#i want to help other people feel safer and more comfortable when they use the internet

[persephonesdreams21]

Sweet Tooth

A/N: Well let me say first and foremost. My bad guys. Lol I didn't mean to keep this rotting in my drafts for almost a year, but life got crazy. I hope you guys enjoy this

Warnings: Explicit. Oral(fem receiving) Body worship. Finger sucking. Squirting. Multiple orgasms. Willy being down bad.

Summary: You’re sweeter than any chocolate he could cook up in his shop, and Willy is all too eager to show you just how much he craves you. Your smiles, your attention…your taste.

The last few weeks of your life have been vibrant.

Filled with technicolor so unlike the dreary years you’ve spent in this town. Between the weather and the chipped cobblestone, England was so gray this time of year. Frigid and frozen over with winter winds and a constant flurry of snow.

It was on a particularly cold night that you’d found him.

Saved him, he’d argue whenever he told the story. Saved him from Bleacher and his mangy mutt.

“Don't you ever get tired of harassing people?” you'd sighed as you'd stumbled upon the scene. A familiar one- another poor soul about to get roped into Bleacher and Scrubbit’s barely concealed hoodwink. Everyone who’d grown up in this city knew better.

“Why don't you mind your business, Y/N. And leave us be. Both me and mister-” Bleacher looks to the man. The one with the sharp cheekbones and the ostentatious velvet trench coat.

“Wonka. Willy Wonka” And he’d said it with such innocence gleaming in those bright eyes that in that moment, you knew you couldn't let him fall victim to the cruel scam.

That’s how you’d ended up with an unexpected housemate.

The home you’d grown up in is nothing special and far from fancy, but you do happen to have a spare room. One with an old fold-out bed that’s more comfortable than it looks. It may have been stupid, but you couldn't help but trust him. Want to help him, feel this pull to him…

That was weeks ago. Almost a month now.

Willy living with you, under your roof, feels oddly natural. Like it had been years that the two of you had been co-existing, he fits into your space like he was destined to come to you. Like he belongs there; the two of you working together like a well oiled machine.

You cook dinner, he washes the dishes and wipes down the counters. The house has never been neater. Even though you try to deny them, every day when he returns from the Gallery Gourmet, he leaves silver shillings in the key bowl on the kitchen table.

“It’s not much…but I want to make sure I’m paying my way. I’m real appreciative of all you’ve done for me” he tells you so earnestly it makes you blush. You sneakily slip his sovereigns in the pockets of his trousers when you do his laundry.

He doesn't know it but he’s helped you too. And not just by scrubbing dishes.

You truly hadnt realized how lonely you were until he came along, and you were terrified of losing your found companion. You’d hold on to him for as long as he’d allow.

Your new favorite time of the day is the evenings; quiet ones. With a fire burning in the hearth and the radio playing softly. You and Willy curl up on the couch, warm in your respective quilts. And read. Well, you read to him. At his persistent insistence.

“Aren't you tired of me blabbing yet?” you tease as you pick up the dog eared copy of The Hobbit that the two of you had been working your way through.

Willy gives you a grin, all boyish and crooked “Never that. I adore the way you tell stories”

That makes your stomach swoop dangerously and you shake your head “You’re a flatter, Mr. Wonka”

“No, no. Your voice is more melodic than the bells of Notre Dame” and when he says things like that to you, how are you not supposed to swoon? From any other man it would make you scoff, but from Willy his compliments always feel different.

Like maybe he’s telling the truth…

You ignore it and change the subject to something that feels safer “One day i'm gonna put you in front of a map and make you show me all the places you’ve been”

“Honestly, It would probably be easier to mark off the few places I haven't been-”

“Oh ho ho ho. How modest of you, great explorer” You tease around a laugh and his ears redden a bit at your ribbing.

“It's not like that and you know it” Willy defends “It was a lot less glamorous than it sounds. I spent seven years under the deck scrubbing pots and then collecting ingredients for my chocolate whenever we made port”

“And wooing girls on every continent?” I ask and that blush on his ears spreads to the high apples of his cheeks.

He’s a pretty one and you know even though he pretends to be demure, might come off as innocent, he’s anything but.

You’d gotten a small taste of it, and hadn't thought of anything else since. But neither of you had quite mustered the bravery to talk about that yet.

The two of you settle in on the old worn couch with mugs of steaming hot chocolate, courtesy of Willy. He’d spoiled you rotten, made you develop a terrible sweet tooth. Any cavities you develop, you’re completely blaming on him.

“Willy” you whine.

“Just try it, please. I made this recipe especially for you”

You take a sip.

The first rush of flavor over your taste buds has your eyes fluttering.

“Mmm, oh my god” you can't help but moan. It’s the most complex thing you’ve ever tasted. Truly. He’s outdone himself- cinnamon and warmth.The kind that feels like a a lovers embrace. Sweet milk chocolate. Is that a hit of rose? “This is insane, what’s in this?”

At your praise Willy smiles like the cat that caught the canary “Cinnamon bark from Sri Lanka, Wild roses from China. Coconut milk”

You look over at him, appraising. Trying to figure out why his voice has taken on that husk. Why his eyes are boring into so intensely.

“What a peculiar combination of flavors” you whisper and Willy bites his lip.

“Its become my favorite combination lately” he admits “but I can't seem to get it quite right. You see, I was allowed to taste it only once, and its tormented me since”

Your breath hitches. Flashes of tangling tongues tongues and his lips pressed against yours. It had only been one kiss but it had wreaked havoc on you since.

You eyeball the mug in your hands. Maybe you weren't the only one suffering with the after effects after all.

“Is this chocolate supposed to taste like?...”

“You. Yes. Your kiss. Your tongue and your lips” Willy nods. “I don't know if anything can come close to the real thing, but I tried”

Your heart thunders behind your ribcage. The longing in his voice matches the one within your gut, the need that had been brewing.

“I’ve spent hours. Thinking of you, trying to imitate your taste so that I could have it one more time. Spicy, but not quite. More warm. Sweet…the floral note from your lipstick. I’ve been nearly everywhere and i’ve never sampled anything quite like it”

With his confession, the thin thread of control snaps.

You’d been trying, so hard. Trying not to scare him away. Trying to keep the intensity of your feelings at bay so that he’d stay, even after he secured his shop. That he wouldnt leave you when he found success-

You place the mug down on the old wood of the side table-

“Please” Willy’s pathetic as he grabs at your arm “Don't go, I understand if this was too much but I- I didn't know how else to show you”

You lean into his touch, not away and that seems to calm him if only just.

Of course this sweet silly man couldn't just tell you that he cared for you. That was not his style. He was bad with words, so much better with his hands. To him, he’d shown you the most sincere form of devotion, crafted your portrait with his most loved medium.

“I feel the same” you say, voice quivering just the tiniest bit. His eyes melt and he comes in close, forehead knocking against yours.

When you kiss him its hot from the start. It’s wet and electric, charged with emotion. With desperation. Willy’s sinewy hands are all over you, cupping your chin, squeezing your waist, so much more bold this time. The waiting had lowered any inhibitions he might have had.

It’s frantic, him unbuttoning your blouse and you tugging at his trousers.

You need more. Need to feel his dark silky hair between your fingers, his pale skin under your palms.

Nothing feels like enough. Not when he mouths at your garment covered breasts or when you wiggle out of your skirt.

You reach into his boxers, wanting to palm at the blood hot hardness you’ll find there-

He groans and pulls his mouth away from your neck, where he’d been suckling marks into the delicate skin. “Wait, don’t”

“Why?” you’re confused, you can feel him. Firm and needy under the cloth.

“Because I want to take care of you first. With my mouth. If you’ll let me”

And oh. Oh.

All you can do is nod. Lay back and let him take what he needs, you feel more vulnerable than ever before. When he blankets you with his body, you realize that you also feel safer. Adored by this man, by this odd beautiful man.

Willy is a tactile person. He wants to touch and taste. And so that is what he does.

There’s so much to feel. Your heavy breasts, peaked with hard little nipples that he swirls his tongue round. Your belly and wide hips, so soft, so much give, he watches his fingers dig in and indent. Your thighs, so plush.

He buries his head between them. And inhales, deeply.

“Willy!” you exclaim, scandalized, trying to close your legs, but he shoulders his way deeper.

“You smell so good” Willy reassures you, his nose pressed against the wet patch on your knickers. Groaning like it’s the best scent in the world.

He takes his time, savors the moment as he peels the damp fabric away. His eyes locked on how the strings of slick stretch and shine in the low fire light. You’re so wet, the puffy lips of your cunt sopping already. And when he takes his first tentative lap, he knows that he could do this for hours and there's no way he’d ever be able to replicate it.

Nectar from the gods. Earthy and sour sweet.

You whimper as he feasts, as he gorges greedily. The sight of his dark head bobbing between your thighs makes you shudder. It’s almost unreal. That he’s doing this, that he wants you. His arms are wrapped around the back of your thighs, holding them up, holding you open.

You come for the first time with your fingers buried in his hair, pressing his face deep into you. Riding his nose and tongue.

For the second time you’re arching away from the sharp pleasure.

“Willy” you choke on your whines as his fingers reach deep into you, hitting that sensitive place inside over and over. You’re shaking with overstimulation, but hes groaning like he’s the one being brought to orgasm over and over.

He pulls his wet mouth away every so often. To tell you how beautiful you are. How good you taste.

“I can’t” you whisper, warningly.

“Please” Willy insists, his breath against your clit “One more, one more for me”

You can't deny him anything, can you?

You arch right up from the couch cushions, squealing as you hit that peak again. But this time is different, this time something inside you bursts, pushing wetness out in a flood.

Willy lets out a gutted sound from where he’s smothered by your thighs, that have tightened vice like around his head during your orgasm.

Coming down from it is almost painful and you’ve never sobbed from pleasure but well. There’s a first time for everything. While you shake and shiver Willy’s gentle, petting your thighs and tummy in soothing circles. Pulling away from your over sensitive flesh.

He stares up at you, his gaze heavy and his tongue poking out every few seconds. Swiping at his wet lips. Like he can't stop tasting you. It’s debauched. Beautiful.

“You are the best thing i’ve ever tasted” Willy pants out the vow, raw with honesty. Drunk on the flavor of you.

Wryly, you wonder if he’ll try to manufacture it into a truffle. A fancy bon bon.

You smile as he climbs back fully on top of you, your arms wrapping around him and holding him close. You kiss the shell of his ear before whispering-

“My turn to taste you”

🍬🍬🍬🍬🍬🍬🍬🍬🍬🍬🍬

I never thought I’d be writing Willy Wonka smut but well. Here I am lol

[the-adas]

one day i'm gonna make shinigami eyes for racism

[areyouwell]

Logan x angel!reader where the reader had to get medical treatment after a mission because her angel wings (that are apart of her mutation) were burned and partially damaged after battle, and Logan comes in to check up on her?

