#how do caregivers get a break?

[thiccherry]

being a caregiver is not easy wallahi I’ve never felt so hopeless

[coloredcompulsion]

Mithrun being a mostly autonomous disabled person with caretakers is incredibly important to me, building up routine habits in order to "fully function" while also still requiring help is so real tbh

[z0mbride]

everyday my job at a nursing facility pushes me towards smoking

[lubdubology]

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.

[briarpatch-kids]

Something I don't think many people who don't have complex rehab powerchairs realize is that the cripple tax for us is so much higher.

I'm going to preface this with the statement that if you have a CRT powerchair, it's generally because you will literally die without one. There really is no "suffering without" if you don't have one, insurance or government schemes will not pay for it if you won't literally die without. Pretty often with "some people NEED wheelchairs and can't get by without them" type posts, the tags are filled with "i need this but just get by without" so I wanted to make sure people understand under no uncertain circumstances that people die waiting for approval of these and there is no getting by without if you have one. Some people do need them and get by without, but they are in the "this would vastly improve my life" need category rather than the "I will either get this or die" need category.

Anyways, once you're in the complex rehab category of disabled, the price of being disabled goes up by a MASSIVE amount. I am just barely in the complex rehab category, and my powerchair costs $23,000. This doesn't include the seat cushion or positioning equipment which likely adds another $1,000 minimum. It also doesn't include maintainance (last year mine was over $1,000 in parts cost before labor) Back when my needs were only a custom ultralight wheelchair with the basic seating options, I paid $3,500 for it so you get some context in how much the price SKYROCKETS once you get complex. Off the rack "standard" wheelchairs start at around $250.

My ventilator costs $500 a month in rental for just the box, you cannot buy one only rent. This doesn't include monthly checks, or all the tubes and masks and parts I need, I'd be willing to bet that adds on another couple hundred bucks.

My shower chair? It's a specialized one because I can't use the usual ones and that costs $2,000.

Additionally, because I need a caregiver, that adds another $1,800 a month to my price of living. I am in a special cost saving program that pays my spouse to do my bathing, dressing, and toileting so that would be higher for anyone else as well. This is not for 24 hour care, it's for bathing, dressing, and toileting.

My wheelchair van that I need in order to go anywhere beyond a mile from my house (like the doctors office) and was bought used at an age old enough to vote, that we were given a special discount and tax breaks for, cost us $7,500. If you don't get an ancient shitbox (said with love) like we have, they're around $65,000.

The bathroom remodel we had to do so I could pee and get showered was $17,000 and did not include anything high end, it was the cheapest we could do that met my needs.

The wheelchair ramp was $15,000 before labor to set it up.

None of these costs were optional, they weren't "improve my life" types of costs, they are "this is the minimum I need to live" costs. I know people who have even higher minimum costs to live, I'm pretty low on the "complex rehab" disability scale.

Tl;Dr whatever you think the highest cripple tax costs are for severely disabled people, quadruple them.

[quinnysnursery]

you should do an informational post on caring for neurodivergent and/or chronically ill littles!!

caring for neurodivergent and chronically ill littles ! [a guide]

written by a neurodivergent little and a caregiver to a chronically ill little <3

[it should be noted that everyone experiences different symptoms/has different needs; i'll be focusing on sensory issues and chronic pain in this guide]

Be understanding !

It's important to remember for both caregivers and regressors that while something's may not make sense to us- that doesn't mean you can't be understanding.

You might not be able to feel the difference in fabric textures but your little/cg can.

Your legs might not hurt after walking short distances, but your little/cg's might.

These are real experiences your little/cg may deal with that you will have to be understanding of.

There may be times where your little/cg cannot play and need to rest, or times where games may need to be modified to ensure both of you have fun playing- reassure your little/cg that they are not burdens for needing accommodations !

Get creative !

"But Quinny, how can I make accommodations for my little/cg?!"

I'm glad you asked!! For neurodivergent littles/cgs, you may want to take extra time explaining the rules of a game or turning down the volume of shows/movies!

For chronically ill littles/cgs, low-movement activities such as arts 'n crafts or cozy pillow forts.

[There is a really great post by @mortuarymorticia about chronically ill carers that you can find, here!]

Be patient !

Flare-ups/Bad sensory days can lead to fussy littles.

Flare-ups/Bad sensory days can lead to caregivers needing breaks.

These are both okay! It's important to listen to each other's needs and limits; healthy cg/little dynamics work together to find compromises.

Tips & Tricks !

Finding dolls/books/toys with disbaility inclusive storylines/characters/features can do wonders!

Keeping fun/cute water bottles or sippy cups nearby! [Bonus points if you have some liquid IV on hand -- or just a electrolyte drink in general]

Mobiles are great for kiddos who need lotsa bed-rest!!

being chronically ill/disabled/neurodivergent does not make you a bad regressor/caregiver <3

[dividers creds to @softandsleepyboy]

-- with sparkles and love,

quinny 💌

[giuliettagaltieri]

His Girl

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Childhood friend!Reader

Chapter Synopsis: Featherless birds fall with a splat

Warning: Angst, cursing

Word Count: 4532

Part 1 • Part 2

You aren’t exactly certain how you’d feel with Rafe walking out on you like that. 

Partly, you were glad that you somehow managed to face him without breaking but the way his eyes bore on you, it was just awful, like you were physically causing him pain.

And perhaps you were. 

JJ saw how your mood has switched after you got your drinks.  Your eyes were all blank and you were spacing out.  He made the decision for you both to head back and meet with your other friends. 

You are sitting with your girlfriends, and JJ decided to join you for the rest of the night.  He was entertaining everybody with his overly exaggerated wild stories, trying to get you to focus on him, but your eyes are wandering on a certain someone.

Rafe was gulping down beer, cup after cup.  It was too much, even for him.

You understand he’s got an extremely high alcohol tolerance but this is just sad to look at.  His face was all red and his shirt was clinging to his back, soaked with sweat.

“You know, I really thought I could finally catch your attention with Cameron all gone.”  JJ suddenly leans on the sofa next to you.  You sigh, giving a quick smile without looking at him.  “But I guess it was stupid of me to swoop in when you are literally in love with him.”

Pursing your lips together, you look away from Rafe to glance at the man beside you.  JJ was looking sullen but a trace of smirk is still on his lips, never really looking utterly hopeless.  Sometimes you wonder how he was able to master such a carefree façade. 

“I really had fun hanging out with you.”  You say sadly.  “You’re a good friend.”

He scrunches his face.  “Good friend.  Yeah.”

“JJ, come on.”  You laugh at his blatant display of dislike at being called a “friend” but he breaks into a smile.  “I really enjoyed being with you.  It’s just I don’t…It’s too soon and Rafe-”

“I know.”  He cuts you off, his eyes wandering to the man.  “He looks like shit.”  He mutters and you look over to see just in time Rafe doubling over, looking like he is seconds away from ruining the carpet.

Your back immediately leaves the sofa and you sit up straighter, ready to move whenever Rafe needs you.

“Y/N, he’s not a baby.  Let him take care of himself.”  JJ chuckles, making you bite your lip, still anxiously watching. 

Rafe looks like he’s about to collapse, he was clutching his head and grimacing in pain.  Soon enough, he was shoving people away and heading to the bathroom.

“I don’t know, J.  I haven’t seen him that drunk since…”  You squint at Rafe’ direction in the dark, trying to find a memory to match.  “I haven’t seen him that drunk.”

JJ’s brows slowly rise.  “Really?  Not even when his father found out he did drugs?”

You shake your head.  “No, not even then.”  You slowly rise from the couch and JJ lets you go. 

“Well, I suppose he can’t be left alone, can he?”  JJ smiles somberly and you return it apologetically, still thankful that he’s supporting you right now.

Your girlfriends however were not so keen on the idea.

“Y/N, where do you think you’re going?” 

“Ladies.”  JJ starts, throwing you a wink.  “Have I ever told you about that time we fought actual gators?”

You take your time, heading to the bathroom.  Your usual caregiver spirit when Rafe is in need has been dampened and you’re not sure she’s making a recovery soon.

The music gets muffled the deeper you go into the dark hallway.  The entire house is still buzzing from the music of course but you no longer feel like the speaker’s up your eardrums.  And with every step you take, the more you hear.  You are careful where you step, making sure your feet don’t step on any creaky floorboards.

You stand there, face to face with the bathroom door, hearing Rafe being absolutely wasted.  And is he crying?  You bite on your knuckle, brows meeting just a little as you try to listen.

Quietly, you twist the knob open.  He was retching, big arms hugging the tiny toilet, his head almost all the way in.  You stand there, watching his shoulders shake.  His sobs sounded almost hysterical, ripping from his throat.

What has happened to you, Rafe?

“Rafe?”  You gently call his name and he turns to you.  His hand absentmindedly tried to flush the contents of the toilet, missing it multiple times.  You watch him sag, his entire body sitting on his ankles as he looks up to you helplessly.

“Hey.”  He drawls.  “Wha... wha' are you doin' here?”  He asks casually in a coarse voice he got after barfing his guts out.  His heavy-lidded eyes look up at you, watching you hesitantly walk towards him.  “Shouldn’t be here.”  He shakes his head, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

“Rafe.”  You say his name so gently, he closes his eyes.  He’d pay just to hear you say his name again and again.  “Are you alright?”  You ask and he looks up at you dumbly, mouth slightly parted before nodding slowly.

“Yes.”

You fish out your own handkerchief and run the tap over it, just enough to dampen the fabric.  “You don’t look like you’re alright.”  You smile, a hint of teasing on your voice and he scoffs.

“Why ask when you don’…don’t believe me anyway?”  He gestured stupidly with his hand and he stills when you grab the said hand.  He looks up at you as you wipe the sick off his arm.

“You drank too much.”  You mumble as you start to step closer to him, your hand cupping his cheek to wipe at the corner of his lips.

“No, shit.”  He wanted to say but the words are stuck on his throat as he just stared at you, taking care of him, touching him, just looking at him again.  He drops his hands and his limp fingers rest on the cold bathroom floor.  He is feeling too much, how your ankles brush on his thighs, the warmth of your fingers, and the soft dampness of the fabric gliding on his chin.

Have you always been like this to him?

Rafe wonders if he just sat still while you tended to him before, would he have this sight of you all those times.  Was he so stupid he missed all opportunities to look at you like this?

“Come back.”

You pause.  “What?”

He shakes his head before looking at the pinstriped polo you are wearing.  His brows creased, teeth clenching in annoyance as he pinched the fabric.  “This…this is mine.  You’re wearin’ MY clothes while you’re kissin’ other guys!”  He fumes, hands clumsily tugging at your clothes that your knees almost buckle, your hand finding purchase on his shoulder so as to not fall.  “That’s fucking un…unacceptable!  You like ME!  You can’t go ‘round kissin’ other guys when y’ like me!”  He suddenly yells and your eye twitches.

Your finger jabs at his chest.  “Fuck you!”

Rafe’s glassy eyes widen as his breath gets caught in his throat.  Did you just…did you just curse at him?

“Fuck you, Rafe!”  You repeat in annoyance.  Blood boiling within seconds as you angrily run a hand on your hair, scoffing at the sheer audacity of this man to say those things to you. 

You glare at him again and he actually flinches.  “Don’t tell me what to do.  You have no right to decide for me.”  You angrily strip off the pinstriped polo, his head following your wild motion before you crumple it in a ball.  “This is your polo?”  You raise it and he nods hesitantly, still in shock at your outburst.  “Here!”  You throw it at his face and you watch it cover his head, his hands are sluggish as he slowly pulls it off. 

You’re heaving in frustration both hands on your hips as you look at his crestfallen face, bunching the fabric in his large hands.

“Then I can go kiss other guys now, huh?”  You say out of anger and you watch his shoulders sag as he brings his hands to the floor again, fingers twisting the fabric.

He looked absolutely wrecked and your heart starts to feel heavy again.  You cross your arms, leaning on the wall as you watch him stare at the floor.

“Why shouldn’t I be allowed to kiss other guys?  You made it clear that you don’t like me.”  His head shoots up when you say that.  “I’m not waiting for you forever.”

Rafe presses the heel of his palms against his eyes before he looks at you in agony, face all red, his bottom lip jutting out just the slightest.

“Y/N, please.”  He moves to you, still on his knees as he loosely wraps an arm around your thighs.  You looked up at the ceiling when he stared up to you desperately.  “’m sorry, please.  Don’t leave me ‘gain, please.”

