#No beta we die like Logan

[tremendousladypeanut]

Got into xmen and the tags on AO3 are SENDING me

Like I know Batman tags are insane but it's so funny to see that my new fandom is the same

I have a type clearly and it's old man fanon yaoi

[tadhannahj]

This is how Yukio from The Wolverine (2013) predicted Logan's death only for Logan (2017) to die in a forest while holding Laura's hand. Yukio also wasn't able to foresee the villain's "death" because they were faking it earlier.

But what if Wade's Logan, the Worst Wolverine, dies this way?

[lewispitlane]

lovely to be rained on (with you)

link 🔗

summary:

At the corner of his eye, Kimi caught a glimpse of a shadow walking on the track, the rain showering down on him. Out of curiosity, he squinted to take a closer look at the figure. The glaring lamps revealed the figure’s identity. But from afar, Kimi could recognise that silhouette anywhere.

***

Or: What if Kimi and Ollie got stuck in the rain in Singapore?

posted on ao3 on 22/9/24.

tags below:

chapters: 1/1 | fandom: formula 1 rpf | rating: general audiences | warnings: no archive warnings apply | relationships: bearnelli |

[itsgonnagetinspiringsoon]

ok so i know i've literally never posted abt sanders sides before on this blog (i haven't been keeping up for a few years) but i've been tumbling down a waterslide lined with my old hyperfixations for the last few hours and ended up creating D&D au character designs for the core four sides using heroforge. images and descriptions under the cut if you're interested ❤ bonus points if you can guess what classes they are (this is EXTREMELY self-indulgent so pls forgive the ranting abt them, they're very important to me ok)

First up we have Roman! my beloved. one of my first questions when starting his design was how can i make him look as cunty as possible? the answer: heeled boots and winged eyeliner (It's a little tricky to see but he's got gold metallic eyeliner). I ADORE Roman's colour pallet so i kept it as close to accurate as i could, making white the base colour and accentuating it with the gold armor and the dramatic red shoulder cape as my stand-in for his sash. he's wielding a katana OF COURSE how could he not be. he's slaying ⚔ 🐉 and slaying 💅💋

moving on:

Patton. my baby, my honey, my ragtime gal. i decided to make his hair a little longer than roman's bc i thought it made him look softer and more approachable. it was UNBELIEVABLY hard to find something that sort of replaced his cardigan without looking too chunky but i did like this kind of loose tattered mantle, so i went with that. kept the sky blue shirt and gray cardigan/shawl, but gave him more greyish blue pants so they didn't blend into the shirt too much. glasses are round instead of square bc again i thought they made him look friendlier than the square ones. freckles bc i personally think freckles are very cute and patton is very cute so he got freckles. no shoes he's travelling the realms like the gods intended. the dad vibes are strong i want him to give me a hug 🥺

next up:

logan is quite possibly my favourite side so i really wanted to get his design right. the MOST important thing was giving him his iconic necktie, which ended up being pretty much the same color as his canon design. i couldn't give the tie specifically a pattern, so i made his vest stripy like his tie is in the show and i think it looks really good. his glasses are the more classic nerd ones which is perfect for him and i gave him black eyeliner bc i thought it made him look more serious. i added the coat for more of a d&d look (it doesn't make sense to traverse planes wearing a vest and tie) i think it gives him an extra bit of style that i love.

and last but not least:

the Anxious BoiTM himself (i've only had him for five minutes seven years but if anything happened to him etc etc). virgil's was one of the easiest designs aesthetically and hardest mechanically (you'll never guess what class he is guys i took some BIG swings). I knew i wanted him in black and purple (obviously) and i knew i wanted to give him the iconic purple hair dye and eyeshadow. i almost said screw the genre and put him in a zippered hoodie but i do think that a cloak and cowl would suit him very well (good for hiding in) and i found a combo that looked equally cosy and spooky. a bow is good for attacking long range and keeping out of danger (appropriate for anxiety, i thought) and the mask looks intimidating but actually helps him with sensory overload (with the cowl and mask on he's basically in a mini sensory deprivation bubble). an eyebrow ring bc he's edgy idk why honestly i thought it looked cool.

So that's basically it! As i said before if you can guess their respective classes i'll give you a cookie (🍪). since i can't draw, heroforge is usually my go-to for character creation and i have to recommend it (i think i talk abt this site a lot but 🤷‍♀️) it's so helpful for non-artist types like myself.

I hope you enjoyed! please leave comments if you liked they feed me (if you didn't like it, please just move on and don't let me know, i'm doing this for fun and i don't want any negativity please ❤) @thatsthat24 hope you like 🥰

[9firefly9]

Movies & Popcorn 🎥🍿

Thank you so much @titansontop for sending me this prompt! I had a lot of fun writing it and even made myself giggle a bit too. I hope you like it!

“Come on Raven! It’ll be fun!” Gar begs, following Raven down one of the many hallways in the Titans Tower.

Raven sighs.

She’s not entirely sure she wants to go see a movie. The movie Gar wants to watch is an action film. A film that Raven has no interest in. But Gar is so excited about seeing it that Raven would feel bad if she told him this.

“Fine.” Raven says, annoyance in her tone, but anyone could see that her annoyance isn’t real as a small smile danced on her lips at Gars cheers.

“You won’t regret it Raven!” Gar yells at her as he runs down the hall to his room to gather his things. Still looking back at her, he just barely manages to avoid smacking his face against the door frame as he turns to enter his room.

Raven rolls her eyes at his clumsiness but can’t help the faint blush that warms her cheeks as she heads to her own room.

Grabbing her bag of her desk chair she shoves a battery pack into it and a chord to charge her phone, then she puts her wallet in.

Pausing only for a moment to make sure she has anything, she then shrugs and walks out of her room.

Like she expected, Gar is not yet ready to leave. He’s still in his room. So Raven is left awkwardly standing by the door waiting.

Raven debates going to sit on the couch while she waits when Gar steps out from the hallway with his back pack lazily thrown over one shoulder.

He gives her a wide smile as he comes to stand beside her.

“You ready?” He asks with a childlike happiness as he looks at her

“Yeah. Let’s go.” Raven says, her voice nowhere near as happy sounding as his, but that’s alright. Gar knows if she wasn’t at least somewhat alright to go see this movie she wouldn’t have even agreed to come.

They hop into the car, with Raven as the driver because there’s no way she will EVER let Gar control the wheel again. The last time Gar drove ended up with both of them soaking wet as they trudged through the Lake by the Titans Tower because Gar had accidentally flipped the car.

“Shot gun!” Gar calls as he runs to the front passenger seat. Raven rolls her eyes at him. “No one else was going to take that seat from you, you know.” She tells him.

“Yeah I know. But it’s still fun to say it.” Gar says smiling at her as he buckles his seat belt.

Raven lets out a huff of air in amusement then starts the car.

As we get out of the car Gar is already telling me what food he wants to get.

“We HAVE to get popcorn! Movies just aren’t the same without it. But let’s get a large popcorn. The food here is really expensive so it would be cheaper just to get one big one.”

Before Raven has a chance to even open her mouth Gar is grabbing her hand and walking them both into the Cinema.

A lady at the front asks for their tickets and she quickly scans them before letting them in.

Gar grabs a huge bag of popcorn a Coke then asks Raven what drink she would like already reaching for a dr. Pepper knowing what she’ll say.

“I’d like a dr- oh!” Before the word had even left her mouth Gar was handing her a Dr. Pepper; her favourite drink.

“Thank you.” She says quietly taking the drink from Gar as a soft smile makes its way on her face.

They head to the cashier and pay for their popcorn and drinks. Raven watches as Gar finds the cinema butter machine and absolutely COVERS the popcorn in a layer of butter. She can’t tell if she should be smiling at his antics or looking disgusted.

Gar eats some of the popcorn as they walk to the room playing their movie, making loud crunching noises as he does so.

They find their seats and sit down and not a second later Gar places the popcorn between him and Raven and tells her to have some.

“I don’t know.” She says wearily, eyeing the popcorn. “That was a lot of butter I watched you put on it.”

Gar laughs a bit at that. “I swear all I did was make the popcorn better. It tastes fantastic!” To prove his point he takes a giant handful of the popcorn and shoves it into his mouth. Making satisfied “hmmm” noises as he eats it, showing off how good it is.

With an unimpressed sigh Raven takes a few pieces of popcorn, careful not to drop them and pops them into her mouth. At first the sweetness throws her off and she almost says she doesn’t like it, but then a minute later her tastebuds get used to it and she realizes the Gar is right. The butter makes the popcorn taste fantastic. Not that she’d ever admit that.

Gar looks at her expectantly and she gives him a shrug saying “it’s okay.” As she grabs more popcorn.

“It’s okay?! Just okay?!” Gar yells. Thank goodness the movie hadn’t started yet or a lot of people would be shushing him right now. “This popcorn is to die for! It’s the best thing my mouth has ever tasted and you say it’s just ‘okay’?! I’m honestly quite offended.” Gar says crossing his arms and takes the popcorn away from Raven.

“Hey! Give it back.” Raven tells Gar with a small giggle. She knows he’s not being serious because even as the lights are beginning to dim as the movie is about to start, she can still see his smile.

Gar places the popcorn back down beside them as he looks at her with playful eyes and glares at her. The movie begins to play only seconds later.

Raven can honestly say that she was right. This movie is not her type of movie. She has little to no interest in it. So sometimes she ops to just stare at Gar as he’s entranced with the movie and its characters. It’s cute how much he seems to be enjoying the movie. Sometimes he’ll lean in and tell her something about one of the actors or he’ll say things like “oh I really liked that part” and “woah I did not see that coming”.