Tattered

Pairing: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader

Word count: 10K

A/N: first request! so i definitely took some creative license with this... i sort of just kept adding scenes and ideas but this concept was so fierce boots i couldn't help myself. hope this is what you have in mind <3 i have also elected, from now onwards, not to use warnings on my fics unless there's explicit content in which case it will simply just have MDNI in red.

I don't have a taglist for like, oneshots or requests rn so lmk if anyone would like to be added :)

“Watch your six, Icarus!” Scott’s voice crackled from your earpiece as you swooped over the battlefield, the feathers in your wings fluttering in the wind. Glancing behind back, you realised why Scott had alerted you, three drones tailed you with six red dots seeking out your presence. Fuck, this wasn’t good. Why did nothing ever go right? Why were there always fucking complications?

You tucked your wings in tight against your back as you joined the rest of the team inside the Blackbird. You’d always been conscious of how much room you often took up, and whilst your mutation was your pride and joy, it was a common occurrence to feel a little self conscious when trying to cram multiple people into a tight space. You never occupied any of the seats in the cockpit, your wings wouldn’t allow it, and it was never comfortable for you anyway, the way they would shift and bend at unnatural angles meant you’d constantly be shuffling around to stop the awkward ache in your shoulder blades.

Icarus. That was your name. Well, not your name, but that’s what they called you on account of your gleaming golden feathers. You thought it was a little mean, to be honest. You had no intention of flying too close to the sun anytime soon, but alas, you were stuck with it, and over time, you’d come to appreciate it. They weren’t far off anyway. You did have grand ideals, and dreams to become something more than just a freedom fighter. You wanted to change the world and make it a safer place where humans and mutants could live in harmony. You knew a lot of the hard graft was political, and Hank was doing wonders for mutant reputation, but you still would like to contribute something other than stopping mutant slave trades and taking down illegal, anti-mutant organisations. 

That was the mission today. Some hate-crazed fuck had been building some kind of drone that could target the mutant gene. Kind of like the sentinels from years ago, but they’d been discontinued.

Thank fuck. 

The muscles in your shoulders tensed slightly as Ororo and Logan finally joined the rest of you, deep in conversation about the inevitable upcoming battle. You tucked yourself further into the wall, cursing lowly as you hit your head against the steel. 

Your relationship with Logan was… complicated, to say the least. The two of you instantly clicked when you met, finding yourself at ease with his gruff, surprisingly playful demeanour. You guessed he must have felt the same, since you noticed he would often seek you out during breaktimes, or take the seat next to you during meetings, sending you looks whenever Scott said something particularly leader-ish. You’d have to bite back a smile and attempt to keep your serious composure, lest anyone would think you weren’t taking the meeting seriously. 

And then there was the night things shifted between you. It was late, possibly early hours of the morning. Your muscles ached from being unable to find a comfortable position to sleep in, the beds not exactly being tailored to suit those with extra limbs, and with a huff of irritation, you’d given up to head downstairs and fix yourself an Irish coffee. And whilst there was a serious lack of Irish whiskey in the school, you knew Logan had a bottle of bourbon hiding somewhere in the cupboards, out of reach for most of the younger kids. 

You’d managed to clamber up onto the counter, perched precariously on the edge as you rifled around the top shelf, pulling down various unused cooking equipment before you finally came across the liquid gold. With a triumphant smile, you reached in further to wrap your fingers around the neck of the bottle, delicately pulling it from the depths of the cupboard. Only, it was stuck. 

The screw top kept scraping against the top of the cupboard, and you grit your teeth as your fruitless yanking sent pots and pans clattering against each other. You seriously didn’t want to wake anyone only to have them come down and find you up on your knees, balancing on the thin space of the counter, elbow deep in the top cupboard and frantically pulling at a bottle of whiskey. Fuck knows what kind of an impression that would give, but it certainly wouldn’t have been the correct one. 

Flaring your wings for balance, you completely misjudged the tips of your wingspan, knocking over an empty can of baked beans and sending it rolling onto the floor with a loud, deafening clang. You froze, attempting to quiet your breathing whilst you waited for the telltale sound of footsteps or the annoyed slam of a bedroom door. But your intense listening found nothing, the halls of the school blissfully quiet as you loosened your held breath. 

Nothing. Everyone was still asleep.

You turned your attention back to the stubborn bottle, this time trying to gently manoeuvre it around the baking bowls and saucepans, teasing it from the small little hiding place like you would a scared child. 

“Come… on.” You hissed with effort, finally freeing your vice from its trap with a final, harsh tug. Only, it was a little harsher than you’d have liked it to be. You grabbed the handle of the cupboard to your left to hold your balance, only for the door to swing open and provide absolutely no stability whatsoever. 

You felt yourself fall backwards with a frantic, whispered curse, swinging with the cupboard door, and resigned yourself to the sore back you’d get from falling to the floor. Or, at least, you would have fallen to the floor, if it hadn’t been for the sudden appearance of a warm palm at the centre of your spine. 

“Rough–” 

You yelped at the unexpected voice behind you, you entire body jumping as if you were shocked by a socket. 

“Stop screaming, it’s me,” Logan soothed with no small degree of subdued amusement. “Rough night?”

It wasn’t like he was asleep, more like dozing when he heard the soft padding of footsteps pass his door and head down the stairs. Knowing it was you, he assumed you’d just woken up thirsty and were heading down for a glass of water. His assumption proved incorrect when the clattering of pans and the clang of something hitting the floor broke the steady silence, and curiosity won over when he decided to investigate just exactly what it was you were doing. 

What he wasn’t expecting was to find you clinging onto the cupboards for dear life, his bottle of whiskey clutched in one stubborn hand and your other gripping the open door of the shelf next to you. And it was pure instinct to lunge forward and steady you before you fell to the floor, though in the following moments, he convinced himself it was purely because he didn’t want you to wake up anyone else.

“What?” You asked in bewilderment, turning your head to see his brow raise at the bottle you had in your white knuckle grip. How the hell hadn’t you heard him? You’d stayed silent for at least five minutes before resuming your attempts to pull the bottle out. How the hell had he managed to still creep up on you?

“It’s two in the mornin’ and you’re makin’ a grab for whiskey. So, rough night?” He asked again, moving his hands from your back to your waist, steadying you as you clambered down from the countertop, and he did his best to ignore the feeling of your warm skin seeping through the thin nightshirt you were wearing. At least you were wearing shorts. Though, he counted that as both a blessing and a curse. 

He liked you. Despite trying to gaslight himself otherwise, there were times when he truly couldn’t deny it. And this time was one of them. You looked a little dishevelled, hair slightly frizzy and out of place from tossing and turning, and it was one of the rare times he’d seen you without any makeup on. You never wore a lot, just enough to accent your already glowing features and cover any blemishes he thought you had no reason to feel self-conscious about. 

You were so perfectly yourself, it was tricky for him not to fall in love with you.

Not that he had, of course. This was just a surface-level crush…

Yeah. Totally.

“You uh, yeah, you could say that. One of those nights, ya know?” You offered a small, slightly dejected smile, and his heart bled slightly. He knew. More than he could say, he knew exactly what you were talking about.

“You plannin’ on drinking yourself to sleep?” He asked with wry suspicion as you leaned against the counter, placing his bottle next to the kettle you still needed to flip on. 

“The opposite, actually. Wanted to fix myself an Irish coffee. Seeing as I’m not sleeping tonight, might as well stay up.” You shrugged, finding the willpower to turn away from him and grab the ground coffee from the lower cupboard. Thankfully, it didn’t put up the same kind of fight as the bottle. 

It was getting increasingly difficult to ignore the electricity humming from where his hands were still against your waist, though his grip was lighter than when he’d helped you down. It truly wasn’t decent to detail the things you were thinking at that moment, and you had to force yourself to think of unsexy things. 

“We have a mission in two days and you’re pullin’ an all-nighter?” He asked, his brows pinching in badly concealed concern. Your heavy sigh did nothing to quench his worry.

“What’m I supposed to do? You try sleeping in a bed that’s too small with wings that stretch to either side of the room,” You huffed, flicking down the switch on the kettle and spooning a good two heaps of coffee grounds into the cafetiere. “Doesn’t matter what position. On my back or my side, shit’s so fucking uncomfortable it almost hurts.” 

“Why not sleep on your front?”

You snapped back to look at him, eyes hardening to steel. “No. Never sleep on my front.”

You’d said it with so much force he almost reeled back. There was a story there, there had to be, for you to clap back at him with such a bite there was no way it was just a personal preference. You hadn’t really told anyone about your life before the school, but from the bare snippets he’d heard from Charles, it wasn’t exactly how anyone would describe as happy. And there was fear behind that steel. Vulnerability. 

Logan sighed, leaning across you to flip the switch back up, stopping the kettle from boiling. You gaped indignantly, and before you could ask him just what the hell he thought he was doing, he spoke before you.

“Sleep with me.”

You choked, eyes blowing wide with shock. “I… what?”

Logan rolled his eyes, unable to tame the crooked curl of his lips at your complete one-eighty from irritation to stupefaction, even the feathers of your wings had puffed out slightly. “Not like that, freak,” although I wouldn’t be opposed. “Just… for company. Might help, s’all.” He offered quietly, and a blanket of realisation settled in your chest. He was awake too. It had only just occurred to you. He hadn’t been sleeping. He didn’t even look like he’d been sleeping. And it made more sense in your head for him to offer if it was something that could benefit both of you. 

It seemed highly unlikely he was offering just for you. Right?

“You sure? Don’t wanna like, intrude on your space or anything…” 

“Not intrudin’ if I offer,” he reasoned, and you guessed you couldn’t argue with that. With a heavy sigh, you looked back to the bottle of whiskey you’d fought wars to obtain, realising now that the whole cupboard situation had been for nothing. 

“All that effort,” you pouted comically, and Logan huffed a smile.

“I’ll put it somewhere easier next time. C’mon.” He nudged you before grabbing the bottle and returning it to the top shelf. You cursed his stupid height and the fact that he wasn’t down earlier. He could have retrieved it for you with so much less effort. But at the same time… if he had…

You wouldn’t be where you are now. 

You followed him back up the stairs, taking a left to the door only a few down from your own. You didn’t quite know how sleeping in the presence of someone else would help, but you were not about to say no to sleeping by his side. It wasn’t like this was something you’d thought about. At great length. And in great detail.

And this certainly wasn’t a scenario he’d entertained far too many times to count. 

Though upon seeing the double bed, that same self-conscious feeling reared its ugly head. There was no way you weren’t going to disturb him. You could barely find comfort in your own bed of the same size, let alone trying to sleep with someone else taking up space. You hesitated in the doorway, and Logan turned back to you, his head quirking to the side. 

“You ‘kay?”

“Yeah… s’just– are you sure I’m not gonna disturb you? Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I take up a bit more room than other people…” you extended your wings in emphasis, barely able to stretch them to half their wingspan before the side of the closet and the wall stopped you. Logan breathed a soft smile, and you felt yourself shrink slightly. 