You attempt to push him off but he hugs your thighs tighter, his head pressing on your stomach.  “Rafe, let go!”

“No!”  He sobbed, his shoulders shaking.  “You’re mine!  You like me! Not sharing you with that…that fucking pogue-”

“Rafe!”

He flinches again but he doesn’t respond, only hugging you impossibly tight.

“You have to let me go.”  You say more calmly, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. 

He shakes his head against your stomach.  You lean further against the wall, trusting it to hold you up as you surrender, sighing out your frustration as you rub his back, letting him cry on your stomach.

Perhaps JJ was wrong, about Rafe not being a baby.  You truly feel like you are calming down an overgrown toddler.  A toddler that fed on steroids instead of milk.  His arms are tightly wrapped around you, just allowing you to breathe and aside from that, you can’t do anything else.  Your free hand that didn’t get caught in his trapping hold, tried to soothe him, trying to tell him that you’re there, with him.

You run your fingers through his buzzed hair, feeling the heat and sweat cling on your fingers.

“You’re a mess.”  You mumble, a small smile playing on your lips when his shoulders eventually start to stop shaking.  “You got snot all over my belly, ugh.”

Rafe loosens his arms around you and wipes his nose, his eyes glaring at you for a moment.  You smile at him smugly as he gathers himself.  He clears his throat as he stands in front of you, eyes kept on the polo that he crumpled on his hand like a ball.

“Wanna wash your face?”  You giggle.

He glares at you again but actually does what you told him to and takes the mouthwash you casually hands him.  You nudge him with your shoulder to get him to scoot over so you can wash your handkerchief.  Rafe watches your hands get under the faucet, just calmly watching the water glide over your skin, delicate fingers wringing the fabric that you so gently wiped on his face a while ago.

“’m sorry.”  He slurred as he watched you tidying up.  “Was so stupid.  Sayin’ things that I don’t mean.”  He continues, eyes starting to get desperate as you just rifle through your bag, not even looking at him.  “Sorry for causing you trouble all the time.”  He follows you like a puppy when you move past him to head to the door.  “Please, don’t leave me again.”

You grip the doorknob tightly before it loosens in defeat.  Rafe’s eyes brighten up when you turn to look at him.

“Why do you boys suddenly become the most honest people when you’re drunk?”  You ask exasperatedly, also remembering JJ’s confession on the porch.  “But then again, you could just be spouting nonsense.”  You open the door this time but he puts a hand against it to close it again.

“I’m not.  Please!”  Rafe almost begs, his entire frame caging you against the door, his respect for personal space long forgotten as there’s nothing else in his head but to try and get you to understand, to believe.  His tongue is heavy and his head is murky due to intoxication, which made him all the more frustrated.

You press your lips together, startled eyes boring into him.  You have known that Rafe has an extreme and overwhelming side to him, his entire presence just smothering you in the best ways you can imagine.  But with you trying to hold on to the fragile thread of anger and stability, you decide to push him by his chest.  “Why don’t we uh…grab coffee?  Let you sober up?”

He runs a hand on his face, it’s becoming a habit of his when he’s around you.  “Fine.  But don’t disregard everything I said just because I’m ‘drunk’.  Please.”  He said the last word with emphasis, his eyes offering no bargaining, prompting you to nod.

“Alright.”

Rafe looks into your eyes for a couple more seconds, making you understand that he is not willing to accept a half-assed response and you need to take him seriously.  He slowly backs up, hands shoving into his pockets while you tongue your cheek, hesitantly opening the door for the both of you.

The blasting music thrums in your ear the deeper you get into the party, maneuvering your way in the sea of hormonal teens.  A hand wraps on your wrist and you stop to look who it was.

It was JJ, heaving.  He probably ran the moment he saw you.  “Hold on, you’re leaving?” 

Rafe was quick to pull your hand away from JJ’s hold, immediately squaring up.  His chin was titled in a challenge as he eyed the flowers and bows decorating the band-aid on JJ’s chin.

“Rafe, please.”  You beg, arms circling on his bicep to stop him from doing anything to JJ, who didn’t look the least bit afraid.  In fact, he was looking at Rafe in pure entertainment.  “JJ, I’m sorry.  I’ll just talk to you tomorrow, okay?”

“No, you won’t!”  Rafe seethes but you only roll your eyes at him. 

Kissing his teeth, JJ nods.  “Yeah, sure.  Let me know if you need anything.”  He eyes Rafe one more time and smiles at you in his usual relaxed manner.  “I’ll tell your friends you left early.”

When you finally made it out of the crammed up beach house, you closed your eyes at the nipping sea breeze.  You can’t believe you’re leaving the party with the person you have been trying to avoid for weeks.

“Keys.”  You mutter and Rafe hastily digs through his pocket, his hooded eyes blinking as he tries to locate his keys.

Your deadpanned eyes watch him for a few more seconds before he finally passes it to you, along with the pinstriped polo, which you hesitantly take.

He felt weird, having to take the passenger seat, especially when it’s you with him.  Rafe gets in the car, his eyes on you the entire time you drive.  You’re not exactly acknowledging his presence in the car with you, despite his entire body twisted to face you, his head that is leaning back on the chair never turned to any direction but yours.  He didn’t even know you arrived until you were taking off your seatbelt.

Rafe follows you quickly, nearly tripping on his way out.  But he plays it cool, pulling his shirt down when it rode up.  He meets your eyes briefly in embarrassment.  This entire experience is ruining alcohol for him.

Even thinking about the mess he made in the bathroom, with you witnessing, made him want to smash every bottle that will ever grace his eyes again.  That shit’s evil.  Rafe blinks at the brightly lit convenience store, not yet able to process the colors of the different flavors of ramen and chips.  He closes his eyes tightly, nearly driven to overstimulation and seeks out a chair, collapsing on it as he attempts to massage away the bounding pulse on his temple.

He feels you place a hand on his shoulder and the scent of coffee fills his lungs.  Rafe looks at you briefly and the swirling liquid placed in front of him.  You sat yourself on the chair opposite his and your glossed lips wrap on a straw, sipping on your tall cup of slushie.

After muttering a quick thanks, Rafe picks up the coffee, tentatively blowing on it and watching the steam blow off in your direction before taking a sip.

Your cheeks heat up at the groan he lets out when he takes more sips.  His shoulders are slightly hunched and you quietly admire his physique as you continuously slurp, watching his intoxication being masked by caffeine with every gulp he takes. 

Realizing that you’re staring, your eyes slowly shift outside the glass, cheeks all warmed up.  Rafe sets down his coffee and just takes his time to look at you.  He does not know if it’s still the lingering effects of alcohol in his blood or the overly bright lighting in this rundown convenience store, but you look like you’re glowing.

“Y/N.”  He attempts to speak but you shake your head.

“Give it time, please. Coffee doesn’t magically cure intoxication, you know.”  You smile softly to reassure him.

Rafe smiles back before taking another sip.  He watches you turn to the road outside again.  There you were, in front of him again after weeks of not seeing each other, just sipping on sugar and ice as you swung your feet that were clad in babydoll heels, with pretty straps that he always found cute and alluring.  Despite the cozy choice of clothing, you never go without a statement piece.  

He steals another glance at your clothes, along with the pinstriped polo you decided to wear again.  He takes another sip of coffee.  “It looks better on you.”

You look down on your clothes, lips pressing together before giving him a curt smile.  “…Thanks.”

“Sure.”  He nods.  Both of you look at each other for a while, not quite certain what to do with the still tense atmosphere before simultaneously looking away, like a couple for teenager going on a first date, it’s fucking ridiculous.

Time passed with not a single word being uttered between you.  Rafe watches how the coffee stained a line on the cup every time he takes a sip, the liquid now cooled, and your slushie cup was starting to sweat and leave trails of water everytime you move it.  His eyes were starting to focus again and once he was confident in being able to speak without slurring, he cleared his throat to garner your attention.

“Listen.”  He begins but the words lodge themselves in his throat the moment your curious eyes flit to him, perhaps this was a bad idea.  He never knew what to say.  Rafe doesn’t know if he can last one conversation without offending you somehow.  “I know I hurt you.  And I know it wasn’t just that time at the party.”  He presses a knuckle on his lips to gather his thoughts.  “I always take you for granted, when all you ever did was take care of me.”

You cross your arms in an attempt to make yourself feel protected as you lean back, eyes avoiding him.

“Your kindness and efforts.  Your…feelings.  They were so easy to overlook when you gave them to me every single day without fail.”  He tries to reach out to you but stops midway and drops his hands on the table.  “I never knew what I had until you decided to take everything away.”

Your eyes sharpen and he winces at his careless mistake.

“I mean, until I finally succeeded in pushing you away.”  He reworded his sentence, making sure to pin the blame on himself instead of you.  He hated how hurt he made you feel.  He felt like shit.  He never cared when people called him an asshole or a psycho, but after what he did to you, he felt like every label given to him was all real, and this time, it hurt.

He had girls before, and all the wanting he can associate with them is the feeling of fleeting euphoria when they’re under him, that is all.  Rafe never missed anyone, or anything about anyone.  Until you came along.

Rafe found himself in the middle of the night, missing you calling him by his name.  He missed your smile and scent.  His cheeks suddenly go wild red when he remembers the mess he made out of himself when he got your shirt, one you accidentally left in his room, up his nose during those nights when the longing just beats him up.

“I regret everything I said and done.”  He says, trying to get back on track to apologizing.  “And if you want to be my…friend again…”  He takes a deep sigh.  “I’ll do better.”

You chew on your bottom lip, eyes shyly meeting his, and you uncross your arms slowly.

“You promise?”

Rafe nods quickly, a small smile appearing on his lips as his hand darts out to hold yours.  “Yes, I promise!  Just don’t shut me out again.”

Gently, you shift your hand to wrap around his and he gladly holds yours back securely.

“I’ll try to be less…controlling too.”  You look away.  “I won’t bother you as much and I won’t cling to you in parties or wherever-”

“I thought we’re okay already?”  Rafe was dumbfounded.

“We are.”  You say, equal confusion in your eyes.

“Then why are you still staying away from me after this?”  He asks in frustration.

Your lips part, trying to form words but his statement just muddles everything up.

“I…I just didn’t want you to get fed up again.”  You say quietly and he grabs both your hands this time, pulling them to his chest.

“Baby, I don’t care, just come back to me, alright?”  He says quickly, you don’t think he realized what he called you just now.  “I don’t care if you call me six times a day to argue that raisins do not belong in bread or if you hold my hand in every party we go to.”

The heat in your cheeks slowly travels to your neck.  “Rafe.”

“You can have me drive you around the island when you get hungry at three in the morning.”  He beams in a surge of confidence and affection.  “I’ll let you fix my clothes as it pleases you so much, slap as many hello kitty bandaids on my face as you want.”  He laughs, making you smile too.  “I-I don’t even know what I’m saying right now, just please let’s go back to how we were before, yeah?”  He presses a kiss on your knuckles.  “I don’t want to hear any of this plan you have.  I just want you with me again.”

At this point, there really is nothing you can say and you can only nod.  You are glad that Rafe is satisfied with that response.

After a few more minutes of you catching your breath in silence, you decide to call it a night.  Rafe, now sobered up, decided to drive, and let you enjoy the passenger seat like you always do.

Despite the conversation you had in the convenience store, both of you can’t shake off the feeling that you’re forgetting something.  Like there is something you are purposefully holding back from each other, and it visibly makes you antsy, Rafe more than you.

He taps his finger on the wheel, tugging at the seatbelt every now and then as you continuously shift your eyes from the road and back to the car interior.

When he finally pulls over in front of your gate, neither of you want to move, still waiting for that something to happen.  But as another moment passes, you realize that perhaps it’s time to leave it here for now, to take things slowly, see where it takes you.  But he isn’t sure if he wants that, to see you slip away again, like the finest sand between his fingers.

“Uhm…thanks for the ride.”  You make a move to open the door but Rafe was quick to lock it, making your brows meet in a soft frown.  “Rafe-”

He cuts you off by clumsily pulling his seatbelt off, cupping both your cheeks to smash his lips on yours.  It wasn’t careful nor romantic, just pure unadulterated need and impulse.  You can feel the tremble in each other’s lips, the fear that one of you might pull away, the fear of what comes next, the fear of not having the other’s love returned in the same intensity.

But as your breath mixes, your tears soaking each other’s cheeks, your body slowly melts into each other’s arms.  He was desperate, biting and sucking your lips, everything in his kiss wanted to possess you, making your chest tighten in having everything you ever desired at this moment.