At some point Raven moves her hand over to grabs a handful of popcorn and she feels Gar’s hand brush against hers. Startled she immediately pulls her hand back. Raven looks over at Gar and finds that he’s pulling his hand away with a mountain of popcorn in it and still watching the movie.

My heart slams against my chest as blush raises up my neck and heats up my face. How is he still watching the movie? Can he not hear my heart? It’s beating so loud that you would think everyone in this theatre should be able to hear it over the movie. I can still feel the heat of where our hands touched on my palm.

“Did you know the actor who plays Bobby was also in..” Gar begins to tell me and suddenly my racing heart doesn’t matter anymore as I listen to Gar’s rant. He could be talking about how the sky is blue and I’d still listen to every word.

Not long later the credits begin to roll and the movie ends. We leave the cinema with Gar reenacting his favourite scenes and asking for my thoughts on all of them.

The movie definitely wasn’t ever getting into my top ten favourites but if Gar asked me to, I would watch it again. Even though this movie is something I never would have chosen to watch myself, I like it now because of how much Gar likes it.

[yeeclaw]

As much as I enjoyed seeing Laura in Deadpool & Wolverine, one thing has been bothering me since opening night, and I can’t shake it:

Why did Marvel design her a shirt that says “Savage”?

It’s a fictional band t-shirt. I spent hours reverse image searching and browsing album covers and tour posters of bands with related names, album titles, and song titles, and while it’s clearly inspired by real rock bands and tours, it was nevertheless made up. They actively chose to make up a shirt with a derogatory racial term for a group Laura and the actress who plays her is not a part of for her to wear. Someone was paid by Marvel to design it. Why?

Now companies are selling copies of the shirt, so more people will be out in the world wearing a shirt with a term that, whether you want to call it a slur or just a “derogatory racial term,” has a dark, violent history and makes many Native Americans uncomfortable. It is a word that was used to justify cultural genocide within my parent’s lifetime, that has been used as a justification for racist discrimination and hatred within our lifetimes, not just Logan’s lifetime.

Logan had band logos, too. They used Awaken the Dreamers by All Shall Perish. The title track is about fighting for human rights and ending oppression, the design features the Statue of Liberty holding a gun, not a torch, surrounded by the silhouettes of swarming military planes. Now in Deadpool & Wolverine, we’re casually using the word savage, sticking it on a “feral” character with a reputation for violence. It could be powerful if Laura were Native. She escaped from a government run institution systematically abusing and dehumanizing children based on their heritage. Logan cast primarily people of color to play the X23 children. Gabriela Lopez died at the Liberty Motel and Logan died at what was described at “the last stop on the mutant underground to Canada”. They utilized the mutant metaphor very deliberately, and I feel that Deadpool & Wolverine’s choice of costuming for Laura did that a disservice.

(Yes, I’m aware of Savage Wolverine. Its potential as an Easter egg for a racist comic book title doesn’t make it not racist)

[an-organized-confusion]

Fanders and whatnot?

What's one/some of your favorite hyper-specific, standardized Ao3 tags for SaSi?

Mine are probably:

Or:

[bigmilk-13]

did I accidentally (otherwise known as on purpose) connect not two but *three* different fandoms with one character because I was bored but the fact that they all make so much sense is terrifying and hilarious at the same time?

Mhm- think so.

(Fandoms are Alex Rider, Miraculous Ladybug and Gilmore Girls if you're curious)

(The character is Hermia Bourgeois if you're even more curious- Chloe's fifteen years older half-sister, mother is Helen Rider and father was André Bourgeois)

(If you are seriously so so SO curious... I'll make this a fanfic- maybe. Yeah.)

[themarvelliteraryuniverse]

It's two in the morning, Sherlock can't sleep, and his fingers aren't accomplishing as much as he hoped they would.

He'd been explicitly banned from playing violin at odd hours, which he found dreadfully unfair seeing as he didn't even have his violin and refused to fiddle with one of the school's instruments for hours to get it to sound right. Scott had apparently read the books about him and made wild assumptions about the type of house mate Sherlock might be based on said descriptions.

Only they weren't descriptions of him, were they? But that of another mutant posing as him which has it's own existential quandary. Yet another thing to keep him up, but it's not the reason for this night's delay.

Sherlock sat at his desk, the head of recently used needle jammed into the wood as the detective idly twirled it. Since his untimely stumble to the universe he currently sat, he'd been falling back into nasty- comforting- habits. Who would scold him for it? Who did he have to disappoint? Closing his eyes, Sherlock lifted the syringe and tossed it back down again to make it stick in the desk. He couldn't think like that. He'd never get home if he did.

His addiction isn't the reason for the delay, either. He'd grown used to the ache that plagued him, homesickness, he supposed it was, but tonight it had taken a more aggressive approach. The ache permeated his entire being, and soon he found himself biting his lip as he imagined a thick cock pressed heavily against his tongue.

He missed his husband. His voice, his presence, his scent. But in that moment, he missed his cock the most. Sherlock exhaled, dropping his head into his hands. He could handle the situation himself- he tried to handle the situation himself, but he only managed to get three fingers inside of him before he realized he needs more. He needs someone else's hand, someone's cock.

It takes twelves steps to stand outside of Logan's door. Sherlock clad in just slacks and a half open button down as he raises his hand to knock but he stops. What would he say? Logan had flirted with him when he first arrived, but it didn't take long to realize Logan flirted with anyone old enough.

No, this is stupid, he decides, and turns to leave just as the door opens and Logan leans against the door, fist planted on his hip. Sherlock tries to glare again, to give him the coldest shoulder he can manage, but Logan looks good. Tank top that leaves nothing to the imagination, and pants hung low enough on his hips that Sherlock can see a trail of dark hair that he foolishly follows with his eyes before they snap up to Logan.

Logan's grinning- no. Smirking. And Sherlock feels his face flush, already predicting how their conversation would go.

"Why are you still awake?"

"Started smellin' you an hour ago. Wanted to see how far you got before you set out lookin' for help. Didn't expect you at my door, though. You're jus' full of surprises."

"You can smell me? I'm insulted."

"No, you're not. We gonna keep doin' this or you gonna admit you're here for an easy fuck."

"Not many people I know would sound so proud to be considered easy."

"I know what I want. Do you?"

Sherlock knew the more he spoke, the more likely he was to talk himself out of this. But what would he do? Try to sleep again? Because that'd gone so well the last four hours he'd tried. He couldn't exactly take another hit unless he wanted to risk over dosing. He needed relief. Logan was that relief. Sherlock hesitates, and he can see Logan inhale to begin speaking.

So Sherlock surges forward and kisses him before he can. He doesn't want to talk, he doesn't want to struggle with making an excuse neither of them would believe. Sherlock's here for one thing, and he'll get and then be on his way.

Logan's hand around his waist is confirmation enough that Logan's just as interested in their encounter as Sherlock. He pulls him into the room, free hand shoving the door shut before both hands are on the detective, lifting him off the ground to carry him to the bed. It's second nature to wrap his legs aroung Logan's waist, one arm braced around his shoulders while the other slides a hand into waves of black.

They're almost to the bed when Sherlock grasps Logan's hair and forces their lips apart. The air between them is hot as Sherlock pulls to force Logan's chin up and bites the underside of his jaw.

"Sit," He commands. "I want to ride you."

His response is a throaty groan, but Logan obeys and sits on the edge of the bed, Sherlock set firmly in his lap. The friction is already better than what his fingers had to offer, and Sherlock is too far gone to concern himself with how improper he might look grinding against the outline of Logan's cock. They move together in just the right way, electric pops of pleasure rattling up Sherlock's spine until he needs more. There's too many clothes in the way.

With a growl of his own, Sherlock stands and steps away to get his trousers off while Logan pulls his shirt off and shifts just enough to free his dick from fabric constraints. Sherlock stares- leers like a stranded man who's just spotted a rescue boat on the horizon.

"Christ," Logan begins, and Sherlock watches as his gaze moves up and down to take in the entirety of him. "You're gor-"

"Don't speak," Sherlock's hand covers his mouth as he moves closer, keeping the hand there while the other strokes Logan's cock and holds it steady. He feels precome smear the inside of his leg as he lowers himself on Logan's waiting cock. It'd been too long since he last felt this full, since he felt his body stretch and that bone deep ache was finally satisfied.

He doesn't fully seat himself. Despite his earlier efforts, it's still a lot to take and he lifts himself up just enough so only the head of Logan's cock remains inside him. Beneath him, he can feel Logan shiver, and Sherlock's grins, the gesture laced with pure deviance. His movements remain shallow, teasing. He feels Logan's arms and legs go taut the longer he plays the game until two large hands finally grab his waist and pull him all the way down.

His breath catches, his cry caught in his throat as Logan's cock sits fully inside him now. Even with his head thrown back, he knows Logan's smirking at him, and Sherlock gathers himself enough to finish what he set out to do.

With hands press to Logan's chest as leverage, Sherlock moves with a singular purpose in mind. His pleasure. Chasing that elusive high he couldn't give himself. It's mounting, he begins to shake with the strain of maintaining his rhythm, but he doesn't stop. He buries his face in the crook of Logan's neck and rides him home.

Logan smells like home. Like sweat, and smoke, and pine. Shit. He's so close, he just- he- he needs something.

Logan's climax surprises him. But it's precisely what he needed to fall over the edge with him. His cock pulses inside of him, and just knowing ribbons of hot white seed follow every jolt sets Sherlock's nerve alight all over again.

He forget he's holding Logan's mouth until the man bites him and it's enough to jolt Sherlock out of the post climax endorphin rush. Jerking his hand back, Sherlock glares. But Logan only grins.

"Stay the night?"

"No, that won't happen." Sherlock stands, hands tight at his sides as he feels the overflow of Logan's spend run down his legs. "And this never happened."