“I’ll be fine, just get in.”

You huffed in resignation, tucking the feathers close into your back and crossing to the other side of the bed, unable to stop thinking about how ridiculous this was. You really should just get the fuck over yourself and go back to your room. How tricky was sleeping on your front anyway? Maybe this time you wouldn’t wake up with a panic attack and you were just being dramatic this whole time. You were fine. It really wasn’t that deep. You didn’t want to disturb him just because you couldn’t get over some stupid fucking fear. This was–

“Christ, I’m not even a telepath and I can hear ya thinkin’. It’s fine, sweetheart. You’re fine.” He implored, throwing back the covers for you to take up the space next to him, but you continued to hesitate. “You want a written invitation or somethin’? Get your ass in bed.”

“Alright, jeez…” you pursed your lips to stop yourself from smiling at his smartass comment, keeping your wings firmly against your back as you shuffled beneath the covers by his side, careful not to take up too much room. Your shoulder started to cramp up slightly, but there was no way you were about to release the tension in your muscles until you were sure he was asleep. 

Pulling the covers up to your neck as best you could, you scooted down until your head hit the pillow, shifting in yet another attempt to ease the ache in your back. You hadn’t noticed he’d turned on his side to face you until you looked back ahead and were suddenly met with his flat look of exasperation.

“Seriously?”

“What?” Your voice raised into a pitch of innocence, and Logan barely managed to suppress his eye roll of sarcasm. 

“The point was for you to be comfortable.”

“I am comfortable!”

“As comfortable as someone would be whilst constantly tensing, yeah?”

“Logan, if I don’t, you’ll wake up with feathers in your nose.”

He snorted a laugh, and you giggled slightly along with him. “You look ridiculous.”

You gaped in mock offence. “Hey!”

“Come ‘ere…” in one swift movement, you were dragged from your position on your side, and he turned the both of you until you were settled on his chest. Panic swirled in your mind as your back was exposed to the room, until a steady hand soothed your racing pulse against your spine, in the space between your wings. You felt comfort dampen your anxiety, breathing deeply into the dip between his collarbone and neck, exhaling a shaky breath. You let the seconds tick by, expecting yourself to start gasping rapidly at any moment. But the longer your heart stayed settled, the more you realised this might actually work. “Y’okay?” He asked quietly, and you nodded against his chest.

“Yeah… just surprised. Usually, I’d be thinking I’m about to die by this point,” you half-joked, and though you couldn’t see him, Logan’s brows pinched in empathy. What the hell had happened to you before joining the team? Finding the school? His fingers slowly grazed through the short, fluffy feathers at the base of your wings, carding through the stiff joints. He watched in mild amusement as you shivered slightly, those feathers puffing out and shuddering at his touch. He lightly dug his fingers into the hard muscles around the joint, and you had to clamp your mouth shut to stop yourself from sighing in release. You hadn’t realised just how much strain it was to constantly keep them tight against your back, and whilst it had proven useful to build up the muscle, it had also resulted in some nasty knots. 

Achingly slowly, your wings started to relax, heavy, hollow bones coming to rest across his body, wingtips grazing the floors on either side of the bed as you blanketed the both of you in a soft, warm embrace. Your eyes started to grow tired, lids drooping with each gentle caress of his fingers across your back. 

“Sleep, angel. ‘M here. You’re safe.” He whispered, and you didn’t have the energy to contemplate the fact he’d just used two new pet names for you. If you weren’t so damn tired, your insides would have exploded with butterflies by now, but the siren call of sleep lulled you into a sense of security, and with his steady heartbeat your lullaby, you gave in to the soft pull of rest. 

That was the night things changed between you. The day after he would barely leave your side, sticking by you throughout the morning, taking the seat next to you in the pre-mission meeting that same evening, sending you quick glances that he’d cut short whenever your eyes met. And it was the same when he entered the Blackbird, with you tucked tight against the wall. His eyes found you instantly, lips carving into a gentle smile, his hand falling to your shoulder as he walked past you. You savoured the touch, missing the contact when his hand fell back to his side, still deep in conversation with Ororo. 

“Do you want to fly above us, Icarus? Might be more comfortable,” Scott asked from where he’d taken his seat at the front of the jet, his head turning back to look at you through his glasses. You knew what he meant. There was only so much room in the Blackbird, and despite your best efforts, you were taking up a considerable amount. You took a moment to think, weighing up your options. And whilst you loved the freedom of flying, you couldn’t help but think it was a backhanded way of asking you to stop taking up so much room. He may not have meant it that way, but that’s just how it felt. 

“Uh, sure. Yeah, might be better…” You mumbled with a shrug, trying in vain to stop the hot shame from flushing your cheeks. 

Logan’s jaw tensed, his teeth grinding together, the sound resonating through his skull. He’d been trying so damn hard to get you to loosen up about your wings. And whilst he found it difficult to properly articulate just how gorgeous he thought they were, he thought he was finally making some progress after the last two days. So the way Scott insensitively asked you to fly instead of taking the jet wound him up. 

“Only if it would be better for you. Don’t do it just cuz ya think it’ll be more comfortable for everyone else,” he ground out with a pointed look to Scott, whose brows furrowed in brief confusion before his mouth fell open in horror.

“Shit, no that’s not what I meant! I just thought–”

“It’s fine, Scott,” you tried placating the panicking Cyclops. “I need to stretch them out before the mission anyway.” You smiled a liar's smile, hoping he wouldn’t see through the façade and into your genuine hurt before turning on your heel to head back down the ramp. You managed to make it roughly halfway before a hand caught your arm, stopping you short. 

“You’re not doin’ this cuz of these, right?” Logan asked, gesturing to your wings with his head, his eyes searching your expression as if he was looking to peer right through you. You offered him the same smile you gave Scott, and whilst it worked to settle Cyclops, it only served to broaden Logan’s concern. 

“Nah, I really do need to stretch them out, feeling kinda stiff today so it’s not a problem.” You said brazenly, shrugging off his concerns with faux confidence. You knew it didn’t work when his expression didn’t shift, his hand tightening slightly around your arm. You sighed, defeated. “It’s fine, Logan. Everyone’ll be more comfortable like this anyway, myself included. I won’t feel like I’m–”

“If you finish that sentence with ‘in the way’ I’ll throw you off the jet myself.” He borderline growled, and you tensed your jaw in slight irritation. Couldn’t he just let you have this? Couldn’t he just let you do this one thing to make everyone’s lives more comfortable? Why did he have to be so damn stubborn?

“Just… drop it, yeah? I’ll see you guys when we get there.” You bit, almost snatching your arm from his grip and continuing down the ramp, crouching low when you reached the bottom and launching into the skies, your wings beating hard as cold wind whipped your face. All Logan could do was watch you go, regret piercing his chest as the sound of your wings receded into the night sky. 

And that was how you found yourself already airborne when Scott’s voice crackled through your earpiece, the low hum of those three drones on your tail like the toll of death, the rapid beeping of target systems an accompaniment to the symphony. Tucking one of your wings in tight, you fell into a sharp stoop, panic rising in your chest as they followed you down. The hissing release of metal combined with the sudden roar of a rocket told you at least one of them had fired on you. You flared your wings, catching the air like a feathered parachute as you levelled out quickly, the missile shooting past you and into the ground below. The heat from the explosion fanned your face as you whipped around the wreckage of a building, those three drones still hot on your trail.

Logan looked up as you soared above, his claws drenched in blood as he yanked them out the helmet of some unfortunate soldier who’d made the mistake of thinking he could take on The Wolverine. His heart raced in his throat as those six dots wouldn’t stray from your body, drones expertly following your manoeuvres, mimicking every duck and dive, narrowly missing the corners of buildings and rising flames. Ororo’s voice crackled in his own earpiece, her tone frantic. 

“Icarus you gotta shake them!”

“NO SHIT!”

He almost winced at the panic in your voice, snapping back at Storm in a way he’d never heard you do before. Casting a quick glance to his surroundings, he saw Scott with his fingers braced on his glasses, beams of white-hot energy streaking the battlefield as he picked off one guard after another. 

“Scott!” He called, his legs pounding the ground as he ran over, slicing through the gut of a nameless, faceless soldier who stood in his way before he jogged to a stop. “Think you can get a clear shot?” He asked, his words rushed as his gaze returned to the skies, another explosion booming bright before you raced around the corner of the main building. 

“They’re moving too fast and it’s too much of a risk.” Scott called back over the din of battle, the crackle and boom of thunder overhead striking the earth with expert precision as Storm unleashed yet another bolt from the clouds above. A little too close to you for comfort. 

Logan’s breath caught in his throat as you levelled out, those tenacious six red dots still focused solely on your racing form, your wings beating and dipping with every expert manoeuvre as you once again swooped from sight. But it still wasn’t enough. 

“Lead the shot.”

“What?”

“Lead the damn shot, Scott. She’ll be comin’ back round, it’s a pattern. Just do it.” He almost pleaded, his voice cracking slightly. He knew you only had precious seconds before those missiles would fire again, and you couldn’t outrun them forever.

You crested back around the ruins of the facility, and it was only due to his enhanced sight could he see your confidence wavering, your jaw tense with concentration, though your eyes were blown wide with panic. 

The beep of the target systems increased rapidly, before blending into one long note. And it was like time came to a slow crawl. A puff of silver gas erupted from the base of the drone, a pinpoint missile dropping from the small hold to hone in on your location before Scott had a chance to take it out. 

Switching targets, Scott moved his head to the side slightly, leading the shot as Logan had said, the beam of pure, red and white hot energy shot from his glasses, quick as a blink. And for one, blissfully ignorant moment, Logan thought they’d succeeded.

But the missile was too close. The moment the pure energy collided with the steel casing, a ball of furnace orange flame and thick black smoke lit the sky. Before you had time to think, searing agony jolted your back, hellfire burning your shoulders and wings as you were thrust forward, losing control of your trajectory. Panic gripped your heart as you tried in vain to regain your altitude, but your wings weren’t responding. The stench of burning feathers and flesh singed your nose as you went down, caught up in the explosion between Scott’s beam and the missile. 

Wind roared in your ears, whipping your hair as you descended, flailing and spiralling, to the ground, trees and ruin rising to bring your fall, and your life, to a sharp end. 

“STORM!”

“ICARUS!”

Two indistinguishable voices exploded in your ears, deafening you over the din of death. You knew this was most likely it. This was most likely the end, but you felt numb peace as the wind kept you company, wrapping around you almost like a blanket as you braced your arms against your chest, pain splitting your body and mind as the open rooftop of a ruined house ripped through your suit and flesh as you struck the ground, knowing nothing more than darkness.

“No…” Logan whispered, his entire world coming to an abrupt halt as you descended past his line of vision, a cloud of black dust rolling from the wreckage of a home. You weren’t dead. You couldn’t be dead. He was moving before he’d even registered it, racing across blackened bodies and charred remains of structures. His throat tore with repeated cries of your name, pushing past collapsed beams and splinters of wood, shoving aside wrecked furniture and broken decor before he saw you.

