry up with it or I might,” you tilt your hips up, trying to move under his weight but he’s heavy, pinning you down and yet it’s exactly what you need. He moves off of you slightly only to bring his hands behind your knees, pressing them to your chest, and there’s a moment where you’re not really sure where he’s going with this until he-
“You’re so tight,” he grunts, and then he’s slamming into you hard. “Wanted to make this easy for you, ease you in, but you just had to go and be a brat.” You think your mind bluescreens from the pleasure-pain of his cock sliding all the way out to the tip only to press back into you, ramming against your cervix with every other press of his hips against yours, your heat coiling like a serpent in your core, like the slow drip of syrup through your body.
He brings his hand down between your bodies, fingers tapping against your clit. “Taking my cock so well, aren’t you?” His voice is low and heavy, and all you can do is say his name in return. “You’re a good little omega, aren’t you baby? Good girl, good fucking girl.”
You thought he’d be quiet, but something about his cock inside of you has the words tumbling out of his mouth. You can both feel his knot starting to swell, the heat of it making him sweat, the way it widens right at the base. It makes his hips stutter, more desperate, prevents him from sliding out all the way like he was before so he fucks you faster.
“Wanna feel you cum around my cock.” Your legs are over his shoulder now, one hand running circles over your clit, the other making its way around your neck. He doesn’t choke you, doesn’t press down, only holds you there as a show of power, but something about it has you arching your back into him.
He thinks it’s dangerous, makes him feel like you belong to him.
“Wanna cum around your cock,” you whisper to him in return, and he grunts.
“Yeah?” He smirks, but it’s gentle, almost like a smile, a soft upturn at the corner of his mouth. “Been aching for an alpha’s cock inside of you, haven’t you?”
“Just yours,” you tell him, your fingernails scratching at the nape of his neck. The confession has him pressing his teeth right next to your scent gland, making a mark where you can’t hide.
“This pussy belongs to me now, then,” he says it like something between a demand and a prayer. You gasp yes into his ear as you get closer to the edge, teetering off it. “Show me how my pussy cums for me. Cum around my cock, baby. You’ve been aching for it, haven’t you?” You can feel the pulse of his knot, his adam apple jumping as he swallows, mouth dry. “Go ahead and cum for me then.”
It’s your alpha’s order, your body follows like it responds only to his demands, it feels like it’s being ripped out of you as your chest presses against his and your mind goes blank, your slick gushing around his knot. He’s only seconds behind, spilling into you with a groan, his face in your shoulder, his nose against your scent gland so he can memorize the sweetness of you right at your peak.
It’s with a deep intake of breath that you both relax. He’s careful to position his body next to yours, to make sure he doesn’t crush you, even as his cock stays inside of you, his knot still slightly swollen. He swipes your hair back, thumb tracing over your hairline as he kisses your forehead, then your cheek, then presses his lips against yours for something saccharine sweet. You let him, drinking him in.
“Stay,” you tell him, and he chuckles, because it’s still more of an order than a request.
“Still got attitude,” he holds you close, rolling both of you over so you’re lying on top of him. “Not going anywhere, baby. Relax.”
“For my whole heat. Take my number too, while you’re at it.” Your words slur together, but the genuinity shows in your eyes.
“I’m a wanted criminal.” He says frankly.
“Oh yeah? Should’ve- fuck- should’ve told me that earlier. It’s almost like there’s a wanted poster on every street of you.”
“It doesn’t look like me.” He rakes a hand through your hair, his other massages the soreness in your thigh.
“Why’d Jing Yuan let you go anyways?”
“You wanna say another man’s name with my dick still inside of you?”
“Ah, sorry, so possessive. I think it’s going down now.” You lift yourself off of it slowly, and Blade watches with reverence as his seed slips out of you, milky white. He catches it on his fingers, pressing it back.
“S-Sensitive,” your nails press into his chest, and he kisses your shoulder in apology.
“Let’s get you cleaned up.”
“Can’t move.”
“I’ll carry you.”
“We just showered.”
“Just a rinse. Then I’ll add your number, okay?”
“Okay.”
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