Before Logan can make another witty remark or make Sherlock's ears burn anymore than they already did, Sherlock shoves his legs into his trousers and snatches his shirt from the floor. He leaves without looking back.

[httpsserene]

hey can I request something that’s angsty to fluff and then smut for Oscar where reader gets a ton of hate for dating Oscar so she kind of ghosts him for a bit and they figure things out

𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐢 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐰/𝐨𝐩𝟖𝟏

📖𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: oscar really just wants to hear you laugh again. 📖𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴: 18+ only. angst. fluff. happy ending. reader is exhausted physically and mentally. reader's internal monologue is not not nice. bad eating habits. bad sleeping habit. self-deprecation. don't worry she's back on her bs at the end. reader neglects herself (?) and her relationship. implied self-sabotage. people are mean. don't worry oscar is meaner. oscar piastri is a good boyfriend. emotional hurt/comfort. tenderness. intimacy. baths and pampering. crying (non-sexy). implied sex. implied bath sex. logan and lando as plot devices. no beta we die like my will to live during finals. 📖𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 5.1k words. 📖𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: oscar piastri x fem!reader 📖𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: oneshot w/ blurbs. 📖𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗸: best i ever had • drake

𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗮𝗰𝗲: sorry it took me so long, i've changed this fic like multiple times :/ hope it fulfills you request properly :))) this is not my favorite thing in the world, i feel like if i went on a smaller scale i would've enjoyed this more but what can you do. this is also not very black reader coded? idk but feel like it's lacking there. i also apologize for my inability to write an oscar fic without including lando, he's such a willing plot device though even if he's a little ooc. i also couldn't find the mental space to write smut but there's smth for you at the end. dedicated to us women in stem! i hope you have fun reading this because i didn't have fun writing it :)

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oscar is worried. you haven’t responded to his texts for a week, he hasn’t seen your face for two weeks, and he hasn’t heard your voice for three weeks. four weeks ago, you told him you wouldn’t be able to fly out to see him at the austin grand prix, like you promised. you sounded exhausted and incredibly guilty when you explained that your course load this semester is extreme, and finals are rapidly approaching. oscar understood; he won’t ask you to sacrifice your education for one of his races, there will be plenty you can come to in the future. what he doesn’t understand is how you’re still functioning. it’s your senior year of university at an american ivy league school, you're pursuing an engineering degree, and you’re also working nearly five days a week as a barista. oscar thinks the last time he’s seen you relaxed is before your fall semester started, you spent your entire summer break with him, making appearances at the only three races you’ve been to this season (silverstone, hungary, and spa). the last time he recalls seeing your smile and hearing your laugh is in august—it’s the end of october now. 

you’ve been ghosting him. oscar wants to believe that it’s unintentional, that it’s just a side effect of the amount of work and pressure on your shoulders—but he can’t accept that. if you were unintentionally missing his calls, facetimes, and texts, you’d spam respond to all of them with a voice message or paragraphs of texts before you went to bed or class. you would send him daily or weekly recap videos of how life is treating you, like you used to do. you would send him stupid videos of you messing around on your shifts during a pause of customers. you would send him thirty reels a day on instagram of brain dead shenanigans with little captions of how you reacted, or if you thought it would make him smile. you would send him fit checks every morning before you went to class, even though your outfit consists of a hoodie and sweatpants. you would send him tiktok edits of himself and tell him that he needs to stop being ‘so hot’ because you almost barked in the middle of class. you would ask him how he’s doing, you would respond to his texts the minute you could even if it's hours late, you would leave him voicemails if he doesn’t pick up, you would make an attempt to communicate. 

except, you haven’t. so, he knows that you ignoring him is intentional, and that your lifestyle right now makes it easier for you to disguise your avoidance of him as accidental. 

you didn’t say ‘i love you’ back. 

“mate, what are you frowning for?” oscar jumps, eyes flying up from the phone screen and meeting lando’s. the brit is staring at him in confusion, the two of them are still in their race suits, tied around their waists. the sprint race ended an hour ago, and they’ve just finished celebrating oscar’s win.

“you’ve won a race, oscar—what could possibly make you sad after that?” lando says teasingly. but, the smile on his face is quick to fade as he must see oscar’s dejected mood.

the australian debates his next move for a moment, before deciding that telling lando isn’t a bad idea; they’ve been getting closer—they’re friends, oscar would say. he sighs, and hands his phone to lando, maybe he’ll tell oscar he’s worrying over nothing.

“oh,” lando says, eyes widening, “i’m sorry, mate.”

oscar brushes off lando’s words, and buries his face in his hands, “she’s pulling away from me. that was five days ago, and she hasn’t answered any of my calls. she’s only responded to my texts since then with one word answers or very dryly. she’s ghosting me.”

oscar feels lando fumbling for words, not needing to look at him to know that the older man has no idea how to go about reassuring oscar.

“look, mate, if it were me i’d go see her anyways.”

oscar huffs, “she literally said she doesn’t have time.”

“oscar,” lando stares at him in disbelief, “she hasn’t seen you in two months. i guarantee she’s probably dying to see you again, fuck whatever time she doesn’t have. she also can’t ghost you, if you see her face to face. you should go and try to fix whatever’s wrong, before you let her slip away.”

“maybe…maybe she’s just burnt out,” oscar suggests shakily, “i’ll go see her after the triple header–i’m probably just overreacting about this. she’ll be back to her usual self in time.”

oscar is enraged. he’s pissed off at his fans for attacking you in a sick twist of ‘defending him,’ ‘protecting him’ and the supposed ‘ownership’ they think they have over him. he’s pissed off at you deciding to ghost him instead of confiding in him about the hate you receive. he’s pissed off that his flight to you has been delayed for four hours. he’s pissed off at his race in brazil, if you can even call what happened a race. he’s pissed off at the fact that you can’t make time to see him before vegas. he’s pissed off that you lied to him about picking up extra shifts at the cafe.

he stalked through your instagram the minute after he was allowed to escape debrief, hunting down your roomates accounts from where you’ve tagged them in an older post. he innocently made a group message to the two girls, figuring it would be kind and proper to inform them of his impending arrival to surprise you. and the two girls you shared an apartment with responded eagerly to his message telling him that you’ve been extremely stressed and almost depressed this semester, and that hopefully his appearance will break through to you in a way they are unable to. oscar asked them if they knew your work schedule for the week, since you never told him when you're working–and learned that you lied. you didn’t accept any extra shifts, matter of fact, you got all of your shifts covered for the next two weeks. apparently, all you have been doing is going to class, working, studying furiously, and crying. when he asks if there’s any reason besides the stress from work and school that has you crying, the girls decline to speak for you, and strongly suggest that he asks you himself when he arrives. 

oscar’s no longer pissed at you for lying to him or for ghosting him–he’s hurt, but, he already understands your motive. you don’t want to worry him, so you bottle it up and distance yourself to not make him aware of how you're struggling. he won’t let you carry the weight of the world on your shoulders alone anymore, he’s going to see you and he’s going to take care of you, and then he’ll sort out the ignorant people on the internet.

when he’s at your apartment, you’ll be coming home from your last shift before your time off. and then, once he has you in his arms, he can make everything right again.

your hands are shaking; a result from the mix of stress and exhaustion that has been plaguing you for a few weeks. it takes you four and a half attempts to unlock the front door to your apartment—this is an improvement, yesterday it took you six times. a trembling sigh of relief exits your lungs as you shut the front door, triple checking that you lock the door properly. you remove all of your outerwear and slip out of your shoes, half-heartedly making an attempt to neatly place them in the organizer you have by the door. (you fail to register how there’s only two pairs of shoes stored away; yours and a pair of shoes that look too big to be one of the girls you live with—the usual sneakers the girls wear are nowhere to be seen.) you grunt as you tenderly put on your backpack and slowly make your way into the kitchen, off-handedly murmuring a “hi,” in the direction of the living room since you can hear the tv playing, but you don’t even spare a glance to see which roommate it is—you can’t stomach anymore human interaction today.

your walk is more of a waddle; your legs and feet are sore from working nine-hour shifts five days in a row, and also from going to class four out of those five days. you place your backpack on the small island, and continue to gently meander towards the fridge. your stomach aches at the thought of food—which is unfortunate, considering you’ve only had one meal today. regardless, you will shove a sandwich down your throat, you need the energy if you’re going to study for three hours before you go to bed. 

you pause before you open the fridge, a note is stuck on the door with a magnet. your roommates are gone; the two girls have spontaneously decided to go spend the weekend with their boyfriends—you’re not going to complain, you have the apartment to yourself. a brief wave of loneliness washes over you, you were kind of looking forward to venting about the week you had to the girls in the morning, and also, couldn’t they have texted you this earlier today? who leaves old-fashioned notes on the fridge anymore? you pull out your phone to send a text in your group chat wishing them a nice weekend, and see that they did, in fact, text you that they would be gone—three days ago. and, you never responded, because you never saw it. you shrug, and send the text anyways, you’ve been incredibly busy and you’re bound to miss a few texts (especially the eighteen texts from oscar that remain unopened). 

you're just going through a little bit of a slump, and you’ve had a bad day. you accidentally messed up three orders today (out of the hundred you fulfilled, so three isn’t really terrible), your running off of four hours of sleep (you’re more energized when you sleep less, anyways), and a customer accidentally bumped into you as you were walking to bring coffee to a table, causing the hot liquid to spill and burn a little spot on the back of your hand by your thumb. well, you know it wasn’t purely accidental, as the girl giggled to the group of friends she was with after she “bumped” into you. based on the way she was wearing a mclaren hoodie, you can make several guesses as to why she did it—you’re kind of shocked that she noticed you even though you wear a mask at work (you have for about a month, too many fans have noticed who you are), her hate for a relationship that’s not hers should be studied for science. 

incidents like these have made your coworkers start to…dislike you. the decrease in tips when you’re assigned to the register causes you to be forced to be hidden behind coffee machines the entire shift, only making drinks the entire nine hours you’re there. it’s better for you though, at least you can have a physical barrier blocking the prying eyes you feel are judging you the entire time. if anything, the recent atmosphere at work made you want to put in your two weeks—but, you have bills to pay. you’re just glad you managed to find a way to get two weeks off so you can focus on school and prepare for your exams—you can’t afford to fail, it’ll cost your scholarship and then you’ll need more than the job you have right now to finish school.

the buzzing of your phone pulls you back to the present—oscar’s calling. you squeeze your eyes shut for a few seconds, before you blink and silence the ringer. if you speak to him, you won’t be able to hide your troubles from him any longer; he reads you as easily as a kid’s picture book. he definitely doesn’t need to deal with your problems after whatever the hell happened in brazil. the noise of your phone startled you into a new thought, however. if the girls aren’t in the apartment, why the fuck is the tv on? who did you greet when you walked past the main room without a glance?