Lifeless.

In a pool of your own blood. 

Your leg lay in an unnatural angle, your wings charred and broken, your wrist twisted in a way he knew it really shouldn’t be. His blood turned to ice in his veins, face blanching as he couldn’t see the rise and fall of your chest beneath the shrapnel and dust covering you. A jagged wooden spike protruded from the dip between your shoulder and your chest, the entry wound somewhere on your back.

He had to check if you were still alive, but he couldn't move, finding himself frozen in place. He couldn't lose you. Not when he was finally putting the foundations down for your relationship. He couldn't lose you now… 

But seeing your body broken like this… there was no way you could have survived that fall, even with Ororo’s help. She tried to slow your descent too late, a gust of wind appearing from nowhere to catch you just a second after she should have. Maybe you’d still be alive if she'd succeeded. Maybe you’d still be here if he hadn't asked Scott to shoot those fucking drones.

Maybe…

“Fuck! Icarus! Icarus can you hear me?” Storm rushed past him, followed by a horrified Cyclops, and if Logan could focus on anything other than your twisted limbs, he'd see the overwhelming sense of guilt on his face. 

Ororo pushes off the splinters of wood and debris from your body, her movements hurried yet careful, terrified of moving you too much. She placed two trembling fingers against the side of your neck and waited. 

And waited. 

And waited…

Logan thought the moment would never end, silence blanketing the ruined room as the three of them could do nothing but watch, Jean quietly placing a hand on Scott's shoulder. 

“There's a pulse!” Storm cried, a sob of relief erupting from her throat as Jean rushed forward, her hands ghosting the top of your body. 

You were alive. Alive. How the fuck had you survived that? There was no way you could have survived that. You fell from over two hundred feet, how the fuck–

“We need to stabilise her. She's lost a lot of blood and it hasn't stopped. Can you tell what the damage is?” Storm turned to Jean, hoping her telekinesis could find something, anything that would provide more information. 

“Broken ribs, her lung is punctured, I think she's bleeding internally and we can’t remove this or she’ll bleed out… I can't do shit out here, we need to get her back to the school. Now.” Jean's voice took on a tone of authority, spurring Scott back into action, but Logan was still paralysed. It was only two nights ago you were sound asleep on his chest, only yesterday he couldn’t stand being further than two feet from you. 

Logan…

You were alive, but how long for? Was he just given false hope, only to lose you on the way? On the operating table? How much longer did you have? How much longer did he have?

“Logan…”

He wanted to blame Scott. Fuck, he wished he could blame Scott. But the truth was, he asked him to take them out. He was the one who asked if he had a shot. He was the one who coerced him to take it. Would you have been okay? Would you have been able to shake them on your own? Had he single-handedly brought on your fall?

“LOGAN!”

Logan blinked rapidly, eyes burning from how long he was staring, unblinkingly, at your broken body. Numbly, he tore his gaze from you and over to Ororo, and though her brows were pinched in concern, her eyes were hard with determination. 

“I know, but if we wait any longer, we’ll lose her. Think you can clear Jean a path?” She glanced pointedly to the rubble somewhat blocking the doorway, and it took him another second before forcing his body to move, nodding wordlessly to Ororo’s orders. He wasn’t usually one to just mindlessly obey, but he wasn’t able to think straight at the moment and was honestly thankful for the others taking charge. 

He was strong at the best of times, but self-hatred fuelled his arms to work overtime, shoving away impossibly large beams and collapsed part of the wall before there was a clear path for Jean to levitate you through. Your smouldering wings dragged along the ground, tattered and torn, gathering dust and grime along the bloodied tips. Only now had could he get a glimpse of your back, the worst of the damage caking your shoulders and wing joints in blackened crimson. Feathers had burned away, leaving your mutation raw and weeping. You didn’t know what he was talking to Ororo about on the walk to the jet. You didn’t know he was asking her if you had a favourite food, or colour, or flower. You had no idea he’d planned to officially ask you out after the mission. 

Now you might never know.

Scott slowly approached him, looking as if he were in a state of complete shock, replaying what went wrong over and over again in his head. All it took was one glance, and Logan didn’t even need to see his eyes to know they were buried in remorse. He wanted to be furious at him, but he couldn’t. He wanted to be beside himself with desperate anger, but there was nothing to be angry at him for. This wasn’t Scott’s fault…

It was his. 

The ride back to the mansion took days and also five seconds, Jean doing her best to keep you stable whilst Ororo took the pilot’s seat, Scott being in no shape to fly anything. Logan found himself too terrified to touch you as if the slightest movement could worsen your condition. In the silence of the ship, he could hear your haunting, rasped breaths, slow and shallow. The stench of charred flesh and boiled blood made his stomach clench, but not as much as the wounds across your body. He forced himself to look at them. To look at what he’d done to you because of his choices. Forced himself to sear every weeping burn, every broken bone, every blood-soaked bandage into his memory. Your wings, which once held so much majesty and beauty, now lay in tatters, and he had no idea if they would grow back. Would you ever be able to fly again? Logan didn’t know if he’d be able to look himself in the mirror if he’d taken that from you too. 

“She’s going to be okay, Logan. She’s stabilised for now and the Professor already knows the situation. Hank’s on standby and Charles has called in a favour from a surgeon. She’ll be in the best hands possible when we get there.” Jean attempted to comfort him, all the while focussed on keeping you stable from any turbulence and making sure your wounds didn’t worsen. 

“I did this…” he whispered, uttering the first words since watching you fall. Speaking his thoughts into the thick silence, the rest of the team cast glances at each other, Scott running a hand through his hair.

“No… I should have trusted your judgment. I hesitated. Fired too late. You can’t blame yourself for this…” He hissed, dragging the hand from his hair down the side of his face. 

“You both did what you could,” Ororo offered from the cockpit, her eyes still focused on the clouds ahead. “If you hadn’t done anything, she’d be dead by now. Those drones weren’t going to give up and she couldn’t shake them. She’s still here because of what happened, not despite it.” 

Logan couldn’t find the self-compassion to believe her. His eyes still trained on the scattering of feathers beneath where Jean suspended you from the ground. He wearily raised his head when the redhead called his name, her features soft with understanding. 

“Come here,” she gesture him over with a nod of her head, her hands still hovering over your body. Logan hesitated before rising from his seat, to stand by your side, across from Jean. “Place two fingers against the side of her neck,” she instructed, and his breath hitched, eyes darting from your unconscious face to Jean. “You won’t hurt her, just do it.”

Inhaling sharply, Logan softly brushed your hair back from your neck, gently placing two fingers against your pulse point. There he felt the slight, slow thump of your heart still beating. The realisation was enough to bring him to his knees, not caring about the sharp bark of pain as he struck the steel floor. He knew you were alive. Ororo had said as much, but to actually feel you, to feel the evidence of you’re still beating heart, broke through the dam of self-hatred.

His hand cautiously skirted up your jaw to rest against the side of your cheek as he pressed his forehead into your hair, his breath shuddering with the effort to keep himself from falling apart. He didn’t care that he could taste blood and dirt when he softly kissed the side of your head. Didn’t care that now everyone knew how he felt about you. His thumb lightly caressed your cheekbone, smoothing the grimy skin beneath your eye. 

You hadn’t left him yet. You were still here. 

“She’s alive, Logan. And we’re gonna keep her that way,” the conviction in Jean’s eyes was almost enough to settle his heart, but he knew the twisting worry wouldn’t loosen until he saw you open your eyes, your wounds healing, your wings bright again.

Everything ached. Everything. You felt as if you’d been hit by a bus, only for the bus to reverse back over your body, and hit you again. Your wrist barked with sharp pain when you tried to shift, your eyes still closed against the bright lights behind your lids. Something tight was almost cutting off the circulation to your left leg, and inhaling too deeply caused your chest to convulse in agony. The steady beep of a heart rate monitor helped you count roughly how many seconds you’d been conscious. You tried to think back to what could have happened, only to find the last thing you remembered was stooping in a low dive with three drones tailing you. There was an explosion at your back and–

You were falling. 

You’d fallen.

So much for not living up to your name…

With a hissing wince, you cracked your eyes open, only to instantly screw them shut at the sharp burn of bright lights unfamiliar to your retinas. How long have you been out? How did the mission go? Was everybody okay? Was Logan okay? 

With renewed determination, you attempted to open your eyes again, gritting your teeth as you blinked through the burn of adjustment. You knew this ceiling. You knew this table. From your first ever visit to the school, you’d been taken care of in this very room. You groaned slightly, exhaustion already taking its

 toll on your weary bones. Any attempt to move yourself resulted in agony spiking up your spine, white-hot pain cresting through your shoulder blades. Panic gripped your heart as you attempted to move your wings, only to find resistance. Turning your head with a sharp gasp, your eyes welled up with new tears seeing your torn, tattered feathers bound in bandages, held suspended by a sling from the ceiling. They were still attached, so there was that, you supposed, but it had been a long, long time since you’d seen them in this condition. 

You glanced down the bed to find your leg wrapped in a cast, held aloft from the mattress. Your wrist too seemed to be encased in white. You turned your neck to the other side with the intention of gauging the damage to your other wing, before your eyes widened at who you saw, head bowed asleep, in the chair next to your bed. 

Despite yourself and your situation, you couldn’t stop your lips from pulling into a fond, soft smile as Logan snored lightly. He looked truly exhausted, his hair mussed from how many times he’d run his hands through it. You didn’t think it was possible to adore him any more than you already did, but here you were, finding your heart growing three sizes at the sight. 

The doors opposite you slid open, Jean striding through with a clipboard and a thin pair of glasses perched on her nose. She stopped dead when she looked up from her notes, almost dropping her pen to the floor when she registered the fact you were awake. Silently, you placed a finger to your lips, before pointing over to the exhausted Logan in the chair. She smiled with a fond nod, 

Keeping her footsteps light, she crossed the medical bay to take a look at the readings on the screen, before crouching down next to your bed, her eyes focusing on the bandages across the bend of your wing. 

“He hasn’t slept since we got back. Storm had to force him to eat something yesterday. And he hasn’t stepped foot outside this room.” Jean explained, keeping her voice to a low whisper.

“How long’ve I been here…?” you asked, unable to raise your voice louder than a low whisper. Your throat scratched with every word, and you hadn’t realised just how thirsty you were until now. 

“A week and three days. I’m going to slowly reintroduce food into your stomach before taking out the IV, okay?” 

You barely heard the rest of her sentence. A week and three days? That was a little longer than you were expecting, to be honest. 

“Wait… Logan hasn’t slept in over a week?” You managed to rasp a little louder, your chest lurching with concern. That wasn’t healthy for anyone, even someone who could regenerate as fast as he could. No wonder he was utterly spent. 

And it was as if your voice were like an alarm clock. One moment your hushed tones were accompanied by the soft snores of the man in the chair, the next his eyes shot open, your whispered name the first words on his lips. 