Rafe pulls away abruptly, a thin line of spit still connecting your lips when he looks deep into your eyes.  “Tell me you still love me.”  He begs while he cradles your face.

“Rafe.”  You push him away gently but he presses his forehead against yours, his shoulders shaking. 

“Tell me, please.”  He squeezed his eyes, not knowing what response he would be receiving.  He knows he’d die if you reject him, with his soul open and bared to you in its most vulnerable form.

His eyes slowly open when he feels a soft caress on his arm and you’re smiling at him with your tears cascading down your face.

“I love you.”

It felt like Rafe had winter melting in the palm of his hand, giving birth to spring.  Whatever doubt and fear is replaced with nothing else but sweet sweet warmth.  He is being shrouded with undeniable assurance that made him feel invulnerable yet ironically, impossibly vulnerable.  He had nothing moments ago, and suddenly he got a taste of everything, all at once.  He has you.  Just as you have him.

He laughs and kisses you breathlessly.  “God, Y/N, I love you.  I love you, I love you.”  He litters your face with wet kisses, making you laugh, before he kisses your lips once more, his teeth nibbling on your kiss-swollen lip.  “Mmmh, did you get a new lip balm?”

You gently pry his hands from your face as you continue to laugh.  He meets your eyes with sheer adoration, head still trying to wrap around the fact that you are his girl.  His girl.  His girl.

God, he’d gladly die if you told him to, just to prove his dedication. 

“I love you.”  He whispers gently, intimately, vulnerably.

And with equal passion, you reply, “I love you too.”

Rafe has never felt this kind of happiness in his life, not once.  You are his natural high, the ecstasy he’s been chasing.  And now that he has you in his arms, he’ll fight tooth and nail to keep you there with him.

Not Your Girl • Not Her Man

[whumpthefuck]

I love fear in Whump.

Whumpee shaking and crying when whumper enters the room. Whumpee is already making themselves as small as possible before Whumper even has a chance to do anything.

Whumper is just existing in the same room as Whumpee, and Whumpee is on the verge of tears in fear.

Whumpee so terrified of whumper that after they get rescued when they hear someone who just vaguely sounds like Whumper they break down into a panic attack. Tears streaming down their face like they're back in captivity again.

Whumpee's who flinch at fast movements and who are quick to apologize because they're so used to someone being constantly mad at them that it's reflex at this point to say they're sorry.

Whumpee who acts like a feral cat that's been brought inside for the first time when they get rescued. They stay in their room all the time, unless it's late at night, and they're sure caregiver is asleep or if caregiver leaves the house. Even then, they only leave to grab some food. Maybe Caretaker leaves food marked for Whumpee in Tupperware in the fridge, or maybe Whumpee just grabs whatever shelf stable food they can before sprinting back to their room, back to safety.

Whumpee who's so used to captivity that making their own choices, what to eat, what to do, when and how to clean, when to go to bed is so incredibly overwhelming. That they just end up lying in bed practically comatose, until Caretaker tells then what to do and how.

Whumpee that slinks around corners and exists in the shadows because even if they know caretaker is nice, and won't hurt them. They can't help their reflex to keep themselves out of view, out of the way. Quite and hidden is safe.

Whumpee having a full-blown panic attack & meltdown, the first time caretaker becomes genuinely upset at Whumpee. Whumpee is crying and hyperventilating, they can't see straight, and they can't get themselves to say anything but 'I'm sorry!' or 'Please don't hurt me!'.

[brazilian-girl02]

Papa's Girl

📚 Imagine: you, a little girl orphaned in Gotham a few months ago, you were born in crime alley. your mother was good, she took care of you with a lot of love, she had you when she was finishing college, she left the course and went to work as a caregiver in a private company;

📚 At school, you didn't have many friends. not because you were the daughter of a single mother, that's very common actually, but because you were strangely quiet. Your teachers always praised you for your intelligence, but you worried them, instead of playing in the school playground during break time, you went to the school library and devoured book after book;

📚 One day, you were at school. In the middle of class you were called to the principal's office, when you got there there was the principal and a police officer, the police officer introduced himself as Commissioner Gordon. he began to talk calmly about an attack by Scarecrow in the city... you didn't understand why he called you here, when you asked him he said that one of the fatal victims was your mother;

📚 You don't remember exactly what happened afterwards, when you realized you were packing your bags to go to the orphanage. you've heard what the city's orphanage system was like, everyone in the city knew. you had relatives, but they lived too far away or couldn't afford to keep you, so you could only go to the orphanage;

📚 You had a small bedroom in the old apartment you lived in, now you only had part of one of the bunk beds and a closet in a room that you shared with 2 other girls, the food was bad and they served small portions, the adults were apathetic to everything and the other children were cruel to you. they hid your belongings, they pushed you "unintentionally", if at school you were ignored by your classmates, here you were watched like prey all the time;

📚 Until one day you decided to run away, you prepared for a week. You managed to escape, it wasn't difficult as expected. you were on the street for week, you didn't even know how you did it, until one day everything changed;

📚 That day, you were walking after doing some errands to get change for dinner at one of the convenience stores nearby. when suddenly two guys arrived and started a robbery against you, you resisted giving the little money you had and when they went to attack you they were intercepted by one of "heros";

📚 It was Red Hood, you've heard of him because he worked near his old home. he dealt with the bandits, he speaks calmly like you and took you to a shelter, after he realized that you would not willingly return to the orphanage;

📚 You stubbornly continue to run away from the shelters he placed you in. you quickly grew fond of him and one rainy night he took you to his apartment, it was just for a few minutes so you wouldn't get rained on and left you in another shelter afterwards;

📚 While he was there, he gave you some clean clothes and let you take a shower, he soon saw that you were hungry and ended up making dinner. that domestic moment warms his heart more and he started a conversation with you, asking your likes and dislikes, he had researched you in the adoption system but he only knew the basics;

📚 Those nights when he made dinner for you became recurring, until one day you got sick and he let you stay in the guest room of his apartment. in the weeks that you stayed there with the red hood, that you discovered his name was Jason, he took care of you like a father, or more like your mother was;

📚 He bought you new clothes, stuffed animals, books. everything to make you comfortable and with you it got better, you and he had already created a father-daughter relationship;

📚 With some signed documents you became {you} Todd. he put you in a new school, Gotham academy, one of the richest and most prestigious schools in the city;

📚 He makes all the meals and teaches you some of his recipes. If you miss something your mother used to make, he researches the meal and makes it as faithful as possible;

📚 But if he doesn't have time or is on patrol, Mr. Alfred and Jason's friend, Barbara, take care of you. Jason reads books with you, helps you with your homework;

📚 On Fridays, the two of you have a movie night after dinner, watch horror films, animations, book adaptations and much more. He tells bedtime stories and even buys a light to help you sleep well if you're afraid of the dark or have trouble sleeping;

📚 He's the best father you could ask for, he doesn't try to erase your mother's happy memories with you. He wouldn't in any case train you to be a vigilante, he only teaches you self-defense for your protection, always putting your safety first and God forbid anyone from trying to hurt you... Batman doesn't kill and Red Hood doesn't he does this more, but Papa Jason is another story.

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

This was the winner of the vote, I hope you like it 😁

[vampyastro]

✧𝕬𝖘𝖙𝖗𝖔 𝕺𝖇𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖛𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘✧

~𝖕𝖙 𝟜~

Things I say may not resonate with you as everyone’s birth chart is very different and impacts them in different ways. I am not a professional astrologer, these are just some observations I’ve made over the years dealing with different placements. Hope you enjoy!

✩ Gemini moons are full of contradictions! They tend to always contradict what they say because their minds can be so crowded and overwhelmed. They also like to learn many things and their tendency to overthink/the multiple different perspectives they see can lead them to change their minds often. However, this isn’t always a bad thing because it allows them to be very open minded and always willing to listen to others ideas.

✩ When a Scorpio mars gets mad, it can feel as though all hell might break loose. The anger these natives bottle up inside of them and eventually release can be very scary.

✩ Having Libra and Cancer placements can make natives the biggest people pleasers and it can be very distressing for them. Saying ‘no’ isn’t going to end the world and it won’t make people hate you, I promise. You are more than enough! Have a bit more confidence in yourself, people are very drawn to your loving nature and there is so much good in your heart. Don’t let yourself get taken advantage of when people try to prey on your weakness, you’re better than that.

✩ Leo Venus nativesmay love theater and art. They like to express themselves and they shine while doing so! Their passion is radiant and they have beautiful souls. They are capable of so much love and they channel that into their art.

✩ Cancer mars can be a difficult placement to have. They feel emotions very deeply and intensely. They have a tendency to be natural caregivers; very empathetic souls. This can cause them to be in fear of hurting other peoples feelings and have their emotions bottled up until one day it all pours out. This can be very cathartic for them but also distressing. Strong feelings of jealousy and yearning can be seen with this placement. To all the cancer mars out there, just know we appreciate how tender your nature is! Don’t be so scared of things, you will be fine! (Side note, cancer mars reminds me a lot of mitski songs)

✩ Pluto in the second house can have deep self esteem issues. They may place their worth on their possessions as they feel they aren’t enough and due to the transformation powers of this placement, their income may be unstable. This leads an internal struggle between trying to fulfill the soul and placing less worth on what they have around them.

✩ Prominent virgo placements can sometimes be super overbearing. These people may need to double check everything and have a hard time relaxing. They can struggle with anxiety and can have control issues. In turn this can also make the native unhealthily retreat into their own minds as an escape from what they feel is chaos. Virgos, you’re doing great. Sometimes it’s good to take a deep breath and live in the moment.

✩ Aquarius placements (especially Sun and Venus) as well as Cancer placements are very good gift givers. Aquarius placements always come up with creative ideas that the person receiving usually loves! On the other hand, cancer placements value sentimental gifts. They may look for something that will touch you emotionally or it may be something they would cherish if they were the one receiving the gift.

✩ Capricorn risings really like to take the initiative! They can be the one in group projects to assign everyone roles and make outlines for the group. They like to seem responsible and dependable and they very much are!

𝓣𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓴 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓲𝓷𝓰! *:･ﾟ✧

𝓗𝓪𝓹𝓹𝔂 𝓝𝓮𝔀 𝓨𝓮𝓪𝓻 ♡

[blackenedsnow]

I have never requested before I hope I'm doing this right. You can feel free to ignore this.

But can I have Billy and stu (separate or together is your choice), Bubba Sawyer, Thomas Hewitt, Micheal Myers (original or Rz are your choice), Jason Voorhees, Norman Bates, and Billy Lenz. You don't have to do all. I don't really care who or how much you do. But them with a reader who takes care of their younger sibling. Kinds like the oldest sibling being a parent of their younger sibling

You can choose the age and gender but I would prefer a male and 4 year old kid but it doesn't matter. I just haven't really seen much of this and would really like more. I love your writing btw. Again you don't really have to do this and I feel like this request is long but just wanted to write it

slashers with a reader who takes care of their younger sibling ; headcanons

WARNING: None

PAIRING: Billy Loomis x Reader, Stu Macher x Reader, Bubba Sawyer x Reader, Thomas Hewitt x Reader, Michael Myers x Reader, Jason Voorhees x Reader, Norman Bates x Reader, Billy Lenz x Reader

NOTE: I’m so glad you love my writing! Your request is perfect, and I really enjoyed putting this together for you. Hope you enjoy!

BILLY LOOMIS

At first, Billy's not sure what to think.

Kids are loud and messy, not really his thing, but he’s intrigued by how seriously you take your role as a caretaker.

He gets protective over both you and your little sibling in his own way.

He doesn’t interact with the child much but will keep an eye on them, especially if things seem off.

Billy admires your strength and responsibility

He didn’t grow up in the best family environment, so seeing you take on that parental role makes him respect you even more.

If you ever need help with your sibling, he’s reluctant but won’t say no.

He’ll watch over your little sibling in his way—just don’t expect him to read bedtime stories.

STU MACHER

Stu doesn't really care for kids, but your little sibling is an exception.

He’s the chaotic big brother type, always joking around, making silly faces, and playing rough

...in a way your sibling enjoys.

He’s surprisingly great at distracting your sibling when you need a break, even if it involves a bit too much sugar or wild games.

Stu admires how you handle your responsibilities, but he’s also the type to encourage you to let loose and have fun with your little sibling.

He'll say something like

"Being a big sibling can be fun too, y'know!"

Sometimes, he’ll get your sibling involved in harmless pranks—nothing too serious, just enough to make you roll your eyes at the bullshit.