“i was calling to tell you that i’ve got takeout from the asian restaurant you like, if you’re looking for something to eat,” oscar says gently.

it’s a testament to how extremely exhausted you are: you don’t scream, you don’t fight, you don’t run—you just flinch slightly, and turn around slowly to face your boyfriend…the man you’ve been avoiding for nearly a month. at the sight of him (his fluffy hair, his soft sweater, the confused and concerned glint in his eyes) your lip starts quivering, and your eyes start watering. oscar’s gaze softens into something sweet yet empathic, and he says, “i know it’s been a while since we’ve last talked, but i didn’t think you’d cry at the sight of me.”

you burst into tears with a sob, and in a second oscar’s got you wrapped up in his arms, one hand soothingly massaging your back, while the other cradles your head on his shoulder. your borderline hyperventilating, your tears have started to soak his sweater, and you’re sniffling every two seconds to avoid getting snot on him too. oscar doesn’t try to quiet your tears, he doesn’t ask about what’s making you cry, he doesn’t even try to tell you that everything will be fine—he just holds you as you cry it out and presses kisses into your hair. eventually, the flow of tears dries and you focus on pulling in shaky breaths of air to calm down. oscar switches to holding you to his chest with one arm while he uses the free one to reach across the counter and grab a tissue. wordlessly, he wipes the wetness off your cheeks and under-eyes, he even uses another tissue to wipe your nose, clearing away the snot that managed to escape. you almost start crying again at the tender treatment and the matching look in his eyes, but you muster enough strength to keep the happy tears from falling over the waterline. 

oscar nods once, deeming his cleanup complete, and clears his throat, “i’m going to heat up the food. then, we’ll eat and you’ll tell me what’s wrong and if that has anything to do with why you’re ignoring me.”

there’s no attempt from you to keep the façade up any longer, all you do is nod and step to the side so he can grab the food from the fridge.

oscar has already cleared his plate and you’re still picking through half of yours. the two of you are sitting on opposite ends of the couch, teen wolf is playing on a low volume, and your eyes are tunneled on the screen even though oscar can see that you’re not paying attention at all. one of the characters is screaming about having to get his arm cut off (stiles, probably) and suddenly you start talking to oscar.

“it’s been a shit semester. if i wasn’t graduating in spring, i honestly think i would’ve dropped out or taken a gap-year. and, i knew what i signed up for as an engineering major, and i knew that working was only going to add more on my plate—but, it’s not like i can quit my job, i have bills to pay. so, juggling school and work is difficult, and i was managing fine. but, i guess i made the mistake of scrolling through twitter—which is truly my fault i think—and everyone on the internet was calling me a ‘terrible girlfriend’,” oscar watches you scoff out a choked laugh, “and, i obviously didn’t believe i was. in the beginning, at least. i mean, it’s like they expected me to be at every race by your side, like i’m not working my way through a hellscape of a degree. i watched every practice session, qualifying, and race—they’re literally the only hours i don’t spend studying or working. i brag about you to everybody who would listen, i missed hours of sleep just to speak to you on the phone for five minutes, i work as hard as i can so i can finish this degree early so i can be with you as early as possible, and they say that you deserve a better girlfriend.”

you pause and rub at your eyes furiously, mouth opening and closing as you take time to find the words to continue. oscar quiets the flare of anger at your distress, and stays silent, not wanting to interrupt your speech, this is the most you’ve said to him in a month.

“the thing is: i-i i let their words get to me. i think it’s because i was being kicked while i was down—or whatever the phrase is. i was already mentally exhausted, and i already believe that i’m not doing my best this year, i’m disappointing everybody who knows me, i’m a shit student—and just seeing everybody agree, even though they’re just randoms on the internet, tore me down. i even deleted all of the apps off my phone,” your voice has shifted into something desperate, “so i couldn’t see what they were saying about me anymore, but it’s like once i saw it, it never left my mind. i feel like everybody is staring at me with condescending eyes, like they all think i’m terrible. and, logically, i know that’s probably not true. but, this semester has pushed me past the point of being able to rationalize properly. so as a result, i have become a ‘terrible girlfriend’ to you; like a twisted self-fulfilling prophecy.

“i avoid your calls, i leave you on delivered for days, i respond with one word, i lie to my friends and say i was up all night talking to you on the phone when i was really crying and studying at the same time, i hold back from bursting into tears in the middle of my shifts when one of your ‘fangirls’ spills their drink over me for the third time. and while doing all of this, i was hoping you’d do the hard part and just break up with me,” your voice rings out sharply and you refuse to look at your boyfriend, afraid to see the look on his face.

“because…” you whimper slightly, tongue flicking out to lick at your lips anxiously, “you do deserve a better girlfriend.”

oscar is lost for words at your conclusion; seeing you, one of the strongest women he knows break down, is a sight he never imagined. a sense of guilt builds within him, knowing that he’s added to the deprecating thoughts in your brain by postponing this intervention for weeks. you may think that he deserves someone better, but he hasn’t been the best to you either recently. if oscar was half the man you think he is, he would’ve never allowed you to avoid him in the first place. oscar stands up, collects your plate and his, and places them on the coffee table. he turns and drops to his knees in front of you, resting his hands on your thighs, and squeezes them gently to grab your attention. it takes a minute, but eventually you allow your eyes to fall to meet his, and oscar breaks further at the lack of light in your eyes.

“i think,” oscar starts quietly, “that you expect me to break up with you and leave—am i guessing correctly?”

you blink down at him and shrug, biting your lip to prevent it from quivering.

“i also think, that if i flew all this way to see you, and that if i listened to your heartbreaking recollection of how this semester and how the world has been incredibly unkind to you, and that if i sat here and still broke up you—it’s not me that deserves a better girlfriend; it’s you that deserves a better boyfriend.”

stunned, you stumble over your disagreement, but oscar steadfastly continues.

“you did the right thing by deleting your socials—and that would explain why all three hundred of the reels i’ve sent you have gone unseen,” he laughs lightly, “and even if their words took root, you prevented yourself from being able to see more of it every time you used your phone; so even if my pride is not needed, i am proud of you for doing that. i’m even more proud that you sat here and told me that you aren’t doing well, that you didn’t make an attempt to lie, and that i didn’t have to force you to tell me,” oscar says seriously, holding steady eye contact with you to make sure you're hearing him.

“i wish that you would have mentioned the hate you’re receiving as soon as it started, and that you would have told me your mental health was suffering too. you know i do everything in my power to avoid reading anything with my name in it unless it’s a credible article—so imagine my surprise, when i learned about what people were saying about you through a twitter thread logan, of all people texted me about,” you snort out a laugh at the feigned disdain in oscar’s voice when he mentions the american driver. 

“you know i have no issues embarrassing people on the internet for their incorrect claims—and i’d especially tear them to shreds for trying to drag you down. we’ve been together too long for you not to come to me about things like this, even if it’s something that mildly upsets you—i want to know, because then i can make it better, or i can at least try to. you haven’t complained to me about the grueling lifestyle once, as i worked my way up to f1; if anybody could be perfect, it would be you. so, let me try to be as perfect as you, and support you properly and thoroughly as you finish up this degree, baby.

“we’re soulmates, aren’t we?” it’s a question, but oscar states it like a fact, “and i know i can’t magically make the self-loathing disappear with one conversation, but i'll tell you that you’re the best girlfriend i’ve ever had countless times, until you believe me unquestionably.”

oscar watches your nose scrunch cutely as you sniffle, unable to stop the tears that leak from the corners of your eyes. sweetly, he catches them with his thumb before they fall. he stands up and tugs you to your feet, pulling you into a tight, warm hug. 

“i love you, kanga,” oscar coos as he kisses your forehead.

“i love you the most, roo,” you answer back, leaning up to press a kiss to the corner of his lips.

“i’ve bought some lavender epsom salt and an embarrassing amount of bath bombs. will you let me take care of you tonight?” oscar asks quietly.

he sees the mix of awed-disbelief and confusion as you stare up at him, like you can’t imagine why he’d want to love you tenderly tonight, and that hurts him more—the words of his ‘fans’ online have done enough damage to cause you to doubt him. maybe he can convince you to come to vegas with him so he can keep you close, but first, he needs to focus on caring for you here and now.

oscar grabs his duffle bag and smiles as you hold his hand to lead him to your room and the attached bathroom (rent is ridiculously expensive, but at least you don’t have to share a bathroom with your roommates.) oscar sends you to grab pajamas while he starts filling the tub, epsom salt already poured in. he fiddles with the temperature for a while before it’s set to the boiling-your-skin-off hot you enjoy. by the time you join him in the bathroom, he’s added the salts and soap in the water and has placed the bath bombs out for you to choose one. oscar can’t help the small smile that rises to his face at the sight of the serious furrow of your brow as you pick out your favorite from the bunch. 

oscar hums as you hand him the jade-infused bath bomb, and asks, “can i wash your hair too? or will it mess up your schedule?”