Turning your head back to him, your breath caught in your throat. There was a hurricane of emotions swirling in his hazel eyes. Relief, guilt, fear, joy, remorse. A cocktail of feelings clouded his eyes and you wished you had the energy to cup the side of his face and reassure him you were alright. 

Logan’s exhausted haze cleared instantly upon hearing your voice, seeing your eyes open for the first time since he watched you plummet to the ground, and it took a moment for him to realise he wasn’t dreaming. Because he had dreams of this. In the rare moments he physically couldn’t keep his eyes open, his mind would either take him back to your fall or fabricate the moment you woke up. But wherever his dreams took him, he would always wake up with the tight ache of guilt constricting his chest. His waking moments he would spend thinking about what he would say to you if you woke up, planning out a meticulously crafted apology, but everything he wanted to say instantly flew out the window upon actually seeing you awake. 

“Hi…” you whispered, voice still raspy from disuse. And it was your weary, worn smile that tore at the chains around his soul. He couldn’t respond, as if he were the one who’d been lying unconscious for the last two weeks. 

Jean, sensing the tension in the room, stood from her crouched position by your wing, clearing her throat a little before tucking the clipboard flat against the crook of her elbow. 

“I’ll be back in a bit to check up on you and bring you some food.” She murmured, but you barely acknowledged her exit, too fixated on Logan’s expression of disbelief. 

The doors closed as Jean took her leave, blanketing the two of you in a charged silence, the both of you waiting for the other to talk first. 

“Logan I–”

“I’m so sorry, it–”

So naturally, of course, you both spoke at the same time, before falling into another equally uncomfortable silence, once again stuck in the purgatory of waiting for the other. You held your tongue this time, nodding to him with the smallest movement of your head. 

“You’re okay…” he breathed, almost to himself, as if having to remind himself again that this wasn’t in fact a dream. You were awake. You were talking. You weren’t lying lifeless with only the steady beeping of medical equipment to keep him company. Your eyes were open, looking at him with something he was struggling to discern through his addled mind. 

“I’m okay,” you responded softly, watching his features morph from self-hatred to pure relief. He shifted in his seat, head hanging low between his shoulders as he took a shaky breath, and you could see the slight shudder of his shoulders.

“I–” he started, before cutting himself off with a sharp inhale, clamping his teeth together as he struggled to raise his head again. “I thought I lost you.”

Whilst it was nothing but the softest admission, you felt spiderwebs crack through your heart, wanting nothing more than to reach for him, if only your bones didn’t feel like lead. He continued to keep his head low, his hands wringing together between his knees. “It was ’my fault. I didn’t know what to do. You couldn’t shake em and they were closin’ in and Scott wasn’t fuckin’ listenin’ an’–”

“Logan,” you interrupted as loud as you could, your throat tearing at the sudden strain on your voice, causing you to wince slightly. Your hiss of discomfort finally prompted him to raise his head, half standing from his seat to instantly be by your side should you need anything. “I’m okay. Or, I will be. My wings’ve seen worse, and my body will heal with time. I’m okay.”

He searched your face for any sign of deception, any indication that you were just saying this to spare his feelings, or stop him from spiralling into the well of self-hatred once again. He knew it wasn’t the time to ask, but his mind subconsciously filed away that nugget of your past for a later conversation, too focused on the fact his search came up short of anything he was looking for. 

“You’re okay…” he repeated, settling back into the chair by your bed. His eyes fell to your twitching hand, and with a gentleness only reserved for you, his fingers intertwined with yours, bringing your knuckles to his lips. “You’re okay.”

Your heart skipped a beat or several, and you were mildly concerned about setting off the heart rate monitor your abdomen was connected to. You don’t think you’d ever had this many wires connected to your body in your life, not even when Charles first found you. Nobody knows what had happened that day apart from him, and you refused to speak of it. 

“What do you remember?” Logan asked, pressing the back of your hand against the scruff of his cheek, as if desperate to feel you. Your brows furrowed for a moment, your quick trip down trauma lane before you opened your eyes yielding nothing of much use.

“I remember the drones and the targeting dots. I remember one… fired, I think, and missed,” you struggled, screwing your eyes shut in a vain attempt to jog your own memory.  “Uh– then there were two more? One missed and the other exploded before it hit me, but I was caught up in the blast radius. I remember falling and I remember the pain, but that’s about it…” You opened your eyes to find Logan’s expression have shifted once again back to remorse. He really thought it was his fault… didn’t he? “I couldn’t get them off me, Lo’.” You offered quietly.

“I know.”

“I wouldn’t be here if Scott hadn’t fired.”

“I… I know.”

“Logan, you saved my life.”

He placed your hand back on the bed, and you instantly missed the warmth of his palm. “I almost got you killed. I almost lost you. We could have worked somethin’ else out. Storm could’ve–”

“And what if she couldn’t?” You prompted gently, your brows creasing with empathy as you watched him try to wade through the implications of your question. 

“That’s not– I almost–”

“Almost, Logan. Almost. But you didn’t. I’m here. So please stop acting like I’m dead because I might start believing you.” You tried to sound as stern as you could whilst being physically and emotionally drained, and whilst it may have sounded a little weak, Logan knew what you were trying to do. 

He ran a hand through his messy hair which was in desperate need of a wash. Although so were you, you could only imagine. “I didn’t want our last conversation to be an argument.” He murmured, and you sighed as heavily as you could whilst not being able to inhale very deeply. 

“So melodramatic,” you joked with a half-smile, and it took a moment of his eyes scanning your face before his shoulders slumped, huffing a singular laugh through crooked lips. 

“Maybe a little…” he looked up at you through lidded eyes. “Fear doesn’t come naturally t’me. But I don’t think I’ve been more scared than when I was watchin’ you fall, knowin’ I could do nothin’.” 

You finally mustered the strength to reach for him, and he clasped your outstretched hand between both of his like a prayer. You considered for a moment what you would have done had your roles been swapped. If you were so helpless to save him from almost certain death. If you were forced to watch in nearly slow motion as the object of your heart was being ripped away from you and you were powerless against it. Because this was something more than a crush, more than admiration. You loved him. It wasn’t a sudden lightbulb moment, but rather a slow realisation of admission. You loved him. Irrevocably. Possibly irresponsibly. But certainly undeniably. 

“You don’t have to be scared anymore. I’m not dead. I’m not going to die. It’s gonna take time, but I’m okay. And I’m going to be okay.” You implored, and you could almost watch the cogs turning in his head, working on believing you and realising the truth of the situation. 

You. Were. Alive.

He nodded silently, finally accepting what everyone had been trying to tell him for almost a week and a half now. His thumb grazed the tendons of your wrist, the delicate caress sending shivers down your scarred spine. 

“How’re you feeling?” He asked though he couldn’t help thinking it was the most stupid question in the world. 

“Like I just fell over two hundred feet after being blown up.” You responded dryly. Ask obvious questions, get obvious answers. 

Obviously. 

“That checks out.”

“Thank you, Doctor Wolverine.”

How you’d managed to almost die and yet maintain your humour was a mystery to Logan, but it simply added to all the reasons he was completely taken with you. You were easily one of the strongest people he knew, in spite of your own self-consciousness. The way you felt about your wings had already proven that. They were the greatest source of your diffidence, and yet you often said how incomplete you would feel without them. He saw how you battled, every day, between loving and hating them. Not many people did, but he did. 

Perhaps that was because, to him, you were the focal point of every conversation. The spotlight in the room. The brightest star in the sky. Not only did he see you, but he saw you. 

That was when he remembered your words from earlier. ‘My wings’ve seen worse…’   

“What did you mean?”

“When?”

“When you said your wings have been worse. What did you mean?” 

Logan knew he’d struck a nerve when your wry humour dissolved from your face, and he watched you withdraw back into your own mind, another silence creating a barrier between you. It was another mental battle. He could see it. And he could only hazard a guess that you were struggling between opening yourself up to whatever traumas you’d experienced in the past, or staying closed and comfortable. 

“This world is cruel and cold to people like us…” your voice was barely audible, and despite his enhanced hearing, Logan found himself shifting closer, drawn in by your siren’s whisper. “I was always jealous of people who could hide their mutation. Or mutations that didn’t take on a physical appearance, anyway. Because hiding something like phasing or shapeshifting is easy. Hiding a pair of giant fucking wings? Get’s a little harder when not everyone around you is very accepting…” you were being vague on purpose. Taking yourself back to the day Charles found you was never easy, and it was this exact reason why you kept this to yourself. Only he knew what happened, and Jean was the only other one who’d seen your condition. 

Logan fought the urge to run his fingers through your feathers, slightly worried it would hurt you more than it would soothe you, since most of your secondary feathers had been burned away or torn off, and the exposed ligaments had been covered in bandages. You took a breath before you continued. “The neighbourhood where I lived wasn’t exactly high-end, and less than welcoming to mutants. I used to listen to a lot of music when I left my apartment, it helped to drown out the insults and hatred but uh, it also prevented me from hearing anyone following me.

“It was stupid. I was tired and forgot to lock my fucking door before I fell asleep that night. Such an idiot. And I paid the price. I can’t really remember exactly when it happened, and it’s all sort of a blur to be honest. I never saw their faces either, and I only knew they were there when they shoved a gag between my teeth and held me down, jeering about me being a disgusting mutant, the usual bullshit…” you trailed off, your words sticking to your throat like molasses as you recounted possibly the most traumatic moment of your life. Narrowly holding the top spot after recent events. “They uh, tried to sever them. My wings. Used a carving knife or a paring knife, hell it could have been a butter knife for all I knew. But it hurt. And I couldn’t fight them off. I probably still have the scars. They were barely attached by the time they were startled by something and took off.”

Logan placed his hand against your cheek, gently smoothing away the stray tear sliding down the side of your face with the pad of his thumb. 

“That’s why you don’t sleep on your front?”

“That’s why I don’t sleep on my front,” You affirmed with a timid nod, and Logan felt his heart clench painfully. He always wondered where your intense passion for making the world a safer place came from. “At least,” you continued quietly. “Until you.”

His eyes widened a fraction, and it wasn’t hard to piece together what you meant. The night, two days before the mission. That was the first time you’d slept on your front since Charles and Jean found you all those years ago. That was why you mentioned it. That was why you were so adamant about it. 

Your vulnerability was taken advantage of and used to further the cycle of hatred and violence. 

“Sweetheart…” 

You couldn’t bear to hear the slight break in his voice, the horrified empathy creasing his brows. “So yeah. That’s what I meant. When I said they’ve been through worse. So actually, this really isn’t all that bad. They’ll recover. They did last time. Might be a while before I can fly again but I think I’m okay with that for a while, not sure I want to–” your rambling was cut short by the sudden decrease of proximity between the two of you. Was he always this close? Or had he shifted? Had you simply not noticed? Too lost in your second trip down trauma lane in the space of twenty minutes? You could feel his steady breaths fanning your cheeks.