BUBBA SAWYER

Bubba has a natural, gentle side that shows around your little sibling.

He’s great with kids because of his own childlike nature and will immediately want to help you out with your sibling.

He’s protective but in a soft, nurturing way.

He’ll help with basic care—making sure your sibling eats, plays safely, and feels comfortable.

Watching you care for your sibling touches something deep in Bubba.

Family is everything to him, and seeing you take on that role makes him feel connected to you on a more emotional level.

Your little sibling will probably love Bubba’s playful, kind-hearted nature, and they’d get along well

Almost like having a second big sibling!

THOMAS HEWITT

Thomas is awkward around your little sibling at first.

He’s not used to kids, and his intimidating presence might scare the child a bit.

Once you show him how to be gentle, though, Thomas is (not surprisingly) good at it.

He’s careful and protective, and though he’s not talkative, his actions speak volumes.

He respects your role as the older sibling and quietly supports you in whatever way he can.

He’ll help carry your sibling, fix things for them, and even craft toys if necessary.

Thomas feels a sense of admiration for how you juggle being a caregiver.

It reminds him of the family dynamic he grew up in, where responsibility was a big part of survival.

MICHAEL MYERS

Michael is eerily silent around your little sibling, but he watches the way you care for them with curiosity.

He doesn’t fully understand the concept of caring for someone, but he’s fascinated by your commitment.

He won’t actively interact with your sibling, and in some strange way, he becomes protective of both you and the child

Like he’s observing a small piece of humanity that he’s long forgotten.

Michael doesn’t interact much with your sibling, but if anyone or anything threatens them, Michael steps in without hesitation.

He’s drawn to your strength as an older sibling.

It doesn’t make him soft, but it earns you a twisted sense of respect in his mind.

JASON VOORHEES

Jason has a soft spot for children due to his own troubled childhood.

When he sees how much you care for your little sibling, it stirs something in him.

He’s fiercely protective, acting as a silent guardian over both you and your sibling.

He doesn’t speak, but his presence is always there, watching to make sure nothing bad happens.

Your little sibling isn’t scared of Jason for long.

Once they see how Jason watches over you, they warm up to him.

Jason might even offer small gestures of kindness, like finding things in the woods for your sibling to play with.

Jason admires your strength and responsibility, seeing you as a protector like himself.

It forms a quiet bond between the three of you.

NORMAN BATES

Norman is gentle and polite around your little sibling, offering to help with anything that might make things easier for you.

He’s fascinated by the idea of family dynamics and your role as both sibling and parental figure.

It reminds him of his relationship with his own mother, in a twisted way.

Norman tries to make things comfortable for your sibling, offering snacks or games to keep them occupied.

He’s surprisingly good at calming your sibling down during tantrums.

However, there’s always a sense of unease around Norman.

His overprotectiveness can feel stifling at times, especially when he becomes too involved in your sibling’s care, as though he sees you as part of his own family.

BILLY LENZ

Billy is unpredictable, and your little sibling might be a bit nervous around him at first.

Billy has strange behavior, but he never intentionally tries to scare your sibling.

He doesn’t understand kids well, but once he realizes how important your sibling is to you, Billy makes an effort to be less creepy around then.

There’s a strange protectiveness that comes over Billy when he sees you caring for your sibling.

It’s almost like he’s trying to impress you by not being chaotic around the child.

He’ll watch your little sibling from a distance, occasionally making weird, quiet noises, but he’ll stay back unless you need help.

If anyone threatens you or your sibling, though, Billy’s unpredictable nature can quickly become dangerous.

[midniqhtt]

james ‘logan’ howlett

masterlist • x-men • 11/19/24

˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ · ୨ৎ recs two

one

𑣲 the great war I @pretty-little-mind33

When you get unwillingly administered the cure, you find solace in someone you don't think you deserve to see again.

𑣲 dear reader I @/pretty-little-mind33

You think Logan hates you but all he's doing is saving you from himself. He didn't think his plan would explode in his face.

𑣲 redamancy I @little-miss-dilf-lover

you often worry you can never keep up with your husband's continuous acts of love and care, your attempts always seeming to come up short. logan catches on and shows you that there’s nothing for you to prove.

𑣲 between your thighs I @logansbaby

𑣲 practice I @selfcarecap

Your roommate Logan lets you practise giving a blowjob on him for your date with another guy.

𑣲 sharing is caring ft. peter parker I @/selfcarecap

Your new teammate Peter Parker has a huge crush on you, and your boyfriend Logan has always wanted to watch someone else fuck you. It’s Peter’s birthday and Logan decides to share.

𑣲 muse I @/selfcarecap

Logan would never admit it to anyone, but over the course of his long life he has attempted to draw maybe once or twice. He hasn’t done it in years, maybe even decades, but he’s struck by inspiration when he meets you. Of course, no one can know that Wolverine draws, so he does it in the dead of night, sliding anonymous envelopes with the finished drawings of you under your door. When he sees how much you love them, he wonders if you could also love the person behind them. 

𑣲 suspension bridge effect I @d1stalker

You saved one of the younger mutants during a mission, and now he's obsessed with you, much to Logan's dismay

𑣲 a peaceful repose I @/d1stalker

After some time away on a mission, Logan comes home, and all he wants to do is be around you

𑣲 all of you, all of me I @/d1stalker

In a world of black and white, the only person who could bring colour to your life is the last one who'd want to.

𑣲 never is a promise I @joelsgoldrush

You are everything Logan isn’t: sweet, trouble-free, much younger—and, to top it off, Charles' caregiver.

𑣲 epiphany I @/joelsgoldrush

Superheroes and mutants weren’t enough. No—the universe had to throw in soulmates who share scars. Fantastic, right? Except yours had vanished, only to mysteriously reappear with the arrival of a new face: the “Worst” Logan Howlett, fresh from another earth.

𑣲 give me all of that ultraviolence I @/joelsgoldrush

You give Logan head for the first time.

𑣲 guilty pleasure I @/joelsgoldrush

After saving Earth-10005 from impending disaster, Wade convinces Logan, the alcoholic and easily irritated mutant, to stick around for a while. He’s convinced that nothing good can come out of this experience, until he meets you: the charming bartender with a soft spot for swearing that matches his own. Suddenly, sticking around doesn’t seem so bad after all.

𑣲 birds of a feather I @eufezco

the tva erased you from your timeline when logan died, you've been living in the void since then.

𑣲 kid? I @not-neverland06

You walk in on Logan and Jean in a compromising position and feel your heart break. You really thought he loved you, you were so wrong.

𑣲 you’re not her I @/not-neverland06

You hate him, you really fucking hate him at first. He’s cruel and constantly reminds you that you’ll never be the hero he knew. You’re not her and he’s made that abundantly clear. But what are you supposed to do when he’s suddenly your new roommate and you have no choice but to wake up to his face every day?

𑣲 help me hold onto you I @guiltyasdave

Logan deals with feeling guilty after he's accidentally cut you with his claws in his sleep.

𑣲 sugar, sugar part 2 part 3 I @eupheme

Your eccentric neighbor Wade may drive you a little up the wall… but, you’re willing to put up with him if it means he’ll introduce you to his new, grumpy-looking roommate.

𑣲 casual I @/eupheme

It doesn’t matter that your heart flips when you look at him. It’s Logan. It’s just casual.

𑣲 truth serum I @skywalkerslvt

You and Logan, drugged with truth serum, get trapped in separate cells during a mission.

𑣲 dreams unwind, loves a state of mind I @moonlight-prose

they told him to change the future, to right the wrongs that the world caused. but he didn't do it for them. he did it for the chance to see his lover one more time. even if he shared a different history than them.

𑣲 in the refrigerator light part 2 part 3 I @thebestandworstdayofjune

you are somehow unprepared to run into Logan while on the quest for a midnight snack... in the house you both live in.

𑣲 old!man logan I @rqnarok

𑣲 breeding kink I @/rqnarok

𑣲 innocent!reader I @bpmiranda

𑣲 taste I @logansluvr

You won’t admit it, but it stung when you realized you were just a placeholder while Logan waited for Jean AGAIN. Now that she has him, she realizes that no matter how hard she tries there will always be you somewhere on him…Or Jean and Logan both fucked themselves over while you enjoy the aftermath.

𑣲 mr. darcy I @pandapetals

halloween costumes, logan dresses up as Mr. Darcy, pride and prejudice

𑣲 haircut I @/pandapetals

Logan's hair has grown out and he wants you to cut it.

𑣲 need you close I @wadewnstonwilson

when your busy schedule leaves logan feeling neglected, he craves your attention in his own way—by showing up with small, thoughtful gestures and lingering touches that hint at his pent-up need. despite his rugged exterior, logan’s vulnerability shines through as he tries to remind you he’s still there, waiting.

𑣲 something happens and i’m head over heels I @logaenhowlett

What starts off as a simple favour to watch Laura’s cat sends Logan into a spiral as you continue to make your way into his life.

𑣲 runaway bride I @pedroscurls

on the day of your wedding, you find out that your maid of honor and husband-to-be has been hooking up behind your back... and you run directly into the arms of a stranger to help you cope with the sudden betrayal.

𑣲 into the unknown part 2 part 3 I @yxtkiwiyxt

Logan becomes emotionally constipated when he accidentally hurts you during one of his nightmares.

𑣲 say yes to heaven I @happy74827

Sometimes all it takes is one look. One gesture. One word. One action. To remind them that not everyone sees them the same, and It's enough to send a person over the edge.

𑣲 she wolf I @gothgoblinbabe

You've got a crush on your best friend and he's a bit of a dick. He regrets it and tries to apologize but you're already trying to push yourself to move on any way you can, even if it's in some shady club you'd never been to before.

𑣲 scars I @sacredsorceress

every person has a soulmate. after settling in the future that he saved, logan starts to consider his next mission when a suspicious mark appears on him.

𑣲 snapshot I @shellshocklove

short on money for rent, your joke about starting an only fans account, to earn some extra cash, goes over logan's head. but when an accident with charles puts your life in danger, logan takes you up on your offer.

[c4ndiedch3rries]

Joel miller blurbs

pairings: peepaw!joel x f!reader

word count: 0.8k

Joel Miller who.. once wrote you a note that said, "BE BACK SOON< SEE YOU AT DINNER. I LOVE YOU!" (for some reason he writes in scratchy, all capitol letters). when he left early for patrol and wouldn't be back till late. and ever since then you've been leaving notes for each other every time you know you wont see each other.

Joel Miller who.. carries you up to bed after movie night. your head resting on his shoulder as he scoops you up in his arms walking lightly to your shared bedroom pulling back the covers to place you down softly.

Joel Miller who.. snores... he snores so loud you've had to wake him up, close his mouth, put a pillow over his face and more. but no matter how loud he snores you always cuddle him.

Joel Miller who.. is a caregiver. im 1000000% sure that man would to anything and everything to please you both physically and mentally. he's a giver. whether its making you breakfast in the morning or going down on you in the morning before work he's there to please.

Joel Miller who.. visits your bakery every lunch break just to watch you work. he'll just stand there not saying anything and if he is he's trying his best to make you laugh to see you smile, or asking about things around the shop just so he can listen to you ramble on about something you love.

Joel Miller who.. is confused when you tell him to 'have a self care day'. he was planning on spending his weekend with you so when you prompted for him to have a 'self care day' he was reluctant. but then you offered to pamper him meaning you'd still be with him all day he was all for it.

Joel Miller who.. lays in bed reading his book, his glasses handing low on the bridge of his nose. all this sudden you're laying on his chest, rubbing his stomach then strattling him and before he tries to take off his glasses, you frown and shake your head and deny when he says he looks old and something else about how you're crazy.

Joel Miller who.. loves eating all your cooking and baking. every time you make it to his work before he finds his way to yours, you're coming with a box full of some baked goods for him and his coworkers and an extra lunch for him. no matter how much you do this he's always just as shocked and great full as the first time you did it.

Joel Miller who.. wakes up at sunrise nearly every morning. some days he'll kiss your forehead, pull you closer and snore his way into a deep sleep again. other days he'll get up and start your day for you, making you breakfast talking ellie out of a bad decision for the first time today, and having a cup of tea for you when you come down. but most days hell watch you sleep and play his life back in his head to try and remember what good things he's done to deserve you, till of course you wake up and remind him he's more then worthy of love.

Joel Miller who.. always makes sure you get off, like always. even when you offer to just take care of him he pulling you off your knees, into his lap, pulling your panties aside just grazing your clit and mumbling something about how watching you cum is how he gets off.