“i actually really need to wash it,” you murmur with a humorless chuckle, “i’ve been so busy that i haven’t been taking care of my hair properly.”

oscar blinks and continues non-judgmentally, “i’ll give you an extra scalp massage to make up for that—you can start getting undressed now, the water’s nearly ready.”

he turns around awkwardly, he’s seen you naked before but he feels like it would be slightly perverse to watch you while you’re clearly in a more sensitive state tonight. he fumbles with the faucet for a few seconds before turning it off, and drops the bath bomb into the water so it can start dispersing. oscar faces you again carefully making sure he avoids staring at your body and locks eyes with you, he beckons you forward with an outstretched hand and holds your hand as you submerge yourself in the water. once you’re settled comfortably, oscar grabs your hair products (he holds up any bottle he thinks you may not want to use tonight, and you give him a thumbs up or down to decide), and then kneels at your side.

he starts to roll up the sleeves of the hoodie but your hand halts his motions, the water splashing loudly at the quickness of your movement, “you’re not getting in with me?”

“uh,” oscar stutters, “i-i wasn’t planning on it. i just wanted to give you a nice bath.”

oscar pinkens as you stare at him wordlessly and when your unimpressed gaze shifts to a slight glare, he finds himself shedding his clothes and sinking in behind you at an impressive speed. 

his heart began to race as the two of you shifted into as comfortable of a position you could achieve in a too-small tub, but calmed at your pleased hum as you settled between his legs with your back resting on his chest. this may be the most romantic experience oscar has ever indulged in. sure, it’s not a candlelit dinner at an obnoxiously expensive restaurant but, it’s him detangling your hair, it’s him massaging shampoo into your crown, it’s him scratching softly along your scalp as the deep conditioner sits, it’s you playing with the water innocently, it’s you whispering every detail of your life that he’s missed out on, it’s you gently directing him through braiding your hair, and it’s him pressing kisses to your shoulder when he finishes. there isn’t a single moment where the two of you become unsettled during lapses of silence; the intimacy of his actions is loud enough to fill the gaps. oscar can’t imagine ever being this comfortable with anybody besides you, he hates that he almost allowed you to pull completely away from him. moments like these, where you allow yourself to be thoughtlessly vulnerable with him, are exactly why he’s completely enamored with you.

your body has loosened against him, muscles syrupy and lax from the effects of a toe-curling scalp massage, and oscar gently guides you to sit upright while steadying most of your weight with a single hand splayed against your abdomen. the sound of the cap of your body wash clicking open startles you into the present, and you shift around to straddle his lap. it’s amusing; he inaudibly chuckles at the sight of you struggling to complete your change of position without sending water over the edge. you make a triumphant noise when you’ve managed to turn around to face him, and oscar’s hands cradle your hips when you rest on his lap. 

“can i–”

“shouldn’t you–”

oscar bursts into laughter and you into giggles, at the interruption of each other's sentences. it’s definitely not that funny, but oscar’s heart skips a beat at the sound of your laugh–he hasn’t heard that sweet noise in what feels like forever. he motions for you to speak, ever the gentleman, and eagerly awaits for our question with a smile still stretched across his lips.

“shouldn’t you fuck me before we wash up? so we don’t have to clean up twice?”

oscar chokes on his breath, his grip on you tightening in surprise, and he babbles, “what? no-i mean, yes, i mean—wait. i didn’t do all of this just to have sex with you, you know that right? i genuinely just wanted to pamper you–”

“oscar,” you cut him off, intentionally this time around, “after the semester i’ve had, and the less than kind words i’ve heard and thoughts i’ve had describing myself–i really do appreciate the bath, i feel reminded that you love me. however, i really think that having sex would help…solidify your devotion for me.”

oscar blinks up at you, he wasn’t quite expecting you to return to your normal sassy behavior as quickly as you did. but, he is thankful that you’ve opened up to him with no further hesitation–it’s actually incredibly attractive of you, how you’ve resumed complete comfortability in expressing exactly what you want to him. at least, that’s the excuse he’s telling himself to cope with being half-hard already.

“...at least let me take you to bed, then?”

“no,” you whine down at him, your hips sneakily twitching forward, oscar moans lightly at the light grind, “too far! saves time later if we don’t have to come back to shower.”

“you’re right,” oscar hums distractedly, moving his right hand off your waist to slip between your thighs and brush along your cunt, “i’ll fuck you here as long as you let me do all of the work.”

oscar’s blood heats at the sound of your whimpering moan and he takes his other hand off your waist to grab at your chin and he pulls you down for a kiss.

oscar groans when you pause before your lips touch his, and he feels the breath of your giggle ghost over his mouth, “mmm, i’ll never say no to that—and, didn’t i agree to let you take care of me tonight?” 

taglist: @saintslewis @cherry2stems @lorarri @inloveallthetime @mindless-rock @biancathecool @barnestatic @my-ylenia @katekipshidze @darleneslane @lovingaphroditesworld @smoothopz

© httpsserene2023

[minispidey]

nsfw mayhaps.. but Logan with a Younger!Witchy reader? But like witch practitioner not a blood witch? shes chubby, looks like a witch, acts like a witch? maybe she wears a costume witches hat and rides him? he finds its weirdly hot and just jackhammers into her 🥹🫶

Not beta we die like old man Logan/j, just random thoughts and english is not my first language. This is not in my usual fanfic format. I do make longer fics but I'm taking a well-deserved break from long fics. So yall are just getting thoughts/ headcanons from me.

NSFW 18+ MDNI (warnings: just rough sex dw)

LISTEN i live for witches especially when I have the mindset of a goldfish— thinking of really tight thigh-highs that squish reader's thighs (for the sake of consistency in my blog, let's say she's a little dumb. casts a spell to make a cupcake and she makes a cake in shape of a cup, etc. aka a witchy 💕bimbo)

Soft pouty bottom lip sticking out as she straddles Logan and he's pushed her panties to the side to push his cock inside her warm pussy. Logan's hands are on her waist, squeezing as he settles her down on the very base of his cock, fully sheathed inside. Witchy!bimbo whimpers while she holds on to her hat and whines, complaining about how pretty her dress was and it was all wrinkled because of him.

Logan sweet talks to her, but also mockingly. He doesn't care, but it was fun teasing her and acting like he does.

"Owww..." you pouted after he pulls on your thigh-highs and snaps it against your skin. His rough hands rubs circles around that same spot before chuckling "That hurt, doll?"

"A lot..." as you sigh, you sat back down on his cock before wiggling a bit, feeling all the veins on his cock around every corner of your tight core.

You feel him grab hands full of your ass. He slowly rose you up, his nose resting in between your breasts before slamming you back down on the base of his cock which rendered you helpless. Your hand fell from your hat and to Logan's hard chest. He quickly catches your hat and held it on your head "Don't go dumb on me so quickly. We ain't done."

You jolt up as his cock continued to bully you. He wouldn't even stop to breathe (jk). He let out animalistic grows as he kept slamming his cock inside of you relentlessly. If it was a war, you would've waved your white flag a long time ago. But god... pleasure is a spell you can't just cast.

is my english ok :0 too sleepy to tell

[simping-on-the-daily]

Some Kind of Angry Beaver

Summary: The Wolverine’s massacre has made you lose everything. Your friends are dead, you’ve left home, and the world’s hatred for mutants grows worse. You promise to yourself you’d have a few words to him if you meet again, and you do, at one of the shady bars where you both grieve your losses.

Notes: Reader is a mutant and was with Wolverine for a brief time, very very brief implications of sub!Logan. Not romantic anymore, and yes the title is from ERB deal with it. Worstie is a lot more sad and pathetic since this is early post!slaughter, gender neutral reader, not beta read we die like this universe’s X-Men, I wrote this in a day and it’s absolutely gonna show

Warnings: Logan killed some of Reader’s friends in his rampage, story is based on grief and death, mutant racism, Logan tries to kill himself but he comes back dw, and a whole lotta swearing

Before you met him, you had no clue what a wolverine was.

You’d barely heard of it, having skipped over it in some animal documentary to focus on more interesting animals, like sharks and alpacas. When you passed by a bar with a few cage fights, you heard the name Wolverine for the first time. When looking at the man’s body, admittedly luscious hair with canines and claws, you had assumed a wolverine was some type of dog or cat, before nailing it down to a wolf. Wolverine, wolf, they just added some more syllables to make a difference.

“It’s a weasel.” The man who you now knew was called Logan answered curtly upon your question, looking away from the bed which smelled of steamy intimacy from last night, and thus, turning away from you, who was on the other side, putting your clothes back on.

“That doesn’t seem very threatening,” You quipped back, putting your shirt on. “The fuck’s a weasel gonna do to the lucky guy?”

Logan gave a quick grunt. “They should be more worried about what I’d do to them.”

“If you can avoid their little collars, that is. Fucking bastards and their dampeners.” You said with a sarcastic sigh. The Senate was trying to make them more commonplace, and though the clapback was fierce, you were still a bit wary.

He gave a quick hmph, and that was that.

You stayed together for a few months. It was unforgettable, to say the least. Watching that man squirm under your touch was an accomplishment for the ages, and the moment you made tears come out of his eyes you did a little victory dance in your brain. You bought him dogtags and things you thought he might’ve liked, while he defended your honor in your ring, beating the shit out of anyone who dared to shittalk you.

“You shouldn’t have, sweetie,” You jokingly answered, upon noticing that his knuckles were still dripping red after passing by a beaten guy carried by his friends, making small comments about how dumb he was. You noticed some scars subtly close in, and turned away, pretending you saw nothing. “His ego can’t take another hit.”