“You’re safe. With me. An’ nothin’ like that will ever happen again. ‘M gonna look after you, angel. Promise.” His eyes flickered from your gaze, down to your lips, and back up in a silent request, and your body answered for you. Your eyes fluttered closed, heart igniting at the first graze of his soft lips against yours, the pain in your back forgotten as your skin prickled with shivers. 

The moment he felt you lean up into him as much as you could, Logan gasped through his nose, his fingers skirting up the side of your neck, pausing to feel your pulse before continuing to brace his palm against your jaw. He wanted to feel you, in any way he could and in any way you would let him, your lips dancing with his languidly. And through the salves and disinfectant, through the blood and the grease, the smoke clinging to your hair, he could just smell you. Amber and wood oak swirled through his senses, and he didn’t think it fair that you smelled like a fucking autumnal forest. 

You tried to push yourself up further toward him, a fresh wave of yearning hitting you like a fall from over two hundred feet, but your ribs barked in sharp protest, and you flinched back with a harsh hiss, your features scrunching in pain.

“Easy there, angel. ‘M not goin’ anywhere.” He breathed, and whilst you could detect genuine concern in his tone, there was also a hint of smug satisfaction.

“Sorry… got kinda carried away.” You clamped your lips together at his soft chuckle, finding immeasurable comfort in the way his thumb smoothed along your under-eye.”

“Been wantin’ to do that for a while…” He murmured against your lips, and you drew back as far as you could without jostling your back too much.

“Really? How long?”

“Round a year or so.”

You blanched. “A year!?”

“Give or take a few months,” he shrugged, unable to tame the delicious grin pulling at his lips. 

“And you didn’t think to do anything?” You asked incredulously, eyes flicking between his, unable to decide just where they wanted to settle. 

“Inappropriate in the workplace.” He shrugged nonchalantly, and your eyes widened further. 

“We live under the same roof! This isn’t just a workplace.”

“Potato pot-ah-to.”

“No! Potato potato. It’s the same thing!”

He raised a sly brow. “Didn’t see ya pull back, angel. How long’ve you wanted this then?”

You clamped your lips shut, your face a picture of false irritation as he turned your own accusations back onto you, a triumphant glint dancing in his eye. “Thought s’much.”

A huff brushed his chin, though you couldn’t tame your guilty smile for long. Yes, he was absolutely right. You’d wanted to do that for far longer than you cared to admit. And the phrase ‘good things come to those who wait’ couldn’t ring more true. Though you couldn’t help thinking they should change the phrase slightly. 

‘Good things come to those who nearly die’. Yeah, that sounded more accurate. 

Your head lulled against his hand, a tugging wave of exhaustion pulling at your mind, your eyes feeling heavy with sleep. It was strange. Usually, you found it so difficult to find rest, tossing and turning until you simply couldn’t take it anymore. But not in his presence. Not when Logan was with you. 

He hummed a soft, fond smile of understanding, pulling the chair closer to the bed so he could still be near you. Pressing his lips to your forehead, you sighed in contentment, your hand holding his arm in a soft grip, silently asking him not to go anywhere. But you didn’t need to. He had no plans on leaving you anytime soon. 

“Sleep, angel. ‘M here. You’re safe.”

[azrielbrainrot]

Silent Voices Speak

Pairing: Azriel x F!Reader

Description: Both you and Azriel find yourselves with some sleep related problems. Who would have thought you could be each other's remedy?

Warnings: barely any angst

Word Count: 3400

Notes: I can't believe it took me so long to write a new story in the healer!reader universe, they're my first babies. Hope you enjoy!

Healer!Reader Universe Masterlist

The killings hadn't stopped. The, by now, tripled security slowed them down and allowed the Inner Circle to be made aware of any disturbances quicker, and the bodies hadn't been found by any innocent civilians since then either, thankfully saving a lot of fae from having to witness such gruesome sights, but the killings hadn't stopped.

Your research has given you some clues as to the motives behind the murders, though you still can't fully understand the ritual behind them. None of the information you've gathered has helped in stopping them from happening or finding the people responsible for them. Amren has traveled to the Day Court and is now searching the High Lord's extensive libraries to try and find more information on a lead she got but, for now, there wasn't enough to make anyone feel safer.

The streets of Velaris felt lifeless, bars and restaurants closing earlier than usual given the unofficial curfew every fae seemed to have set for themselves. The City of Dreamers, heart of the Night Court, was scared of the dark. Apart from the killings, that was what weighed the heaviest on the Inner Circle's minds.

Feyre and Rhysand had been forthcoming with information, letting the public know they were actively searching for the killers and sharing some of the details as a means to stop the rumors that kept going around that were only exaggerating the already awful murders the more they spread. Of course, they'd been careful not to reveal any of the more gruesome details, or the fact that everything pointed to the murders actually being sacrifices to what could be an old God or even worse.

Those had been the details keeping you up at night as you were now, sipping on chamomile tea in hopes of relaxing your body enough to get some sleep without any unwanted thoughts filtering through and spoiling it once again. You wanted to help as much as you could, and weren't considering talking to Rhys and backing down as Azriel had suggested multiple times, but you weren't used to witnessing this much cruelty, not like this.

When you'd been stationed as a healer during the war, you saw a lot of awful things, some of them you won't ever forget, but this felt different. Everything about these killings and the motives behind them had set off every alarm in your body.

The cup was empty before you realized, bringing it up to your mouth only to be met with nothing. You let out a sigh and look over to the comfortable bed, knowing you had to at least lay down and try to fall asleep, no matter how frustrating it was to toss and turn for hours on end or get woken up by terrifying dreams. At least this bed was a lot more comfortable than the one you had at home, it almost made you want to ask Rhysand where he got it from although you probably would never be able to afford it.

You're not entirely sure what brought it on but, after coming back from yet another fruitless mission, Azriel asked you to stay in the townhouse with him. You tried to decline, not entirely comfortable with staying at the High Lord's house indefinitely. You've spent some nights up in the House of Wind when you were helping with research, but this was different. You didn't want to take advantage of Rhysand and Feyre's kindness, but Azriel insisted, a tormented look you weren't used to seeing painted in the shadowsinger's face, and so you ended up accepting.

Just remembering your talk that night made you feel hopeless, wanting nothing more than to make him feel better and take some of the unbearable weight off his shoulders somehow.

“I'm not sure this is necessary,” you try to reason with him, “There haven't been any attacks in the city, with so many eyes on the streets it would be impossible.”

“It also seemed impossible for them to be able to hide for so long but even my shadows are blind to them.”

“I can't stay at my High Lord and Lady's home."

“I can't sleep not knowing you're safe,” the admission feels heavy between you, prompting you to study his face carefully, taking note of the fear and desperation behind his request. “I wouldn't forgive myself if something happened to you.”

“Azriel…”

You don't know what to say, not sure what this means for the two of you.

“Please.”

But with that little word he convinced you, not caring if it was Rhysand's house you were going to sleep in, or anyone else's, as long as it made Azriel feel at least a bit more at ease.

Your relationship has been changing ever since that fateful night when he kissed your cheek goodnight. It's a silly thought even now, that something so inconsequential as a peck to the cheek would end up meaning so much for the two of you.

Ever since that day your talks have gotten longer and more frequent, Azriel has also flown you to and from work a few times, has taken you on multiple outings that you can only classify as dates at this point. But things hadn't gotten further than that and more chaste kisses on the cheek.

The timing wasn't right. Not with everything that has been happening and the troubles filling both of your minds, the long hours Azriel had been putting his body through trying to find even the smallest clue about these murders, and your assistance in any research the Inner Circle needs as well as providing mental and physical aid to a terrified city.

Your feelings for him were impossible to deny - even though you've certainly tried to when everyone else asks about him, especially your High Lady, who you've come to learn is an avid busybody, - and you were more than confident that he cared for you just as much, but the timing wasn't right, and so you've been stuck between acting like friends and so much more.

You were still thinking about the shadowsinger when your head hit the pillow, making yourself comfortable and letting your thoughts wander around warm hazel eyes and shy smiles, hopefully lulling you into a peaceful sleep at last.

Rushed murmurs and harsh breaths take you away from the soft grasp of sleep. You try to ignore them at first but as the words grow louder, you try to decipher them confused. A flurry of shadows filters into your room, flying over you when you open your eyes to try and ascertain the situation. You can barely see them with the low lights the moon rays covered by dark curtains provide, but it almost feels like they're tugging at you, urging you to get up.

The thought that Azriel could be in danger makes you leap out of bed, foregoing your robe or slippers as you follow the frantic shadows to his room next to yours. Only hesitating at the door for a moment, knuckles raised against the intricately designed wood as you considered knocking before barging into his room unannounced, but another string of groans and panicked breathing assault your ears, prompting you to open the door.

Your eyes land on the shadowsinger immediately as he lay restless on his bed, blinking a few times as you adjusted to the dim lighting, his room being even darker than yours. A small sigh of relief escapes you when you find him unharmed, although you soon realize that the noises you heard were the result of what appears to be a particularly consuming and terrifying nightmare.

He had struggled so much in his sleep that the sheets were completely thrown off, laying by his feet as his body tossed and turned uninterrupted. A light sheen of sweat covered him, telling you he'd been at this for a while. There was a familiar glint of blue on his nightstand, as Truth Teller and two of his siphons lay close by. You tried not to linger on the fact that he didn't appear to be wearing anything else aside from underwear for too long.

Some of the shadows that swirled around the room meet the ones that had brought you here, moving over you once more as if asking you to save their singer. You wanted to help them, but you're not entirely sure if you should he seeing him like this, if he'd want you to see him so vulnerable.

Aside from that, waking up someone when they were so immersed in a dream, especially a nightmare, could be dangerous and bring more harm than good. Still, you couldn't leave him like this and go back to your room, so you decide to try and call his name softly, hoping the noise or familiarity will be enough to help him wake up in a more organic way.

“Azriel?”

You hesitate in the doorway, feeling like you were already invading his space, but as another weak cry escapes him your body moves on its own. You're at the edge of the bed before you even notice, repeating his name and shaking him softly so as not to startle him too much.

The pain was evident on his face. You didn't know what he was dreaming of but you knew you had to pull him out of there fast. You've never seen him so distressed. Watching him like this felt like a chain was tightening around your heart and lungs, making it hard for you to breathe or think.

At a slightly harder push, his eyes open, one scarred hand moving to grab your wrist, stopping you from touching him, as the other met to the nightstand, finding the hilt of his dagger. His hazel eyes were open wide, clearly disoriented by not only the nightmare but also having someone in his room. You expected nothing less from the Spymaster, of course he couldn't be so easily caught off guard even in his own room, but the tight grip was becoming too much, and you knew it was bruising, not being able to stop yourself from cringing softly at the pain.

As he understands the situation, wide eyes blinking multiple times as the waking world comes into focus, he drops your wrist and pulls away from you, sitting up and almost bumping his head against the headboard in his rush.