Joel Miller who.. breaths shakily into your ear as he fucks you senseless whispering your name and sweet nothings into your ear. his hand cupping your face making sure your as close to him as possible. his hand trails down rubbing your clit, he bites down a smile when your moans become slurs of his name.

Joel Miller who.. has gone down on you far more times then you could count. every chance he can get his peppering kisses down your torso reaching your waistline. he takes his time pulling your panties down, dropping them to the floor and taking a second to really look at you. your hair messy under your head, lips parted partially from want and the other part from moaning. he'll kiss down your thigh placing your knees above his shoulders before going to town.

Joel Miller who.. takes his time teasing you throughout the day. calling you sweet names in the morning smiling all wide. on his daily lunch visit his kiss lingers longer, the hand on your waist staying even longer. till you both are on your daily walk home at night and he's touching you even more then usual. when you tease him for it he acts clueless knowing it'll all make sense later when your moaning his name pulling at his hair as he eats you out.

Joel Miller who.. very clearly loves you very dearly.

[mayasaurusss]

transfem! Lucy Maclean on her and reader’s wedding night…🤭🤭

Rocket 69

-Contains: arranged marriage, very heavily plot driven, switch! transfem Lucy MacLean, smut (big time), switch! afab reader, possible grammar mistakes or foreign idioms (saying, phrases). -Word count: 8k, 16 pages.

-Guide: Fallout in-game lore, Fallout show lore, objects and characters found in the Fallout games and show, original bestfriend character.

-A/N: Hello anon! I am very sorry to having delayed this for so long, but your request gave me so many ideas, so like the insane person I am, I had to pour every single one of them into this -hence the 16 pages long oneshot-. The 'guide' section contains a series of things that will be mentioned in the oneshot. I have been hurrying up so that I could publish this before the Easter holidays, as a kind of gift for you all for making me reach 500 followers. Thank you all so much😊❤️. Enjoy!

‘Wake up, work, eat, sleep. Wake up, work, eat, sleep. Repeat.

Were you born in any other time period, you wouldn't have minded this cyclic routine too much. Wake up, work, eat, sleep. It's what humankind has been doing since the dawn of time, without breaking a sweat. But, unlike the other billions of people who lived before you, your life is an especially strange one. Ever since the bombs dropped on October 23, 2077, life as it was known on earth ended. Fire melted the world's cities, radiation chipped away at human's lives and the fallout rained from the sky, coating the soil in a heavy dust. Only a selected lucky few managed to escape the bombs devastating consequences, accessing what would be known as one of America's most important successes: the vaults. Shelters lodged deep inside the earth, safe from radiation from the outside world. Life there is a continuous cycle: Wake up, work, eat, sleep. Wake up, work, eat, sleep. Repeat.

But today is different, today is special.

You sit on your bed for the last time, fingers tightening in your locks, finding solace in curling the strands of hair and knotting them. The white dress is tight on your body, constricting your chest and making you breathe with fatigue.

You try to calm down, breathing slowly and thinking that in the end, it’s not that big of a change, right? You will simply move to another vault and life will continue; of course, you will not know anyone and you will lose all the affections and ties you had before, but life will be the same, no? You’ll just have to be brave, get out there and try to make friends. Everyone will be nice to you, right? It’s all the same. You will have a husband to give children to, you will spend your life underground with him and the others, you will make friends…right?

A knock echoes hear from the other side of the door. "Can I come in?" she asks, and you heave a sigh and let her in, falling back on the mattress.

Jen falls back with you on the bed, placing her hand atop yours, "So, how's the bride?" she asks with a sly smile, but you can see sadness behind it. "I think I am alright. Just a bit... stressed, you know?" she nods in understanding, already having known what you were going through. "I remember when I got married" she says, remembering the way the white dress tightened on her curves. "I was so scared! But I got through it..." her hands curl on the naked skin of your shoulders, her warmth dispersing in the cold of your own body.

"And you will too" Jen's smile had always put an end to your worries. Among everyone, she always was the one person who you could count on. "I just got married off so the Overseer would have one mouth less to feed" you say bitterly, tasting the bile that man gives you in your tongue

"Not counting the one that I would have to raise..." the thought of leaving a place you learned to call home, simply for the fact that the higher ups decided to hand you over to a group of strangers makes your blood boil and your heart ache. It doesn't help that your only role will be that of a caregiver, likely to be forgotten or hated by your husband and left to raise a child on your own.

"Oh come on, you seem to view marriage simply as a commodity" Jen has always been a romantic, ever since you have known her. She viewed everything in a beautiful, unrealistic way. "Isn't it? In these times..." at the end of the day, this was just a way to drive a mouth less away from the shelter and into the arms of someone else.

"... Don't be so dramatic" Jen's eyes scan yours, veiled annoyance swimming in them. "Come on, let's go" you feel your heart close itself the moment the last syllable is spoken, a lump nudging inside your throat. How can you leave?

"...Yes".

You let Jen guide you through the silent halls of Vault 32, two sets of steps echoing inside the hollow chambers. You find solace in the warmth of your best friend's hands, trying to calm yourself by counting each one of your heartbeats. You stop in front of a metal door, the one that will lead you to the last room, where everyone is waiting for you to step inside. This is the first and last time you'll ever walk through this door.

"Are you ready"?

Are you?

"Yes" you try to swallow your fears, but they manage to be far more powerful than you, lodged deep inside your throath. Just before you enter, Jen turns to you, takes your cheeks in her hands and kisses them with tender sadness. "This is the last time I'll have you all to myself" she says, placing a final kiss atop your nose. "I am so proud of you" smiling to her proves difficult, and you only manage to do so after calming your breath several times. "Dry your tears" you only manage to smudge your makeup a bit, reshaped thanks to Jenny's quick hand.

"Come on, let's welcome you in your new life".

The chamber is barely illuminated by a flickering light above you. Everyone that you've known during your life is here. Hank, Gina, Honey, even little Timmy. Some look at you with hope in their eyes, others with a barely veiled disdain. Waiting by the vault door is the overseer, Ian Jackson: a dumb old man who you could not stand. And it seemed the feeling was mutual. "Overseer Jackson" the man mumbles something under his lips, before turning to you and squaring you up from head to toe. He didn't even bother to call you by your first name, "I am happy to introduce you to your new life. This marriage will serve both vault 32 and 33 well". Of course it would. For this exchange, vault 33 promised 32 maize and crops lasting up to six months. And, underlined deep inside the marriage contract, lifting the weight of one more mouth to feed off of Ian's back.

"Of course, overseer", it's no use begin bitchy to him right now. In just a few hours, you're never going to see him again. "I trust you will behave correctly. I wouldn't want overseer MacLean to regret his decision. It was kind of him to allow this marriage".

He's talking to you like you're livestock. "I will" it's your simple response, hate and anger dripping from every letter. The tension is palpable, and someone tries to fill it with chitter chatter. Jenny takes your hand, winks at you and steps back as Jackson throws one of his famous snares in her direction. Ian is a hated man inside the vault. His greed will be the one to consume him whole. It's only a matter of time before someone throws the first rock at him.

Your thoughts are put to silence when a loud, booming sound echoes from behind the door. Slowly, the gears move the heavy metal door and unpeeles a lit room. You can't see behind all the figures in front of you, and try to tip toe to see your new spouse.

"Welcome neighbors from vault 32. I am Hank MacLean, overseer of vault 33". Heavy steps bounce across the walls, Ian Jackson steps outside and greets the man in front of him. "It's a pleasure to see you again, Hank" he says, disregarding the overseers' greetings and approaching Hank like an old friend would.

"How's life been treating you?" you can hear Ian sucking air in between his teeth, resilience in his voice. "Same as always" he turns to look at the whole lot of dwellers behind him. His disdain is met with equal passion. "Insubordination spreads throughout them like mushrooms after a rainstorm".

Hank seems to be a little uncomfortable, from the tone of his voice, and quickly tries to change the subject: "We give you maize, cucumbers and beans rations, enough to be consumed in six months" he gestures towards countless linen bags slumped against the wall.

"We give you wheat and a... breeder" so you are livestock.

"Soooo, who am I marrying?" what? Was that a woman's voice?

Slowly, you're peeled back from the wall of people, exposed to the light from the other side of the room. Your eyes take a moment to adjust to the brightness, burning at your sclera.

Everyone's eyes are on you. You hear their reaction before you see it: stunned silence is broken by whispers, most of them directed at you and your new spouse. When, finally, you can see again, you're met with a puzzling image: in front of you stand a crowd of new faces, all obscured by the woman in front of you.

She wears a dress that's the same shade of white as yours. A veil covers her long, dark hair, free from any tie, falling just beneath her shoulders. Big, brown eyes bore into yours, looking somewhere deep inside your heart. She then offers you a small, shy smile, which quickly gets erased by your next question.

"This is who I am marrying? But...she's a-" the burning look Ian gives you is enough to shut you up before saying anything more. Her eyes widen and pain flashes through them, now searching anything to look at but you. "I know that this might seem...odd, to most of you" overseer Hank explains, a protective hand draped over the woman's shoulder. "But we have reasons to allow this marriage. Reasons only we, and the new spouses, know" you'd want to argue with Hank that you don't know a damn thing; hell, you've been left in the dark about the details of this relationship since it was first stipulated by overseer Jackson. He simply walked in on you and Jen working in the water depuration centre one day and announced "You will be soon married off to one of vault's 33 residents. Please, pack your bags accordingly". How were you supposed to not act surprised?

"We will now proceed on with the ceremony" Hank had a way with words, quickly shutting all whispers and chit chat down. He gestured to everyone in the room with a big swoop of his hand in the air, then, with a less than pleased look, walks in the direction of vault's 33 hallways. Everyone followed suit, and in the midst of it, you feel a strong hand clamping down painfully at your wrist. Ian's famous hateful scowl paints his face. "I told you to behave. Can't you do that one fucking time?" he whisper-yells at you, drawing eyes to the both of you. "I...I am sorry, I-" his grip on your wrist tightens, bruising at your skin, damaging the blood vessels underneath it.

"Don't make me look bad" as if he hasn't done that himself already.

"Hey!" you crane your neck just enough to see the woman who would become your wife stomp into your direction, heels echoing loudly.

"This isn't how we were taught here in the vault. You can't treat people like this!" you can't help but think that she looks comically cute with that frown on her face and her hands on her hips. Ian doesn't answer, simply stares at her with disdain and the look of someone who knows has screwed up. It's only a matter of time until somebody tells in on him to Hank MacLean.

"Do unto others as you would have done unto you. That's the Golden Rule" at those words, Ian rolls his eyes and pushes your arm away, grunting as he enters the tunnels of the vault, leaving you alone with your new to-be bride.

"Wow, he can be a real jerk huh?" she hops next to you, watching Ian disappear behind the corner. "Yeah, he can. Nobody ever liked him" you join in on mocking him, momentarily forgetting who the woman beside you is. "Yeah, I can see why" an uncomfortable silence falls between the two of you, but lasts only a second, before it's filled again by her voice.

"I am Lucy, by the way".

The venue is filled to the brim with people, some talking, some silent, all watching as you and your new spouse exchange your vows. "By the authority invested in me, I pronounce that you are joined together, under the love of God. You may now kiss".

The kiss you exchange with Lucy, while people around you are cheering, is brief and chaste, but in that moment it feels like a dream; simple and serene.

Placed all over the tables sits plates full of as much food as you can possibly imagine: yumyum deviled eggs, mac&cheese, cram and a giant wedding cake. You could lose yourself in all of this food, and probably feed at least a small village on the surface. You stay clear of the deviled eggs, wanting to at least make yourself presentable to your new bride. Speaking of, Miss MacLean has been watching you eat for the entirety of dinner; you don't dislike it, of course, but you'd be more at ease if she didn't look at you while you were stuffing yourself with cram and mashed potatoes.

Jen sits next to you, directly mimicking Lucy and her blonde-lady-friend. Despite how loud the dinner party is, in your little corner there's tension, desperately wanting to be filled. Beneath the table, Jen nudges at your foot, getting your attention. You rise from the plate, watching her with confusion, before her lips spread in that little smug smirk that she always does before throwing you under the bus, in one way or the other. "Soooo Lucy" there she goes. "How fertile are you?" you choke on the mashed potatoes, feeling some traces of it traveling to your nose, before you pinch it between your fingers. Lucy seems a bit confused, but without too much thought, answers as if it was a normal question. "Oh, uhm, the exams suggest that I am more than fertile. The doctors were actually quite surprised" oh great. That's... good news, right? "I see, I see" Jen simply smiles, nudging the tip of her thumb in the corner of her lips, restraining herself to laugh at your embarrassment. That little devil! Blonde-lady-friend similarly has some problems containing a laugh in, skewering a pickle on her fork before eating it with a pleased face. Lucy doesn't seem to pick up on the hidden context of the situation, rolling her shoulders before resuming her dinner, looking at you with curiosity from time to time.