“Can yours?” He answered, and your only response was a pinch of his cheek.

Of course, it didn’t last. Nothing bad happened, you simply just went in other directions. Logan kept hopping between different clubs with cage fights, and you settled in a small town and made a life there. You never forgot how it felt to touch him, but you’d seen him in action. Dude could do just fine.

You got a job, and got your own group of people. Majority of them were human, but like hell if that mattered. You shared good drinks of booze together and you cared for them. Brittney gave birth to a child, and god that kid was the cutest, fattest little fucker you’d ever seen. A few years had passed since you’d met Logan, and by then you were content. Your abilities were accepted, you’d gotten your own little found family, and you comfortably nested yourself in the community.

Brittney and her new fiancé, Ken were going to NYC for a vacation, and trusted the rest of you with their child. For the best, you know now.

“The X-Men are dead. You should be staying here.” Charlie said, crossing his arms to the couple. He wasn’t exaggerating, the X-Men were dead. Their mansion was ransacked and their bodies were fucked. You remember holding in the urge to puke, as the censoring on the news was done horrible, all the guts and gore visible. Jayden didn’t, you remember, running to the toilet and letting out a combination of a vomit and sob.

“We can’t just cancel. I promise, we’ll be safe.” Ken said, though it was obvious he was nervous. “That money can’t just go down the drain, and we’ve shortened it to just two days.”

“The fuck’s the point on going a vacation, then?” You spoke up, eyebrows raised. Brittney looked at me, before back to her now crying baby, probably from all the arguments.

“I have a gun for a reason.” Ken shrugged, and you and Charlie died down. You knew you weren’t gonna win.

“Just….keep Hope safe, alright?” Brittney’s query ended the conversation, as you nodded before giving her a hug. Charlie left the premises, and later you’d see him in the casino, trying to drown out the worry you felt.

You should’ve pushed more. You should’ve tied them to a fucking chair, drugged them with some sleeping pills or whatever. Anything to prevent what happened. But you can’t turn back time, that wasn’t your mutant ability, and now your friends are dead.

So many people were dead.

You spent three days in lockdown. All from some….monster, indiscriminately slaughtering everyone in a path that couldn’t be determined. New York was fucked, Brittney and Ken were fucked. You saw their names on a list of casualties. Jayden wailed for the loss, and you let out a few tears yourself. This shouldn’t have happened, this shouldn’t ever have happened.

The three days ended, but it felt a lot more like an eternity of Hell. Your town wasn’t touched, but you still saw so much blood as you left your home. Nothing changed and yet it all changed. This didn’t feel like home, not anymore.

When the news told you the culprit of this massacre, you couldn’t resist the urge this time. You puked in your toilet, tears running down your face. Your friends were dead to someone who you knew, who’s cheeks you gently pecked. The hands that you once held were used to slaughter Brittney and Ken and so many innocent people. Logan had killed your friends, had killed you in a way.

The bodies were returned, and you cremated the couple at their funeral. You still had some tears to cry, face blank as you stared at their urns. That was your second last day in that town. Everyone hated you now, your mutant powers were despised once more after Logan fucked everything up. No-one looked at you normally anymore. Their gazes were full of hatred and prejudice and pity and god you fucking despised it. With the knowledge that Charlie adopted Hope and Jayden had absolutely run out of tears, you left, wiping your face as the downpour consumed you.

You passed by, traveling across without a goal. You became closely acquainted with the train and bus, and you once more learned to hide your powers, something that you never thought you’d have to do again. Any progress people might’ve been working on towards total acceptance went down the drain, organizations quickly scrambling to make speeches about how ‘one mutant shouldn’t define an entire race’. You would’ve agreed, but the carnage was massive and you still saw dried blood on some walls from the Wolverine’s rampage is you looked closely enough.

After it rained again, you sought refuge in one of the nearby bars. It smelled of shit of booze, and you took a seat near the front.

“Whatcha want?” The bartender asked, gruff in his voice noticeable, and you thought for a second, looking at all the glasses behind him.

“Second heaviest thing you got.” He nodded, and quickly poured some beer in a glass. You had him a note before drinking.

You comfortably fell in the routine, sitting in silence, all the other conversations providing ambiance to your casual misery. Then, like a lightning strike to a tree, it just had to end.

The door opened again. You didn’t care, but when all the conversation stopped, you looked up. You retched upon seeing the fucker’s face, and moved farther away from the door until you were on the opposite end of the counter.

Logan either didn’t notice or didn’t care, sitting at the counter. “Fuck off,” The bartender almost snarled. “We don’t want ya kind here.”

Logan pulled out a few coins. “Not a paying customer?” He spoke, as if he was ignorant to all the shit he pulled just a few weeks ago.

The bartender grunted, pouring him a glass of wine that was obviously cheap and old. The mutant accepted it anyway, taking a long sip. He shouldn’t be enjoying himself, you thought with disdain, he should’ve been rotting in Hell without a drop of drink and no flames to light up a cigar.

The ambiance stopped, no-one wanting to talk while the beast was around. For some fucking reason, you didn’t move from your seat, and so you were just a few meters away from the ex who took so much from you.

After five drinks, you had enough. You got up from your seat and left some change behind as a tip. A more conscious you wouldn’t have tipped someone who was likely a mutant racist, but you weren’t really thinking. You wanted out, you wanted away from the monster, you wanted away from that bloody wolf.

You walked a few steps away from the building when Logan came approaching you. You paused in place, perhaps by the audacity of his actions.

“I’m sorry.”

Your eyes widened, but you gave a small growl, turning them narrowed again. “For what?”

“I wronged you.” You always did need observational skills to become a good tracker.

“Their names,” You shot back with a snarl, “Were Brittney and Ken, and they were heading to New York. They did nothing to you. And you still killed them.”

“I did. I’m sorry.” He repeated, as if that would make it any better.

“I don’t care if you’re sorry!” You yelled out, pointing a finger towards the other mutant as you took a step forward. “You slaughtered my friends you fucking bastard! You lost your family, big whoop, what right does that give you to make mine too, you bloody prick?!”

You had thought about this type of scenario before. You wouldn’t give him a verbal beatdown, no, you were too classy for that. You’d say one sentence that would crush his resolve and leave him astounded as you walked away, knowing that your friends were at peace. But you were drunk and angry and your family was fucked over because of this one man, and so you went on, like a lion going overkill when it finally encountered their prey.

“I wish I never fucking met you! It’d be sooooo easier if you were just some psycho rando, but I fucked you! We slept in the same bed and I kissed you and god I fucking knew you. You were one of the X-Men, you were supposed to save the world, but all you do is make things worse!” You sobbed, dropping your hand to your side as they shook.

“And it’s god’s greatest wish that you die alone and scared, just like your fucking victims, but it’s also god’s little gift that you can’t die! And you just had to in-fucking-flict it upon all of us! All you do is make things worse for everyone, you ruined everyone’s life, you ruined my life, god fucking damnit!” You put your face into your hands and sobbed. You must’ve looked so pathetic, having this breakdown on the road in front of your murderous ex.

“I should’ve tried harder.” You murmured weakly to no-one in particular. “I should’ve stopped them. Shouldn't have relented when Charlie did. Should've done more……” Tears and hands muffled your voice. “But I didn't and now they're fucking dead.”

You finally looked up, and just like you, Logan's face was covered in tears. Good, you thought. Let him suffer.

“Should've been there for them.” You didn't expect him to talk. “Should've gotten off my ass and done something. And now they're ten feet under cuz’ I didn't.”

A stray sob escaped your throat again, looking at him, covered by rain and tears and now the moon was out. “Guess we both fucked up, huh?” You tried to smile, head tilted, with it only just looking broken and fake.

“They'd all be disappointed.” Logan confirmed somberly, as he thought back to Colossus and Professor X and Scott, all too aware of their hypothetical reactions if they knew of his actions.

“The X-Men were supposed to be heroes, weren't they?” You looked up at the stars, and held a hand up like you were trying to catch them. “But you were always the best at what you did, and what you did was never heroic. You told me yourself.” Answering your own question, your hand flopped to the side again. The stars didn't feel so luminescent, not right now.

Logan gave a small grunt, trying to wipe away his tears. “I know. I'll carry it for the rest of my life. It's what I deserve.”

“It's what you deserve.”

You spoke at the same time, before you gave a fake small chuckle. “God, you're fucking horrible.” You paused for a second, letting out another pretend giggle. “Thanks for telling me what a wolverine was, Logan. Cuz’ I know that you’re the fucking worst one.”

You lunged forwards and punched him in the cheek. It hurt like hell, and Logan didn't flinch, but fuck did it feel good.

“Fuck you, Logan. I hope you rot in Hell, you bitchin’ bastard.”

He only nodded, tears still cascading down his face as you stormed away and walked away, just like you did to your home.

You found yourself sitting on a bench, still raining and still wet from your encounter. Your ass was fucking freezing. Maybe you deserved it for being such a bad friend. You wouldn't be here if you had been there for Brittney and Ken. You had a lot of tears in your body, you realized, as you sobbed once more, grieving the loss of everything you once had. God, you hated beavers.

Logan hated himself too. That should’ve made you feel better, but it didn’t. You were still just as empty and sad as you were this morning, just this time you were drenched and drunk. You looked up at the stars again, and though they were still just as dull as they were when you encountered Logan, you still gazed anyway. They were all you had left.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Logan rushed into the dump he called a home, a retch stuck in his throat as he frantically searched. Your words were repeating once more, becoming one with the fucked up chorus that was his mind, mocking him for even considering that you’d want him back. It was a passing thought that he immediately disregarded, but the voices milked it, acting as though he’d been pining over you for years.