Neither of you moves or speaks for a moment, his heavy breathing the only thing that can be heard in the dark room. You wanted to turn the faelights on, to properly check on him, but Azriel always prefered the dark, feeling much more at ease surrounded by it. In fact, his shadows had hurried to him as soon as he woke up.

When his wide gaze settles into a frown, hazel eyes dropping to your wrist, you decide to speak up. You know that look and this was not the time for any other worries that might be growing in his mind, certainly none that concerned you.

“Azriel,” you whisper, not wanting to startle him, “Are you okay?”

“Did I hurt you?”

“No-”

“I shouldn't have hurt you,” he says, more to himself than to you, haunted eyes never straying from your wrist. You had only wanted to help, but now it feels like you made it worse by coming here.

“No, it's my fault. I know better than to wake someone up from a nightmare,” you swallow, throat suddenly dry, “but it looked like you were in pain and I couldn't leave you like this.”

He seemed unwilling to listen to you, a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head the only answer he gave you as you told him it wasn't his fault. Azriel is always too aware of himself, never allows himself any mistakes, as if he thinks he has to prove himself worthy of the life he leads. You don't even want to know what's going through his head now that he's convinced himself he hurt someone he cares about.

You let out a sigh when it was clear he wasn't going to say anything or acknowledge you further, you could almost see him receding into his own mind, getting consumed by his betraying thoughts. If you had listened to your training, you might not have ended up in this situation.

Slowly and very carefully, you move closer to him, giving him time to push you away or stop you if he wanted to. You only stop when your bare knee brushes his thigh, the warmth of his skin spreading through yours. Reaching for his hand, you interlock your fingers and squeeze softly, his eyes finally meeting yours.

“I shouldn't have grabbed you like that.” The pain was evident in his face, and it hurt you far more to think he was beating himself up than your wrist ever did. “I'm sorry.”

“There's no reason to be sorry,” you smile up at him, trying your best to soothe him, “You were disoriented and moved to protect yourself, that's all.”

He still looks unwilling to let go of his guilt, but you can see him settling back into himself, his usual calm expression falling over his beautiful face. He lets go of your hand in favor of cradling your wrist, carefully inspecting it as if he was looking at a broken bone and not at a bruise that would be completely healed within the hour. Caressing the soft skin with his thumb lightly, the scarred skin and affection behind the movement causing goosebumps to erupt.

“You didn't answer my question. Are you alright?”

Azriel looks up at you then, a conflicted look falling over his face once more. It seems he had been too focused on your wrist to remember the nightmare, and the fact that you'd seen him like that. You're almost positive he hates the fact that you've seen him like that even more than whatever haunted his nightmares. He's always been an extremely private person, so you can't even imagine what it feels like for him to be seen in such a vulnerable light by someone he barely knows.

“Did I wake you?”

“No,” the expression on his face telling you he doesn't believe it, “You didn't. I've been finding it hard to sleep with everything that has been going on.”

“You're safe here.”

“I know, I've just had too much on my mind.” It feels like you're doing this wrong, you're the one that should be worried about him, not the other way around. “Your shadows came into my room and I heard movement so I came to check on you.”

Disapprovement flashes in his eyes, directed at his shadows of course. You'd find it adorable how he treats his shadows like misbehaving children if it weren't for the situation. Hopefully he won't be too harsh on them, you can almost feel the lecture coming. You're not entirely sure how much they can feel, if they can at all, but they had done good in going to find you, even if Azriel reprimanded them for it.

“I didn't know they could do that without you being conscious. They were very helpful,” you smile down at the dark wisps stationed over his shoulders. He clearly didn't agree with you, a soft scoff escaping his lips, but you hope this is enough for them to know they can come to find you in this type of situation from now on. You don't want Azriel to suffer on his own when you're there for him.

“Thank you,” you look up at him in surprise, “You didn't have to come. It was only a nightmare.”

It's not as surprising that he doesn't want to tell you what the nightmare was about, or even change the subject. If he wants to pretend this never happened come morning, you're more than welcome to oblige, as long as he feels better and knows you're always ready to lend a helping hand.

“You can come to me for anything, Azriel,” your hand finds his once again, thumb caressing the scarred skin on the back of his hand. “I'll always be here for you.”

He holds your gaze in an intense stare, the swirl of emotions written in his eyes becoming almost too much to bear, and still you're unable to break away from the all-consuming hazel. It seems like the world stops around you for a moment, and there's only you and him.

As your surroundings return slowly, you suddenly become too aware of the position you're in, of what it would look like if someone walked in. They would find you sitting on his bed, right next to him, lost in his eyes, hands clasped together between you, disheveled hair and half lidded eyes. The lack of clothing only added to the sight, you had never been so conscious of how short and thin the nightgown you wore to sleep was. You can only be grateful that Azriel doesn't sleep completely naked, though his underwear barely leaves anything to the imagination, and your imagination is desperate to run wild.

Heat rushes to your cheeks as the thought settles in your mind, clearing your throat softly to try and break yourself out of those thoughts. Looking up at the suddenly captivating pattern painted on his dark navy walls when his gaze becomes too much. You could swear you saw the corner of his lip rise as he likely noticed the effect he had on you. This was a good thing, it was like the Azriel you're used to, but you needed to get back on track.

“Do you think you can go back to sleep?” You try to untangle your fingers from his but he holds onto your hand, unwilling to let go of you just yet. “I can get you some tea to help you relax if you can't, or maybe we could go for a walk instead?”

Tiring him out could be a good idea, although his body is probably beyond exhausted from the long hours he's been putting himself through. Maybe tea was the best option.

“Can you stay with me?”

His words cut through your racing thoughts, your lips parting in surprise. You had half expected him to kick you out of his bedroom when he came to, inviting you into his bed was the last thing you would have seen coming.

“What?”

“I think I can sleep if you stay,” he whispers, “but if you don't feel comfortable-”

“I don't mind staying,” you rush to assure him with burning cheeks, thankfully matching his own, “You just caught me off guard that's all.”

Azriel offers you a tired smile and, with a wave of his hand, fixes the sheets, moving to the middle of the bed so you have enough room to settle next to him. Your movements are painfully awkward as you lay down next to him, all too aware of every inch of your body, heart beating out of your chest.

While you're in the middle of deciding how to safely position your hands, stiff body frozen in place, he takes matters into his own hands, an achingly fond smile playing at his lips, his hand falling to the small of your back and pulling you in closer to his body, his scent enveloping you.

Azriel closes his eyes, breathing out a soft, “relax.” Your hand finds his chest, body slowly but surely melting into him as you do as he says and will your mind to stop wandering. Letting the soft beats of his heart calm yours, you decide to listen to your body, and fall into him, arm wrapping around his waist as you inch even closer, your chest finding his, tangling your legs until you can't know where you end and he begins. His grip on you tightens as a satisfied sigh escapes him, one heavy wing falling over your body, until you're impossibly close.

Your face now only a breath away from his, your nose bumping into his chin as he drops a soft kiss to your forehead and nuzzles into you, breathing you in. You almost catch yourself purring as you lay in his arms, completely surrounded by Azriel.

Tangled up in each other's warmths, sleep found you both easily, finally allowing you a few peaceful hours of sleep after the grueling weeks you've endured.

[jmtorres]

i just saw a post about how we just have to "live with" covid and wanting more protections from our government is unreasonable because we'll never wipe it out, it jumps species and is in all sorts of animal populations (like, true ok) so why even try to

and apparently the argument was aimed at people (who I haven't seen in the wild) who are arguing we should still be in lockdown. and i have mixed feelings about the idea of extended lockdown or attenuating isolations; but my main feeling at this point is not that the government should keep us apart but that the government should be trying to make it safer for us to be together

things the government could/should be doing about covid:

we know that ventilation/air movement helps a shitton. we should be incentivizing upgrades to ventilation systems in all public buildings with shit like rebates or tax deductions, while phasing in eventual legal requirements. (and uh. it has occurred to me that the US might actually be doing this sideways by there's currently this decade enormous tax incentives in re energy efficient upgrades for slowing climate change and you know. energy efficient hvac does tend to improve ventilation. extra point to biden here.)

mandatory paid sick leave so workers aren't under social or economic pressure to work when sick

passing out RT-LAMP tests like metrix that actually work instead of the rapid antigen tests that have become less and less reliable as the virus mutates

i don't know how you'd write this law but like 95% or more of computer-based work can be done remotely and companies should not be allowed to force people to return to the office. I know there's people who want to be back in person and I'm not saying they should be forced to stay home but ffs I know of at least two people CLOSE to me who worked remotely before the pandemic and at some point their workplaces tried to tell them they weren't allowed to do that anymore despite the pre-existing contracts. stop canceling remote work for people that want, need, or prefer it.

for that matter, every college lecture that was an online class during covid should still be offered as an online class, there is no reason to force students into auditoriums in person. you got the communications infrastructure up and running, why are you tearing it down. give people the OPTION. it increases accessibility for everyone!

covid vaccine immunity lasts about four months. this should be well-publicized and everyone should be able to re-up for free every four months. "every year, like the flu vaccine" is demonstrably not often enough. actually "for free" isn't good enough start handing out $10 gift cards you will be shocked at how many people who are resistant to the idea of vaccines will fold for $10 a shot

are there already laws on the books about masks in medical settings that some medical professionals are blatantly ignoring because they forgot what best practices were before the plague and they're 'tired of masking'? if not, pass laws. if so, fucking enforce them

oh another incentives for upgrades phasing into legal requirements thing: brass doorknobs and railings over stainless steel or whatever. microbes do not survive on brass surfaces

i mean. i know this one sounds too extreme to a lot of people but. UBI.

most if not all of these measures will prevent or ameliorate other pandemics of different diseases that may arise in the future. and just. generally improve our health and quality of life for other reasons.

I haven't felt safe to go to a concert since 2020. Maybe if I knew a venue was legally required to have ventilation to a certain standard and that none of the ticket takers and ushers were on the job sick to avoid risking loss of paycheck or job, and knew a larger percentage of the crowd had up to date vaccinations--maybe if any or all that, I might ever feel comfortable going to a show again.

wouldn't it be nice if those of us who have been disabled, by covid or other conditions, had accessible remote options but also occasionally felt safe enough to interact with and participate in wider society?

one of the arguments on the post I saw was how isolation was massively psychologically damaging and various strata of society were affected in all sorts of ways, from undersocialized kids to increased depression in--well across the board, I think. and here's the thing: WE KNOW. PEOPLE WITH CHRONIC HEALTH CONDITIONS, LONG COVID OR OTHERWISE, KNOW ISOLATION SUCKS REAL BAD. because we, both for our own health and due to disability ostracism, are still isolating and isolated more than most.

what are you as individuals or societies, what are our governments, doing to help make it safe and accessible to rejoin you????