"Good evening and welcome!" oh thank God. Overseer Hank MacLean, who you now know to be your soon to be father in law, draws the attention of all the dwellers. "We are bonded, not just as neighbors, but by a shared duty: to keep the candle of civilzation's lit, while the rest of the world has been cast into darkness" sure, if you count as civilized the way here everyone is a ticking time bomb.

"Soon, if our calculations are correct, radiation's level on the surface fast enough, that the next generation, their children-" he says, pointing his finger at you, "-will be able to recolonize!" Did he really have to say that? Your blushing bride smiles, laughing while taking your hands in hers. She seems so enthusiastic to see what the future will hold for her.

"After two hundred years, we don't know much about what's out there: desperation, violence, lawlessness. These survivors will need to be shown a better way". Hank seems sure of himself, when he talks about the surface's world like that. During your life in vault 32, you had always been taught history as the books wrote it. But growing up, seeing the occasional merchant from the outside world enter, you can't help but ask yourself if all that you had been taught was a lie. Lucy at least seems pretty sure of herself.

"I'll admit, I am sometimes afraid, that mean old world will change us instead; but then I look at my daughter, such a beautiful bride, and her spouse, and I am not afraid: I feel hope. To Lucy MacLean, and to this marriage, and to hope!" from the venue arises a wave of cheers, followed by the turning of the projector's gears and the southern afternoon's lights dimming to a summer's night deep blue hues.

Lucy, ever so gracious and sweet, leaves your table, but before going off to the first dance, she halts, as if suddenly remembering something. She turns, a smile as warm as a summer day, before placing a kiss on your nose. A choir of woos and cheers leaves the tables, earning a strangled sound from your throat as a response. You can feel your face heating up from the simple act. "Don't worry" Lucy says, whispering while looking directly in your eyes, "I'll be back with you as soon as possible". You could melt only from her words, so sweet and soft you can't help but slowly fall in love head over heels with the woman. Taking her father's hands, the two of them start to dance. Together, they form the portrait of the perfect family. It's selfish, but watching them dance together, so happily only makes you wish you were able to do the same tonight. "Hey" you look up from the table to see Jen eyeing you with a hint of sadness in her voice. "Hey" talking has never been your strongest suit, especially when feeling down or lost, and Jen has learnt that throughout the years. "So...how are you feeling?" comes her question, one that you dreaded for the entire night. "I am... alright, I think" underneath the notes of a serene song, people dance without a thought in the world.

"I am scared" you admit to Jen, your pride crumbling away. Life has always been a cyclic routine for you: wake up, work, eat, sleep. You never thought that something new would be presented to you, and when it came, it scared you.

The artificial sound of crickets hums underneath songs and chatter, so faint you could miss it; but, if you focus on it enough, you can hear the skipping of the record and the many sounds they had made two hundred years ago, on a summer night like this could have been. You sigh, craning your neck onto Jen's shoulder; "I am gonna miss you", you say, a layer of tears on your eyes. Her hand sneaks on your shoulder, keeping you close to her. She had never been this sad, too used to be the upbeat one between you two; but as the realization that this will be the last time she'll spend with her best friend, "I will miss you too".

You're taken by surprise by Lucy's sudden entrance. "Hi! May I borrow her for a moment?" your body jolts up a bit, startled by her presence. You barely miss the way Lucy's hand tightens in a closed fist, irrational jealousy showing itself in the way her knuckles turn white. You feel like you have been caught doing something wrong and hide your face, turning it away from your bride. "Sure!" sensing the opportunity to make your wedding night less grimm, Jen wastes no time in pushing you up into the waiting arms of your wife.

Lucy, on the other hand, has no problems catching your weight, transforming your messy movement into the flow of your first dance. Not even a minute has passed since you began dancing, yet she already has questions for you. "How are you feeling? You look sad" she asks while you try to follow her, barely able to keep yourself on your feet. You didn't expect her to understand you so fast. "Huh? How did you-" someone bumps into you from behind, faltering the dance for a moment. Lucy leans closer to you, her eyes focused on your face, making you feel studied under her gaze. "You haven't danced at all," her arms, draped over your shoulders, tightening briefly, pressing you against her. "And you've been spending time with your friend over here" she gestures towards Jen, who now seems to be hitting it off with Lucy's lady-friend, with a motion of her chin.

She seems to consider something, and pauses, before she looks up at you. "Are you scared of me?" she asks, and there's almost a taste of fear behind her eyes. Your throath tightens, your tongue unable to articulate words properly. "N-No!" but your stammering betrays you, and Lucy isn't an idiot.

Are you afraid of her? "…A little". There is a flicker of something behind her eyes, as if your words have hurt her more than they should have, but she quickly slips back her charming persona on. "Well, don't be. I don't bite" she tells you, before she inches just a little closer "Unless you'll want me to".

Oh. Wow.

Her gaze skims to your lips, a flirty look in her eyes suggests that she's thinking of more than what she lets out. The way she seems to be so enamoured with your features makes your heart lose a beat. Wow. Ok. 

"Ok uhm, thank you Lucy!" the brunette doesn't have the time to react before you wrench your hands out of hers, shake invisible dust off of your dress and run off, leaving her puzzled behind you. Oh God, you are such a loser. 

It's evening now. An old 50's song buzzes from the radio, covered by chatter. You are busy chatting your head off with Jen, when you are interrupted by Lucy. You feel her presence before you hear her. "Want me to show you to your new room?" she asks you, a sly smile that you know hides a -very- specific meaning behind it. You look away to see Jen shooting you with a knowing look in her eyes. You are about to make up a ridiculous excuse in your mind, when Jen gives you a smack on the shoulder “Oh come on, just go!”. And this is where you find yourself: walking down the hallways of vault 33, hand in hand with your blushing bride. The walls and floor all look the same -all vaults do-, like a never ending maze. You get so used to walking that the stop to your new room’s door is abrupt and wakes you from your alcohol induced coma. “This is it” Lucy turns around to scan at your face and finds interest and hesitance. But the way she smiles at you warms your heart enough to follow her into the room. You’re met with bluish hues on the wall and furniture: on your left a small living room, directly connected to the kitchen and on your right, a bedroom overlooking a patio, where the fake sky glimmers above. Lucy is the first to talk, eagerness oozing from her like a fountain. “Isn’t it great? Every big moment of our lives is gonna happen right here” she seems to be enamoured at the prospect of spending her life here. Meanwhile, while she talks, you start to get undressed: you peel away at the layers of clothes, until your skin meets the air. And Lucy doesn’t seem to notice right away. “Just picture the Christmas mornings around the tree…” when she turns back to search for your face, she instead is greeted by the sight of your naked self, standing in the room with your arms behind your back. You’ve always been taught that spouses expect sex the night of the wedding. Was this…weird? Should you have done something else? 

Oh, you are a certified creep now. How are you gonna look her in the eyes when she-. The only thing you hear before begin shoved on the wall by a -actually pretty strong- eager Lucy is an ‘okey-dokey’, her hands already all over you. She kisses you like she has been craving it for the past twenty years, nipping at your bottom lip with her teeth. Lucy pushes you against the wall by her crotch, without taking too much into account the growing mass beneath her dress. But you notice that, and it weirds you out. What is it? She opens her eyes just enough to see yours, confusingly looking at where your bodies touch: then, as if stung by a wasp, she remembers, and you feel her pull back from you, your body left cold. You watch, a little dumbfounded, as Lucy paces around the room, in clear distress. She mumbles something under her breath, and you can only make so many words, before she interrupts you when you ask her what’s wrong. “There…” she swallows “There is something you should know”. There are traces of tears in her eyes, and she seems to be having to accept a harsh, terrible reality. “I used to be a boy, once” she tells you, not daring to look you in the eyes. “What?” you ask her, a little confused by her words at first, until it hits you. Oh! “I used to look different, talk different” her body feels as if it’s being charged with electricity and is digging a pit where her stomach is. “The whole reason my father agreed to arrange this marriage was because there was a woman who was ready to be married: you”. You don’t like what this implies. No matter how much she tries, she can’t physically stop herself from talking, before it’s too late. “He wouldn’t have allowed this if there wasn’t someone to procreate with” Ouch. 

"Oh... wow," you murmur, taken aback. Lucy spins around, her eyes wide with regret and panic as she realizes what has just revealed. “No, I didn’t mean-” but the damage is done: she has hurt someone, comparing her to nothing more than a breeding machine, and made herself look like a monster. “I am sorry” she steps away from you, making her way to the door with her head hung in shame. “I-I’ll go. I will tell my father that you won’t-” you don’t know what she would have said next, because you kiss her worries away, words dying in her throath. “You’re not going anywhere”.

You kiss her again, and again and again, until your lips are sore, until her breath is heavy on your skin. You don’t have a lot of time to react, before she pushes you until your naked back is pressed against a cold surface. Oh come on, on the table?!

Her fingers tail up from their place on your stomach to your chest, taking a hold of your flesh and pinching your nipple. Actually, you quite like this. Lucy pushes you flat against the table with her crotch pressed right where yours is: you can feel her getting harder by the second beneath the wedding dress. You sneak your hand right where she needs it the most and palm her through the fabric: she’s warm and big in your hand, not too hard nor too soft. You feel her heavy sighs on your face as you slowly shake her to life. Shivers run down her spine when she feels your breath on her ear, urging her to “Take it off”, which she immediately does. It’s funny how fast she lets the dress fall to the floor and undoes her bra, letting her chest free. She’s back on you in an instant, her arms sneaking under your body and breasts pushed against yours. You don’t miss the way her hips subtly grind against the table’s edge. Sneaking a glance below, you have to physically stop yourself from clenching your thighs against her sides: here, between her legs and under white lace fabric, sits Lucy’s length, big and hot and so inviting. You could take it in your hands, right? After all, by the looks of it, it seems as if she desperately needs it. So your fingers stop just where she needs them the most, placed against her growing erection. Both of you moan, each from a different sensation: you from feeling her grow beneath your touch, and she from the overwhelming pleasure washing over her. She begins to grind on your hand, helping you get her off and preparing her for you; you feel her slowly hardening under the fabric, growing larger by the second. Your fingers catch on the edge of something, and when they do, you hear Lucy’s hitched breath in your ear. Next thing you know, she’s stripping herself off of her panties, revealing herself in all her nude glory. You can’t help but think of how beautiful she is in this moment: skin reddened by the blood flowing beneath it, goosebumps traveling along her body and messy hair falling at either side of her neck. You don’t pay too much mind on what lies between her legs, only acknowledging to yourself that it looks painfully red, desperate to be pleased by someone. And that someone happens to be you.

Lucy just can’t help herself. You look so good beneath her, warm and inviting. Just how is she supposed to contain herself? And before you know it, she’s pressing her body against yours again, her length nestled between your legs.

Well, you expected more foreplay, but this is good too. Only she starts to grind herself on your entrance, gradually wetting herself with your own arousal. Oh. Wow. This…isn’t what you though she’d do, but damn, it’s so fucking hot. 

“L-Lucy, wait…” your voice is small and trembles in your throat, and she pauses, eyes hazy with need, barely processing your words. Gently, you guide her back, turning her so she rests against the edge of the table. She blinks at you, confused, until you slowly sink to your knees.

Something shifts in her expression. Seeing you like this, looking up at her… Well, she was never truly sure what she liked, having spent most of her sex life with strange partners, to say the least, but damn it, it does things to her. She can only focus on those lips of yours, so, so close to her, just a couple of inches away. 

But nothing can prepare her for when she first feels them on her, kissing away at the goosebumps that shake her length. Oh, how could she have known it would’ve felt so good? You kiss her eagerly, lavishing every inch of her, trailing up, up until you stop at her tip, crimson with pleasure and need. You can’t just leave her there wanting, can you?