He’d never forgotten you, you were important to him. But you moved on, and so did he, and he tried to shoot his shot with Jean. But Jean’s dead, and you weren’t, and you hated him. As you should, he didn’t blame you, he hated himself. And yet it somehow stung.

The cacophony roared with laughter at his turmoil, and he clutched his head, praying they’d get out. He couldn’t handle your voice, he couldn’t handle Jean’s voice he couldn’t handle Colossus’ voice he couldn’t handle Scott’s voice he couldn’t-

Finally, he found it. He snatched the gun that was hidden in the sofa, a desperate last resort who times like these, when they wouldn’t stop. His finger stroked the trigger almost tenderly before putting it to his head.

“You know this isn’t gonna work, right?”

“Bro forgot he has a healing factor. Did all that killing make him braindead or what?”

“You don’t deserve to die. You deserve to live with this for the rest of your life.”

He knew that. He deserved all this pain, but Logan was never the paragon of morality. He was a selfish prick, who ruined everything he touched and yet he was the last one standing. But he wanted the voices to go, he wanted them to stop, and he wanted to stop crying because God it’s just been a dam breaking on his face since you yelled at him.

He was alone, and he was scared. Just like you wanted him to be. He embraced the trigger, and felt tranquil as the surge of bullets went through his brain.

It was only serene for a few minutes, but for Logan, the worst Wolverine who killed so many innocents, who ruined any chances of the world accepting mutants, who drunk so much it got his family killed and still drunk? Even a second of that serenity was a touch of heaven that Logan didn’t deserve.

[drowninginblox]

The Tell

Based off of this scene (SPOILERS FOR XMEN '97) I am back on my nightcrawler bs!!!!

Have some angst and hurt/comfort to bide yall. I'M WORKING ON PART 3- MIDTERMS HAVE ME BY THE SOUL!! Yall know the drill: 2nd person bc idgaf GN pronouns for yall (I think?) No beta we die like (spoilers)

He was gone. You were across the world and you knew he was gone. In a step, in a breath, in a waining thought- all silenced by the wind in your hair whispering "Gambit's Dead"

You rushed home as soon as possible, making it just a day before the funeral. Everyone was barely holding it together but seeing you after all these years, a ghost, sent waves. Logan, Rouge, and Hank were all indifferent to your presence, understanding but also contempt of the fact that now- now you show up, after years away. This is what got you back.

Scott was worse- not even bothering to speak to you, just walking away altogether. Jubilee didn't know you that well, but from what she knew and how she is, she took you in with a grain of salt. Smart girl- that one.

Kurt, now that was a reaction. Moments after you were let in, Kurt was getting tea for everyone and as soon as he saw you- everything fell apart. Not many people have had the displeasure of seeing the Nightcrawler angry. After all, the few who do, don't live to tell the tale. But now you've seen it thrice. But unlike the times before- you stayed and took it all.

All the vile curses, both English and German, all the arm motions and tears, all the looks of emotions so mixed it could count as a cocktail. When he was done, and stark silence filled the over-occupied room, he muttered. "Welcome home Windwalker." Before dacking your shoulder on his way out.

You knew you should have left at that moment but you stay ed for the funeral. As soon as it was over and Kurtis touched your heart once again, you started to walk away again.

You made it ten minutes before he came racing after you. "Wait." He called from behind you.

A sigh and half of a turn was the most you got before the brunt of a sword collided with your eye- sending you stumbling into a nearby tree. "You are not leaving until I'm through with you, Zepher." You wince. Not at the pain. You didn't bother to stand as Kurt readied his blades. You just closed your eyes and waited. A moment passes before Kurt shouts "Steh auf, verdammt! Get up and fight me!" The rage eminent in his voice. You open your eyes to see him looming from listed over a yard away. His stark eyes contrast the gloom of the landscape. Where this moment was pure mourning, he was nothing but firey disgust. Contemplation washed over you, but you got up. You didn't bother to ready yourself as if you could- Kurt was already on you, his swords slashing into you. Kicks sent you here and there while the memories of late-night training sessions made your tears mix with the downpour. Blood followed soon after.

Whether it be minutes or hours later, he was finished with you. On the brink of passing out either out of blood loss or exhaustion. He stepped back to look at you. "Warum liegt mir so viel an Ihnen?" He mumbles. You only swallow back the copper taste in your mouth. His eyes narrow, finally seeing you as the human trash you are. You close your eyes and hope that the devil is kinder than this fallen angel.

You wake to smoke. immediately sitting up and coughing out the vile intruder. You use your mutation of wind manipulation to give yourself a radius to breathe. Kurt appears next to you before grabbing your chest and suddenly teleporting you outside. He doesn't linger to explain whats going on- just leaving you to watch as these human-robot things destroy the manor. You take out a few that try to break in and even save Logan from one too. When the chaos is settled, everyone makes a gameplan- something something Rouge, something something Magneto- you were out for most of it. It wasn't until Kurt gripped your shoulder that you found yourself back in reality. Kurt stares at you for a moment before grabbing your waist and teleporting to the outside of the manor's green.

"I-If you want a round two... go ahead." You offer even though the bandages wrapped around your torso and arms are turning pink. "I know you wanted to for harder." You close your eyes. "Can I say something though?"A beat passes. you feel his tail swing against your ankle. "Make it quick." You nod. "I'm going to say I've changed, or that I feel sorry, or that I've repented- because... I don't think you care about that." You let out a breath. Your heartbeat is still racing. "But what I am going to say is, that when I left- I didn't do it to hurt you." Something builds in the back of your closing throat. "I- I had to leave to protect you. And I know it was stupid to not say anything- especially given our last conversation. But I had to go. Y-you mother-"

"Mystique."

You nod, and you feel your cheeks get wet. "She found my family. My blood one. And you know that I've been keeping tabs on them since I left- she said that she'd kill them and then go after you guys-" She tries to suppress the frown that was deepening. "I know that I should have told you but I was scared. You told me what your mother is capable of. And I couldn't just stand there so-" A weight envelopes you. A warm, protective, weight, that grounds you to the moment. You open your eyes to see the thing you've been dreaming of for the past decade finally become reality. Kurt's buried his head into your shoulder and holding onto you for dear life. For a moment you can only watch. But as reality slowly but surely seeped in, the cracks in the years-old walls finally led to you crumbling in the arms of your oldest friend. You return his hug, clutching him to make sure that this wasn't one of the most twisted dreams you've ever had.

His tail wraps around your calve. "I missed the west wind," He mumbled into your embrace. You hold him tighter. "And I yearned for the fallen angel."

[lewispitlane]

rest by this fire, and make you feel safe (osctober 2024)

link🔗

summary:

Or maybe none of that mattered, and this was just the way they lived. He could live with this. He could tame those flames, and feel normal again.

***

Or: Lando brings Oscar to his hometown, and some feelings happen

(Osctober Day 6: Autumn)

posted on ao3 on 6/10/24, gift for marinabaybubbly.

tags below:

chapters: 1/1 | fandom: formula 1 rpf | rating general audiences | warnings: no archive warnings apply I relationships: landoscar |

tag: @leftneb :))))

[stripedstarsblueflags]

for the hurt/comfort dialogue game - 6 and 21 for sargebon :)

MY FIRST PROMPT!! im so excited!

may have gotten a little carried away with this just a little. no beta we die like fourth of july at silverstone. TW for mental health

“Did you miss me?”/“You’re a terrible liar.”

When Alex emerges onto the roof deck of the hotel, he almost expects Logan to not be there.

Not that he thinks Logan would lie to him. But when Logan had finally picked up the phone after a day of missed calls and one-sided texts, the conversation hadn’t started well.

”What,” he’d snapped on the second ring. “This better be good. If you call me one more time I’m blocking you.”

Alex had been taken aback, flinching in place like a chastised kid. Logan’s tone was defensive, nearly a snarl; all the menace was aimed at Alex, but Alex had still felt more worry than fear. He’d seen Logan once since the crash, on his way back from medical. And then nothing.

”You didn’t answer me,” he’d said after a delayed moment. “I was worried about you. I didn’t see you since the cr– since practice. I was freaking out, okay?”

Logan a sound halfway between a scoff and a laugh. “You saw me get out of the car. I got cleared by medical in, like, two minutes. There are probably ninety people who could’ve told you I was fine.”

And Alex had bitten his lip against the sudden urge to yell into the phone, because that wasn’t fair. His pent-up frustration and fear and distress wasn’t Logan’s fault.

Instead he’d looked around his empty hotel room, paranoia coiling around his spine, and lowered his voice: “James barely even talked to you. Why would I trust anyone there if you were actually fine or not? The way they didn’t let me see you?”

”Wait, when?”

”All day! Jon was practically yelling at me!” Alex did shout then. He didn’t mean to, but the words tumbled out of his mouth with heavy and unrelenting force, like a weight he could barely lift. He took a shaky breath and closed his eyes, willing Logan not to hang up. “I just wanted to see,” Alex tries, then his voice was too quiet. He cleared his throat. “I just wanted to see for myself if you were okay because, Logan… it looked bad. Really bad.”

Logan took a deep breath and let it out slowly, static crackling through the speaker. “It wasn’t that bad,” he mumbles. “I walked it off.”

”Don’t try that with me,” Alex said. “I can hear it in your voice.”

”You don’t hear shit,” Logan retorted, but there was no heat behind his voice at all. He just sounded tired, and in pain.

Alex ignored the weak deflection. “Where are you right now?” he asked. “I know it’s late, but–”

”I’m on the roof,” Logan had told him, and that in and of itself was surprising. That Logan would answer him so quickly, and without any snark or rebuttal. That he’d answer at all. Alex thinks of the endless weeks of summer break, the endless silence between them.

”Okay,” he said. “Wait a minute, I just need to get something warmer on.”