When you finally take her inside of your mouth, Lucy is sure she’s about to pass out and reach the heavens. Each movement, each inching of her cock into your mouth sends waves of electricity to Lucy’s brain. Is this how sex was supposed to feel like, all along? If only she had met you before… You stop only when you reach around her base, unable to get more of her in you without gagging. That’s when you start to travel up on her length and fall back down again. Over and over and over…

 Every kiss, every lick of yours builds her towards that edge that she has been desperately craving ever since you stripped down for her. She can feel herself losing it, her blood warming her from head to toe, preparing her to cum by your lips’ work. She’s so, so close… Her fingers tangle in your hair, tugging and catching your attention. You look up at her, and the moment you do, you taste a drop of cum falling on your tongue. You can only imagine what seeing you like this does to her. Her lip trembles, her eyes are unfocused and teary, her skin as red as beetroots. “Wait, wait” she tugs you up by your hair, prompting you to follow her and let her cock fall from your lips. Lucy is quick to catch your lips between hers, kissing you so hard that her lipstick smudges, spreading colour all over you and her. And all the while, she presses herself right between your legs, sliding in and out, right below your… She seems to read your mind, and sighs “I need more”, now pushing you until your back meets the soft mattress of your new bed. She’s on you again, pushing her tongue between your lips, straddling your body so that she can have more space to move. 

She seems to read your mind. Her nails imprint half shaped moons into the flesh of your cheeks, her breath heavy and hot on your skin, and she sighs “I need more, I need you”, pushes you until your back meets the soft mattress of your new bed. Her legs push your body close together, so that you are nicely trapped under her, free to watch how her cock bounces every time she watches your chest, or when you kiss her a little too good. It’s hypnotizing: Lucy must be very, very into you, otherwise you can’t explain the continuous trusts she makes in the air, her tip so red you think all her blood flowed to it. It looks painful and you want to help, but instead you stop when Lucy’s fingers hook beneath your crotch, right on top of your pussy. Her middle and ring finger dance around, playing with your clit and lips, delving just deep enough for the tip to tease you open. It’s embarrassing how quickly you give into pleasure, already aided thanks to sucking Lucy off. You can still taste her on your tongue, feel the empty space she left in your throath. To have the flavour of her skin and sweat swirling inside of your mouth and her fingers deep inside you is as transcendental as it is sinful. It doesn’t take you long at all to fall apart, all pleasure zapping electricity into your brain, giving you goosebumps and coming in waves, right then and there on your new bed, in your new sheets. You’re barely responsive after that, feeling as if you’ve melted. After what felt like an eternity, but were really only a few seconds, you hear your spouse's worried voice come from somewhere in the room. “Hey, hey? Are you good there?” she pats your thigh repeatedly, waking you up from your pleasure induced coma. “Ugh… yeah” you’re not really sure if you’re okay; after all, you feel as if you’ve lost all the strength in your bones and your brain has become mush. But God, even in this state, you need her to touch you again, immediatley. You want her all over you, to feel her skin on yours, to feel her cock-.

“Good! Because, uh-” Lucy really, really doesn’t want to sound selfish, but she really, really needs to be inside of you. Her dick is rock hard and red as a tomato, stinging each second it’s not nestled in its rightful place: you. “I would hate it if you passed out. I’d have to go and search for help, and people would see you-, and you know…”; it’s true, she really would prefer to have your naked image all to herself, to cherish it when she’s alone. But now she’s with you, and God only knows how much she needs you. A couple of minutes pass, and the more you start to ‘come back’ from your trance, the more Lucy squirms, her dick pressing between her legs and the mattress. You can see the pain she feels in her face, hardened, the bridge of her nose scrunched and her forehead’s skin drawing furrows on it. Just as you’re about to move, to reach for Lucy, she does it first, taking your elbow in her hand and begging you, “I need- I need inside. Can I, please?”.

Oh you’re so getting fucked tonight. 

You do the first thing that you can think of, and move so that you rest on your elbows and your spine forms an arch, leaving you open and ready to be taken. Lucy’s breath hitches behind your back, and you know you must have done something nice, but rather than feeling her crotch pressed down on yours, or even better, her length nestled between your legs, Lucy’s hands are the ones that guide you until you’re face to face with her. “As much as I’d love to have sex with you like that” she says, “and believe me, I really do, I’d rather watch you. Is that okay?”. It’s okay, oh God yes, it’s so, so okay. You are ready for everything that she’ll give to you. But as her fingers come down to tease your opening once again, you realize you’re not wet enough, not to let her slide in at least. That’s when an idea comes to mind: living in a vault, you were thankfully teached the basics of having sex, but in post nuclear war America, it was treated as simple procreation, without the pleasures that come with it. But the rumors run fast in the vaults, and as soon as you begun to grow into adulthood, you heard more and more about the different sides of sex. It was Jen and the others who told you about all the different positions one and their spouse can take, and one did strike you as interesting. Maybe it could have helped with your little problem. 

You watch as Lucy scrunches her nose and teases your clit, hoping to wetten you further but to no avail. The devilish sparkle in your eyes should scare her, but it does nothing other than make her harder than she already is. “I have an idea” you say, and command her with a flick of your finger to get next to you, closer to your face. “Sit on my face, facing the end of the bed” and Lucy does, admittedly a bit confused. “What are you-” but her voice dies in her throath, once you guide her back into your mouth. It’s hard taking her like this, because she’s pressing hard against your chest and gives you no space to suck her properly. And most of all, you’re not getting any wetter.

“You shouldn’t keep a girl waiting, you know?” at first, she can’t quite make out what you mean, but as you press your legs together, skin rubbing against skin, she reaches beneath, allowing the air to fill the space between your face and her crotch. You can finally take her in your mouth again, lavishing her, preparing her to enter you; and her, to lick and suck and tease every part of you, to eat you out like you’re her last meal. 

It really helps your cause when Lucy, who’s so deep into pleasure she can’t think clearly, absentmindedly moves and feels a jolt of pleasure spark from her cock to her brain, and so she starts to trust into your mouth from above, pressing her dick farther than your mouth could before. There’s something about Lucy using you like this that makes your eyes roll to the back of your head. She presses and presses and presses until you can feel your world shake with her thrusts and your pleasure. “Fuck, fuck, shit!” your lover repeats in a mantra, her mouth a mess of juices and spit, exhaling heavily against your cunt everytime she comes back for air. She seems to forget that you too are supposed to breathe, until you choke on her dick and gag loudly. Her cock leaves your throath as soon as she hears you struggling. “I’m so sorry!” her hands are on your neck and face, checking to see if everything is alright. “Are you okay?!”. For God’s sake! Before she can even react, you place your hand on her shoulder, fingers squeezing her soft skin hard. If she doesn’t take your right here and now, you’re gonna become insane. “Please, just…” you barely whisper, your voice strained with want, “Just take me”. Now it’s your turn to be surprised. Throughout the past few hours, you’ve learnt that Lucy, despite begin a frail woman, is really fucking strong, and despite that, you’re still surprised when she just takes you, pushes you flat against the bed and takes you by the hips, raising you until you’re met with her cock. With the way she’s watching where your sexes join, you’d think she was in contemplation of the divine. 

She presses her cock between your folds, sliding her red tip up and down. A nice appetizer for a long night. 

She’s right there, right there, you just need to… A whine escapes you when Lucy finally enters you. The intrusion feels alien, hurts and draws a trickle of blood from your cunt, pooling at the base of her cock. You see panic on Lucy’s face, tears of sweat falling from her temple, both fueled by pleasure and fear. “Shit! Are you-” she’s about to exit you, far too fast and harsh after just having penetrated you, but you keep her close, placing wet kisses on her neck to reassure her. “I am fine, just need… a couple of minutes” her features rest serene now, the small creases of age and worry fading. A couple of minutes go by, your body tired and focusing all its strength on adjusting to Lucy's girth. You test the waters, moving with her cock nestled deep inside of you. All your nerves catch aflame the moment her tip nudges against your walls, so deep and big and hot-. “Can I?” your spouse’s voice comes from above, full of want and expectation. And how can you deny her that? “Yes-” the very second you say that, Lucy’s hips start to move, drawing half circles in the air. The motion comes natural to her, as if she had been fucking you for her whole life. “Fuck… Oh God” she grunts, her voice sounding raspy for a second, making her somehow even hotter than she already is. She’s panting heavily above you, drops of sweat falling down her skin, making her abs look delicious. You’d do anything to touch and lick those muscles right now. Opposite to you, focused on piercing into your tight wet opening, it takes all of Lucy’s self restraint to not take you hard and fast. She sighs into the air “You’re so tight…”, while being so gentle and sweet that it makes you mad. You know that this gentle persona she put on is just a facade, that she yearns to feel you tightening up on her cock and scream; so why doesn’t she just fuck you properly? But you have your ways of getting what you want: you trap Lucy by locking your legs behind her, hug her close to your body and angle your back and hips so that you can meet her trusts, fucking yourself on her now that she is too stunned to move. 

“Take me, fuck me. I know you want to” you sigh into her ear, sending goosebumps traveling down her spine. And how can she resist you? You are her siren and she’s just a poor, helpless sailor. 

You only get a couple of seconds before she starts to absolutely ravish you. As if you’ve put her under a spell, Lucy fucks you at a speed that has your toes curling and your eyes rolling to the back of your head. She fucks you in so deep and hard that you think for a moment you’re gonna break apart on her length. “Oh you are just perfect” she almost whispers, her voice cracking as you clench around her. She throws her head back, a delirious look in her eyes, laced with pleasure and an almost undetectable need for possession. Looking at you crying beneath her, your skin wetted by sweat, your breath short and hot, it suddenly dawns on her: she’s doing this to you. She’s the one who is making you scream to go deeper, faster, harder. She’s the one who you beg. She’s the one whose cock is breaking you. The realization only makes her fuck you faster, her lips drawning back into a smile. “Thank God it was you, you’re just so, so perfect and beautiful” her fingers stroke the skin of your cheek, a harsh contrast with the way her crotch meets your ass. How can she says such pretty words when she’s fucking you so wildly? “And you’ve got a pretty tight pussy too”. Ah, there it is. Her attempt at joking quickly fades when you push your legs, shutting her up, that cocky look of hers replaced by unfocused, glazed eyes. “Shit!” you can tell by the way she picked up her pace and by the tension in her jaw, that she’s about to cum. Every thrust into your core builds her up, pushing her incredibly close to the edge. “I- I think I am about to-” her crotch burns with desire and pleasure, a fire begging to be put out by your grip. And you can’t help it too, the strength and passion that she puts into every movement has you tightening your fist on the sheets and your pussy on her cock, your throath desperately holding screams and moans of pleasure. “What do you say, huh, love? Can I, please?”; that’s when you finally lose it, your orgasm so close you can practically already taste the way your body will quiver under Lucy’s lovely touches. “Please, please do it, please Lucy, come in me” you sigh into her ear, no amount of shame holding you back from stating what you want anymore. For a brief second, before her world shatters from bliss, Lucy sees the artificial starlight that shines outside dancing in your eyes, making you more beautiful than anything she has ever seen. She’s glad it was you. Maybe, stars only look pretty in your eyes. 

Lucy comes with a long, high whine, her hips stuttering for the final time, hot cum filling you until there’s no more left for her to stuff you with. The feeling of her warmth inside is enough for you to finally come with her, a moan so loud that it bounces on the room’s walls, and you’re sure whoever might be walking outside knows that you’re getting your world absolutely rocked by your lovely spouse. When the last spurts of cum flow inside of your cunt, Lucy can finally let herself fall on top of you, her body shivering as if electricity is streaming down her veins. You stay there for what feels like an eternity, cuddled together in a mess of limbs and sweat and pants and heartbeats. Enough strength now fuels Lucy, giving her the energy to get up, partially at least, and to heave a sigh.

“Holy moly…”. Lucy is shocked when you let out a maniacal laugh, throwing your head back, with your lips facing the ceiling. “W-what’s so funny?!” you really don’t want to laugh, but you can’t help it; how could you not? It comes off of you in waves, shaking your body so much that for a moment, Lucy thinks you are having a seizure. “Tell me… do you always say things like that?” you ask her, her eyes furrowed in a confused expression, a nervous smile spreading on her lips. “Y-yeah?”. Your smile gives her butterflies. Funny, considering she has just finished fucking like a wild animal. “It’s funny”. She is silent for a moment, blinking repeatedly as if her brain is processing your words; then her skin grows from its pale colour to a red tomato and she hides her face in her hands. “No no, I liked it!” but Lucy is already too deep into her shame, now pushing a pillow onto her face and kicking her legs. Your only answer is a string of babbles and muffled curses coming from a very embarrassed Lucy. Resting next to her on the bed while giggling when she’s so shy and silent only manages to make heat rise into her face further. But it’s all in good humor, when she gets to smile with you. 

She might be the luckiest girl in this world. 

A few minutes pass by, sweat now cooled by the coolness of the room. “Come on, we have to go: the party is still going on” you say, and it takes all of your will power to stir from your position and move out of the bed. “Mhm, but I don’t wanna…” says your spouse, her mouth pressed against the soft fabric of the pillowcase. Just as you’re about to walk to the door to reach your discarded wedding dress, you’re pulled back by your arms, a flurry of sheets and pillows and white filling your vision, until you’re face to face with Lucy again. “Let them party if they want to,” she whispers, reaching down next to your ear. “The night is still young”.

[butchreg]

caregiver jinx headcanons !! ⤷ featuring : big sis ! jinx 𓈒 middle reader 𓈒 healing together 𓈒

requested by 🪶 ! i cannot believe i've never posted jinx headcanons before !! i have so many jinx agere thoughts (i am literally her fur real 𓈒) find my arcane masterlist here & my upcoming list here 𓈒

jinx is a big sister caregiver rather than a mama or parental cg ! she is very adamant about this , teasing vi and sevika for being more parental cgs because it means they're "ooold" 𓈒 jinx absolutely melts when you call her sis or sissy , giving your nose a playful boop and giggling brightly 𓈒

jinx can be a bit bossy , as most big sisters can be but she means well 𓈒 she loves telling you what to do , at times getting a big head , looking down expectantly at you with her hands on her hips 𓈒 you don't dare defy her when she gets that serious look on her face 𓈒

jinx who loves messing around and playing with you ! she's always tickling you when you least expect it , crowing delightedly when you squirm unable to hold in giggles of your own𓈒 she'll leave little notes and trinkets around for you to find as well𓈒 she's always down to rough house & play fight , though there are times she'll struggle when you're feeling more vulnerable𓈒

jinx who makes you special custom gear ! she's always in her workshop welding something , or wildly painting another masterpiece for her little sib , ending up covered in brightly colored splotches𓈒 you think her protective gear is sooo awesome ! she gets you your own little welding goggles so you can be just like her although she doesn't want you using her tools and getting hurt𓈒 your favorite thing she's made you is your mobile !

jinx's hair is very important to her as you know𓈒 typically she's not fond of others touching it but she allows you to play with and style it if you're having a hard day𓈒 you're always begging her to braid yours just like hers which makes her smile delightedly , tousling your shorter hair with a snort laugh𓈒

you who attempts to resist haircuts , wanting yours to grow out as long as hers𓈒 jinx'll have to chase you , coaxing and pestering you about it despite your fussing𓈒 she's very determined always finding a way to bribe you into letting her cut it𓈒 you'll grump and attempt to evade the scissors making your cut choppy but she's quite proud of her handiwork𓈒

jinx is always dying your hair wild colors ! you wanted to have blue hair just like her𓈒 although you were a little shy to tell her at first she thinks it's awesome and is super eager to help , telling you how cool you look when it's done𓈒

not big on rules𓈒 she doesn't mind if you're messy or feel the need to police what time you go to bed𓈒 she's your cool older sister , if you need to be scolded vi or cait will step in𓈒

jinx loves doing crafts with you ! you two make friendship bracelets & kandi all the time together , making matching bracelets and you showing jinx how to make all the complex patterns𓈒

she's always calling you silly nicknames like "goober" and "gremlin" , making silly faces at you to make you laugh and challenging you to staring contests 𓈒 she takes them super seriously and is always trying to play dirty to get you to break first𓈒

tagging with jinx & getting covered in spray paint despite your weak attempts not to get messy𓈒 she helps guide your small hand with the can , adding your own touch to her elaborate tag𓈒

jinx is not good with super young regressors like babies or toddlers given the amount of responsibility and strict rules that type of caretaking comes with𓈒 she's a bit tentative about taking care of you at first , anxious she won't be capable enough or good enough to take on a big sister role𓈒 she knows she has a reputation and for good reason aside from her trouble with discussing and regulating her emotions but over time your regression proves to be a healing experience for both of you𓈒

[goldblumluv]

comforting Hugh

summary: the age gap is a reoccurring conversation. And both of you need reassurance time to time that this is okay. Some of your interests misalign, due to age, but no one has completely the same interests as the person you’re in a relationship with.

tags: mentions of smut but actually no smut. fluff. no gendered pronouns except talking about having a baby.

wc: 1.9k

You’re both in bed after a long day. It’s actually the middle of the night. You wake up to turn sides when you find Hugh on his back. “Why are you awake?” You murmur. “Can’t sleep” he replies.

Now you’re on your side, facing him. He’s still on his back but looks at you. You register the sad look in his eyes. “What are you thinking about?” He covers his face. “I’m just feeling insecure.” You furrow your brows in shock, Hugh Jackman insecure? Whatever next. You quickly change your face though because you can see why it can easily be construed as being rude. “Do you want to talk about it?” “You go asleep” “Hugh how the hell am I meant to sleep knowing you’re not okay?” You now push yourself up so you’re sat and facing him. “We don’t have to talk about it right now but we’ll do something until you go asleep” He gives an amused smile.

It’s funny that despite the age gap, you get to see Hugh’s vulnerable side, the side where he is similar to someone younger. There is still something childlike in him; humour to his insecurities. “Am I too old for you?” This is a reoccurring conversation in your relationship. Not an argument - it was in the beginning. From your side and his. Sometimes you feel like a baby, sometimes he feels like a caregiver. You’ve never made each other feel like this intentionally, but it would be completely ignorant to pretend there aren’t moments of doubt. But now you both understand the circumstances of how the press and media can get in your head, play on a problem already existing and then exaggerate it by tenfold. Nothing a bit of reassurance can’t sort out.

“Huh?” You reply shocked. Not that it’s a bad thing to talk about. But usually this conversation is expected after a tough conversation with people around you. Not randomly in the middle of the night. “Am I a child to you?” You throw it back at him. Not angrily. Just for him to think about the other side. “No” “well then” “I just don’t want to take anything from you” “like what?” “Going out with your friends, meeting someone who can give you what I can’t” “hold on” you rub your head almost comically. You can handle these conversations better in daylight, but that was a lot of words for 3:00am. He starts laughing “what?” “I’m waking myself up” He looks at you completely smitten. The love… and in turn the anxiety… is flowing from his eyes alone.

“Just so you know you’re not too far into this to end it” that breaks your heart. “I don’t want to end it- I can’t wait to get as many grey hairs as you and then we can have a grey hair competition” You both laugh. “One- Hugh… one of the things I love about you and I think why we work is you’re a person without me and I’m a person without you, do you get me?” He straight up says no. I think he’s lying. He just wants to hear me keep talking. “You don’t swallow me and you accept me as I am, I’m not forced to be with you. I choose to be with you. I’m attached to the hip to you by choice. - I will go see my friends and truly be so excited to come home to you” You reach to intertwine fingers with him. “Are you sure?” “Hugh you know how defiant I can be…. I wouldn’t do anything I wouldn’t want to do. And if part of you thinks I’m being selfish and is doing this for my image or whatever… you’ve literally watched me throw up and have tantrums…. If anything I’ve given you ammo to ruin my career.” “Okay” is all he can muster. “And second of all.. what can someone else give me that you can’t?” “They can be your age and do this with you for the first time” “Or…. I can be with someone older that can help me navigate it. I can be with someone I can trust because they’ve done this before. I can rely on them” You smile. He smiles. “Is that how you see it?” “Yeah. What if I get myself in shit and then whoever the mysterious man is doesn’t know what to do?” “I might not know what to do” “but I trust… I know… you’ll help me get out of it. If there’s a problem you’re my man” His other arm is outstretched rubbing your side appreciatively.

“What if something good happens? What if they can celebrate more than me?” “You’re the first person I want to tell though- is this cause you’re past clubbing age?” You smugly smile. He looks bashful. “I go to the club possibly once every 4 months, out of choice. I’m not and never have been wild like that. That’s not intentionally because of you. I go cause I truly want to” “I just don’t want you to restrict yourself cause of me” You straddle him now. You lean down and grab the sides of his face. He holds your waist. “I never have and I won’t” “if something good happens I would love to tell you, we go to a nice place and eat and drink and gossip. Then I can go to the club to my friends if I want. And then I get to come home shit faced and you get to look after me. If anything I should be asking if that’s too much for you?” “When you have come home shit faced it makes me laugh. You’re funny” “I’m funny normal faced as well” “you are” “do you mind taking care of me?” “I’ll do everything to make sure you have an easy life and I’ll enjoy every moment of it” “do you worry when I’m out without you?” “I think part of me is jealous and anxious but I know that is not my scene anymore” “anxious for what though?” “What if something happens?” “I told you, you’re my guy if something happens” “I do like when you text me you miss me though” You look bashful now.

“What if a guy approaches you or something?” He sees your face get defensive. “No I’m not saying you would do anything. But what if he’s trying to woo you and I’m not there?” “There is so much evidence on the internet of me giving guys attitude *he’s smug now, he likes that*, me actually running away from guys plus my friends are the type to bark at guys” He pulls his neck forward now. “Bark?” He repeats confused. You cover your face to laugh. “Yeah” “what do you mean” “I’ve seen them literally bark at men to get them to leave us alone” He pulls a face that says “what the hell” but he only says “right” “I think I like 10 guys but you’re number 1” “Do you get guys coming up to you?” You mirror this emoji 😬. You don’t want to lie, nothing good comes from it. “Not a lot, no one wants to compete with you” I offer a smile. “But some do.” “Some like to try it yes” “what do you do?” “What do you do when women come up to you?” You keep try throwing the questions back at him for him to understand you feel the same way about him as he does to you. “Ryan doesn’t bark at them” You wince, you know this is going to follow you for at least a couple months. “I’m not mad that he doesn’t” you laugh. “But what do you do?” “Say no, sorry” “Have you put your foot down?” You say with raised eyebrows. One of the first arguments you had was him flirting with interviewers and other actresses. He just nods. “Did the world stop spinning?” You joke. He rolls his eyes. “I’m sorry” you laugh. “The world keeps spinning” he replies. “You’re still the nicest guy in the industry” “Has anyone ever… not left you alone?” “That’s when the barking comes out” “and it works?” “Have you ever tried have a conversation when 3 people are making noises at you?” He shakes his head and laughs. “You guys are insane” “next time you see them I’ll get them do it”

“What if by the time you want a baby, I can’t give it to you? Will you not want someone that gives you a baby?” “I don’t know if I’ll ever want a baby” “But say you decide you do, and I want a baby as well” “Disney said you’re acting until you’re 95 though so you might be busy” This conversation you dance around. Not out of fear of what Hugh is saying though. It’s just a real serious conversation and you genuinely don’t know what you want. You know you want to get married. You know you’re a lover. You know what career you’ve wanted since you were 14. But a baby? That’s the only thing you’ve been unsure of. And society expects you to have a baby. Hugh knows this, but he also knows the have a serious relationship we need to be on the same page. A plan.

“Just listen to my hypotheticals. What if you decide now you want a baby, and I’m too old and my dick doesn’t work” “You can fuck me with a dildo” He rolls his eyes exasperated but you feel the twitch of his dick. “No. Okay. So. Say we both want a baby. First of all, it might be my fault as well. But if we can’t do it naturally, we have IVF. Adoption. Surrogate.” “Don’t you want it naturally?” “Well you know that’s one of the things I’m scared of, actually giving birth. So to be honest. No, I don’t know. I’m not against adoption. When the time comes. Plus Jeff Goldblum was having kids at like 65 so we’ve got another 9 years yet.” He chuckles. “I’m not going to sleep with someone I don’t even love just so I can have their kid?” You raise the end like a question because you’re in disbelief. You can’t think of anything worse. All he replies is “you love me?”

You playfully scowl. “I tolerate you” “is that why you’ve stayed up with me?” “You might take sex away from me if I don’t” He pulls you down by his big strong hands on your back. He kisses all over your face. “I just don’t want you to leave.” It’s so small and quiet. Tender. “You’re my best friend and I’m not leaving. I love you” He just looks at you softly. You raise your eyebrows, “say it back… God” “I love you” he says through a chuckle. You kiss his forehead and his nose. You shuffle down so now you’re now level to his chest. “Now go to sleep” “Yes sir.” You slightly shake your head, he’s completely ripped that off you. Sense of humour is a big thing and your age definitely changes that, but look at him absorbing everything I say. He is mentally 25 years old. “I’ll still be here when you wake up.” He very quickly bends his neck down to kiss your head and then puts his head back on his pillow. This is how you sleep.