The roof deck is large, with sweeping canopies and dead firepits, so many couches and chairs that in the dark he feels like he’s in a cushioned maze. Still, it’s almost completely empty, so it doesn’t take long to find Logan.

Alex joins him at the railing, panes of glass separating them from the dizzying drop below. He takes one look over the side and his stomach rolls; the glittering city lights and streaking cars blur together in a smear of vertigo. He white-knuckles the railing.

Logan had been impossible to read when Alex first joined him, but as Alex stumbles he reaches out and puts a steadying hand on Alex’s shoulder. “Woah there,” he says. “You can’t go over the edge, you’ve got a race tomorrow.”

His words sound like they should hold something sharp– resentment, jealousy, some bitter and unforgiving edge. But instead his eyes are smiling and he’s laughing around his words. The glow from the city underneath paints one half of his face in gentle gold, the rest of it purple from the nighttime shadows. His hair is wild from the wind, whipping around his eyes. He takes his hand off Alex’s shoulder to push his bangs away from his face.

Alex is wishing he’d worn something with a hood. The wind stings his cheeks and makes his eyes water. He shuffles forward, curling his shoulders in, and manages to put his hands back on the railing without collapsing. “Wind’s still crazy,” he mutters.

”You didn’t have to come up here.”

”No, no,” Alex backtracks, all but stuttering. “I wanted to be here.” He hears the desperation in his own voice, the eagerness to contradict, and cringes. Does he always have to sound so obvious?

Logan turns to face him. He has to lift one hand to the right side of his face to keep his hair back, and now his entire face is in shadow. Deep blue shadows hide his eyes. His lips look almost purple in the darkness. It makes Alex want to be closer just to see his face.

”What,” Logan begins, and Alex doesn’t see but hears the slant in his smile. The cocky way he tilts his head back, the way he lets his laughter slip into his voice. “You missed me that bad, huh?”

Alex is unexpectedly flustered. He looks away without meaning to, but that means he turns his eyes right into the gusting wind, and the stinging is sharp and immediate. “Ah,” he grimaces. “I can’t see.”

”You wouldn’t last a day in Miami.”

Alex is trying to protest that he’s lasted a day before, more than a day, admittedly without any storm activity on race weekends but his hastily formatted argument falls to pieces when Logan steps back to take off his hoodie.

His shirt rides up as he does it. Alex absolutely does not stare.

Logan tosses it at him. “Put this on,” he says. “I can’t talk to you while you’re losing a fight with the elements.”

Alex grumbles his protests but puts the hoodie on anyway. It’s warm with Logan’s body heat, a tender relief from the cold. It feels like being embraced. He sighs contentedly.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Logan taunts. “I’m gonna want that back.”

Alex pulls the hood up, and the sounds of the city at night fade away. The shrill rushing of the wind quiets and the clearest sound in the air is Logan’s voice.

“’ll give it back,” he promises. “Are you sure you’re okay, though?”

Logan tilts his head down and crosses his wrists over the bar. “I’m cleared to race tomorrow.”

”That doesn’t answer my question.”

”You’re not gonna let this go until I tell you, are you?”

“You know me too well.”

Logan scoffs, then closes his eyes like he’s given up. “There’s some bruising on my ribs and my shoulder that’ll take some time to heal. And I did something to my wrist getting out, but I can still steer, I’ll just ice it after the race.” He looks down at his right hand and turns it over, fingers curling slowly into a fist, then releasing. “That’s all.”

Alex waits.

“That’s all,” Logan insists. “I saw the footage. It looked worse than it was.”

“It looked pretty bad,” Alex whispers, and he doesn’t mean for it to come out as a whisper– a broken, unstable hush– but his voice won’t resolve. “I was scared.”

”I’m sorry.”

”Don’t be sorry.” Alex lays his hand over Logan’s outstretched wrist, and it shocks both of them.

Logan stares at Alex’s hand, lips parted, eyes still in shadow. Alex holds his breath, waiting to be shaken off, pushed, slapped. But Logan only stares.

Alex takes his other hand and slides it carefully under Logan’s, stabilizing the wrist. Alex has the sleeves of Logan’s hoodie halfway over his palms, but even through the fabric he can feel how cold Logan is. He steps closer.

“You didn’t get out of the car,” Alex says.

Logan tries to draw his hand away then, rolling his shoulders, but Alex doesn’t let him. He holds Logan’s hand tenderly but firmly, lacing their fingers together. Logan watches him do it without resistance, his face impossible to read, but his head is tilted just slightly in Alex’s direction.

”There was fire.”

”I got out.”

“Not when you should’ve. George told me. You just sat there. In the middle of the track. Burning…”

Logan squeezes his eyes shut, clenches and unclenches his jaw. “I didn’t know.”

”Logan, you’re a terrible liar.”

Logan lifts his head and looks steadily at the horizon, swallowing hard. As he turns back to the light, Alex can see the shine in his eyes. “You know,” he murmurs to the city. “Even before I hit the grass I knew, I just knew I was gonna lose it.” He pulls his free hand in and taps his fingers restlessly against the railing. “And then it all just–” he raises that arm and flings his hand out, miming a shunt. “It all just happened so quickly, I remember hitting the wall the first time and the car was in the air and I just thought, ‘This is it.’ This is the end.”

Alex tries to speak, but suddenly he can’t breathe. This is the end. He feels like razor blades are sinking into his throat, the concept whirlpooling in his head like the vertigo. He tries to close his eyes, it the burning afterglow of the city flashes behind his eyelids like fire. He holds Logan’s hand a bit tighter, needing to reassure himself that he’s actually there.

Logan winces, and Alex eases up a little. Logan doesn’t pull away.

“And then it wasn’t,” Logan continues. He pushes out the sentence in a stuttering breath, and the broken smile on his face clearly means he’s trying to laugh, but the sound is jolted and unnatural and he gives up. “And I just sat there like, No, this can’t be right. Like maybe I just had to wait for it.”

“No,” Alex chokes out. He looks at Logan through his tears, willing the other man to turn, to look at him, to give him the mercy of eye contact. He stares helplessly, but all he sees is Logan’s blurred profile. “Logan…”

Logan ducks his head again. “It wasn’t,” he mumbles. “I mean it wasn’t, like, over for me. I told you. I was fine.”

”If you’re waiting in a track when your car is on fire, you’re not fine,” Alex counters fiercely. It’s dark, but his tears are obvious in his voice, the way the words come out strangled an painful. He doesn’t care. “It wouldn’t just be the end for you. You know that, right?”

“What do you mean?”

Alex pulls his hand away so he can grab onto his hair, pulling in frustration. “You think we’d be fine?” he shouts. “You think everyone else would just move on after a fire like that? You think you can just leave?”

Logan finally turns to him then, but Alex isn’t done.

“We were scared. Fucking hell, you nearly gave George a heart attack. We thought something was wrong. We thought you weren’t gonna make it out!”

“But I did. It’s fine.”

“IT’S NOT FINE!”

Logan reaches out with his good hand and gingerly pulls Alex’s fingers out of his hair. Alex’s hands are shaking; Logan laces their fingers together, drapes their hands back over the railing. “Hey,” he whispers. “Calm down, okay? You sound like you care more than I do.”

“I think I do,” Alex spits out.

“Alex…”

“You can’t fucking leave.” It sounds like a demand, it sounds like a plea. And in a way it is; he’s begging Logan to understand, to show some regret, to somehow prove the danger is really over. “Please, Logan… it would kill me.”

Logan says nothing, just stares back. The wind ruffles his hair. He licks his lips.

”You can’t leave,” Alex insists. He’s repeating himself. He’s a broken record, but he can’t pull any more coherent thought together. The only thing that exists in his mind is the paralyzing urgency to make Logan understand. “Promise me that won’t happen again.”

Logan rolls his eyes. “That I won’t crash again?”

“You know what I mean.”

Logan looks down at their joined hands. “I don’t know why you care so much.”

It’s Alex’s turn to roll his eyes, putting as much exasperation in his heavy sigh as possible. “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that.”

Logan laughs bitterly. “What? You’re confusing me, man. You say you care, and then you’re yelling at me, you wanted to make sure I’m fine but you don’t believe me when I tell you I am? Like, jesus christ Alex, what do you want from m–”

Alex has heard enough. He steps forward and takes Logan in his arms.

Logan flinches at first, hands raising almost defensively, a shudder racking his body.

Alex is patient. Logan feels so cold and small in his arms; he’s never felt their height difference more. He runs his fingers through Logan’s hair.

Logan folds all at once, dropping his head onto Alex’s shoulder and staggering to the point where he almost topples them both. Alex stabilizes them as Logan grabs him around the ribs, hands crossed over the small of his back, holding too tight like he’s afraid Alex might let go at any moment.

Alex lets Logan hold him, hurt him. Logan’s shaking in his arms, hitching in breath, nearly choking. Alex holds him through it.

“I got you,” he soothes. “I got you. You’re not going anywhere.”

[livlusail]

NEW FIC JUST DROPPED GO READ!!

summary:

There are footsteps in the Malerhaus at night.

Max always hears light echoing footsteps, huffs of breaths, someone lurking in the museum in the dark.

-

or: charles is a thief and max makes art for a german billionaires museum, what could go wrong?

(the forbidden lovers au no one needed)

Rating: Mature

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: M/M

Fandom: Formula 1 RPF

Relationships: Charles Leclerc/Max Verstappen, brocedes if you squint

Characters: Charles Leclerc, Max Verstappen, Nico Rosberg, Lewis Hamilton (Formula 1 RPF), Pierre Gasly, Sebastian Vettel, Kimi Räikkönen

Additional Tags: Slow Burn, Museums, No beta we die like Logan Sargeants career, Forbidden Love, Friends to Lovers, Painting, Symbolism, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Idiots in Love, pierre the emotional support best friend

Language: English