[zipper-neck]

Trans Rules of Engagement

By Florence Ashley

Strong communities make us all safer. As anti-trans movements gain in power and influence, holding space for each other through our flaws remains critical. Yet the very conditions that create our need for community care make it hard for us to care for each other. We are raw, wounded, traumatized, and hypervigilant. We make mistakes brought on by fear and hurt. We lash out at each other when we do wrong, often partaking in pile-ons facilitated by the synchronous nature of online interactions. Whether we realize it or not, we often exclude trans people from community when they need it most.

I have lost count of the number of trans people I have seen cast out of online trans spaces for misdeeds both major and minor—far too often with my help. I sometimes find myself wondering where they are now and whether they are still alive. Because, as Kai Cheng Thom has taught us, social death often means real death for trans people. Trans communities are life-sustaining in a world that hates us so, so much. In a world that wants us dead. We have lost too many people not to stop and think about how we can foster life among each other.

This goal I have for myself—that of fostering life—motivates the following principles and rules for engaging in online intra-community conflicts while preserving the life-sustaining spirit of our communities. Countless times have I failed to heed these principles and ignored these rules. This failure, which many of us share, is precisely why I now want to lay these principles and rules down on paper. If only as a reminder of my aspirations. The principles and rules are meant to be adopted for oneself, not imposed onto others. Their purpose is to foster productive engagement, not create even more conflict and rigidity. I hope that this will be a living document, and invite you to make your own version if you would like. Borrow what is useful, supplement with what is needed, alter what can be improved.

Some, and perhaps all, of the principles I acknowledge are false, hence the need for a living document. Each of my suggested rules have exceptions. In setting them out, I am staking a claim as to the sort of myths and half-truths that are necessary to sustain life in a world that wants us dead. We must treat them as true if we wish to foster life-sustaining communities and survive the hellscape we belabor.

Principles

1. We are all flawed, traumatized humans at the end of their rope. Many of our actions say more about the conditions we live under than who we are as people.

2. No one is disposable. No one is unsalvageable.

3. Life holds greater value than being right or comfortable. Hurt is preferable to death.

4. No one should be deprived of community.

5. Harm does not require further harm. Punishment does not equate protection or healing.

Rules

1. Do not depart from these rules, unless you have to.

2. Morgan M. Page’s Rule: Try to avoid criticizing other trans people in public. The world does it enough already.

3. Favor in person or private conversations: Addressing someone’s comments or actions in person or privately is typically more constructive and effective. It allows you to communicate more cogently and with more nuance problems in someone’s actions or words and because it is less likely to make them react defensively from a place of trauma or fear.

4. Take your time: Few things require an immediate response. Responding while caught in a surge of thoughts and feelings is often unproductive. Ask yourself how much harm was done, versus how much we are reminded of an earlier harm. Ask whether your response is rooted in misperception or potential biases towards the person due to race, disability, gender, or other marginalized identities. Consider whether their words or actions reflect a different kind of thinking or communication style, a lack of access to education, or limited access to progressive communities and norms. You can respond tomorrow, once you have collected your thoughts, talked to others, and gained perspective.

5. Don’t mob: Be aware of group dynamics. Ask yourself if you are connected to this person and in community with them. Avoid jumping into the fray when others are already criticizing the person. Do not invite others to join in and mob them. Withdraw if others join in, and kindly ask people to stay conscious of mobbing dynamics. Mobbing rapidly grows out of proportion.

6. De-escalate: Focus on de-escalating conflicts. Ask what people mean or want, and why. Ask them for clarification or elaboration if needed. Ask yourself if you know enough about the context of the situation. Distinguish the action from the person, and acknowledge that it is normal to respond defensively or aggressively to public criticism and mobbing. People are traumatized, mentally ill, and are scared of losing the little social support they have. As a result, conflict can trigger a fight-or-flight response in both those who are criticized and who criticize, which leads to escalating conflict and ends in a loss of community. Dropping the conversation to return at a later date is preferable to escalation. Often, I find it best to limit myself to three replies in conversations that aren’t constructive.

7. Respond proportionately: Responses to words and behaviours should be proportionate to their harm, and reflect a need for healing and protection rather than punishment. When we speak from a place of hurt, we can understandably but unfortunately forget the measure and impact of our response. Use language that reflects the nuances and gradations of harm rather than a coarse good and evil binary. Cutting all social support and community banishment are rarely a proportionate response, even for someone who doubles down and does not apologize. Responding proportionately is asking first and foremost what response sustains rather than dissolves life. Especially when it comes to words, it is better to under-react than to over-react.

8. Ensure support for everyone: Check in on those who are criticized and those who criticize them. Remind people that we are all in this together, and that banishment is not how we work as a community. Everyone deserves to have their needs met. Do not shun or reproach people who offer support to those who were criticized or called out. Distinguish supporting a person from enabling their behavior.

9. Hold space for people to grow: Allow space for people to be accountable, change, and move on from previous conflicts. Do not hold past behavior over people’s head, nor dig up past misdeeds to fuel present conflicts.

10. Resolve conflict and harm as a community: We must ask how our communities enable and cause hurt and harm, and find ways to transform the conditions that create them. Holding accountable, problem-solving, and conflict resolution are functions that should be taken up by the collective, not isolated and unsupported individuals.

11. Center those most hurt or harmed: Focus on supporting and empowering people who are hurt and harmed rather than on punishment. Ask what they need to be safe and integrated in our communities, while committing to support for everyone; what they need to repair their relationship to the person who hurt or harmed them. Focus your involvement on bringing people together, fostering dialogue and mutual understanding, and restoring a sense of community togetherness, rather than deciding who is right or wrong.♦

[koolades-world]

Hii!! I was wondering if I could get headcanons for an mc that was really attached to the brothers? Like they’re often around them and don’t really give a reason why. It’s only later that they tell the brothers that they’re less frightened when with them. I can only imagine how absolutely terrifying the devildom must be to first timers. Sorry if this was too wordy lol.

hello there :) of course. no worries, not too wordy!!

enjoy <3

Mc who's attached to the brothers

Lucifer

he finds it a little odd that you picked him of all people

hope you're ready to be put to work! of course nothing too serious but you'll for sure be helping carry around papers and stuff like that

in a way, you remind him of his brothers, the loving, cute side of them, not the little gremlin side haha

however when you tell him it's because you are just more comfortable around him, he gives you a gentle smile and hug. you find after this he's sweeter in subtle ways <3

Mammon

of course you want to follow the great mammon around! who wouldn't?

he's a little insecure at first, like you might be reporting back to lucifer with what you see and hear, but you reassure him there's no real reason

he really enjoys getting to spend so much time with you and is glad you're willing to be his friend

he has no clue how to react upon learning the real reason behind why you're always with him, so at first he reacts as he usually would, but once he processes it, he sheepishly will tell you thank you for entrusting him with such an honor

Levi

why would you want to spend so much time with a yucky otaku like him?

as you grow closer, he really begins to enjoy your presence and having a buddy to always chat with about the things he's interested in and won't leave him mid-conversation

you help him grow more optimistic and confident in himself

he initially questions why you'd pick him of all demons to feel most comfortable around, but once he realizes it's because of the bond you formed, he's still shy but is ready to accept this fact. anywhere you go, he'll follow

Satan

he doesn't stop you but he always wonders why you've selected him, the avatar of wrath, to act as your devildom buddy?

at first, he juts chalks it up to wanting to hide behind his rage and get help with rad work, but soon you start to form a closer bond

it's then when you confess that you just feel safer and more comfortable around him. part of his hunch was correct, but what you described was on a much closer, more personal reason

now, he always waits for you and helps you out where he can because now he knows you like him for him, not what others see him as. others say he really softened up after that day

Asmo

his bed is always open if you want to crawl in with him and will gladly be your beautiful knight in shining armor haha

he's used to having fans, but you're much more than that to him

he really doesn't mind and finds it nice to always have someone around

when you tell him the real reason why, he's going to squeal so loud the demon lord hears and hug you incredibly tightly. maybe he's tearing up a little, but you're literally inseparable now. after that beautiful emotional display you're joined at the hip

Beel

he really quite likes that you like to be around him. early on, it's actually quite a comfort because belphie wasn't around and he was quick to reciprocate the closeness

the two of you always seek each other out, and you quickly fall into a routine

soon, you tell him he makes the devildom more welcoming and make you feel more at home, and he's over the moon

even more so than before, he really looks out for you and treats you as a member of the family even if the others haven't gotten to that level yet. to him, you belong at the hol and in the devildom, with him

Belphie

every time he woke up from a nap, he'd find you next to him. he thought it was a little odd but he wasn't going to stop you

he honestly thought you'd never want to see him again, but you always seem to be by his side

odd was the only word he could find to describe you and the bon you'd formed. he never pressed you for why since he didn't feel like he deserved to know

he's overjoyed that he's your safe place. he never thought you'd seek comfort in him, but he's ready to welcome you with open arms. he's ready to join you on every step of your journey where ever you go, and he'll keep you safe since he feels as if he failed you before

[itsthestutterforme]

Copy That (Jack Reacher x ex!wife!reader)

Summary: Much against his preference, he gave you a call and asked for your help. When a hit was hired to take you out, he deeply regrets getting you involved.

Notes: GIF is not mine, this is not a beta’d read, protective Reacher, soft Reacher, reader is black, technically this is a drabble but there will be more drabble with the same characters

—

“Who’s able to hack into a system with this much encryption?” Rocoe asks, linking her arms over her head as she leaned back into her chair.

“Let me see,” Reacher turns the monitor to face him. There’s a black screen with a singular white box that asks for a password.

Obviously it’s more than a password. They probably beefed up their cybersecurity when he noticed someone getting too close to their operation, Reacher thought to himself.

“Finlay, do you have any friends in cybersecurity security that we can trust?” Roscoe asks.

“Negative,” Reacher knew exactly the person for the job. He hadn’t spoken to you in years, and he didn’t want the first time he contacted you to be when he needed something.

But he didn’t have any other choice.

You wanted out of field work two years after your operations team disbanded. In that way, you were opposite of Neagley, your best friend.

You liked being in the comfort of your own office, free to do anything you’d like when waiting for the decryption to crack.

Life with you was domesticated. Life with you was peaceful. A level of peace he wasn’t sure he would feel again, even if he went back to his favorite home town growing up.

“Reacher?” Roscoe asks, touching her forearm to bring him out of his thoughts. “Where’d you go?” “Nowhere, I’m right here. I know someone,” Reacher finally says, pulling out his burner phone.

“Really? You have friends?” Finlay jabs, earning a glare from Reacher. He dialed your number and put the phone on speaker.

You were in the middle of doing a headstand lotus on your yoga mat when you heard your phone vibrate.

It was from an unsaved number. There was two people that would call from unsaved number: Neagley or Reacher.

You answered the phone and moved across your office to close all the blinds. “Y/L/N,” you answer and you were met with silence.

“If this is some ploy to scare me, you really suck at it.” Reacher stared at the phone, his heart pattering wildly in his chest.

You just had that effect on him.

You were about to hang up the phone when you heard a low baritone say your name.

You looked down at the number before bringing the phone back up to your ear. “Reacher? Is everything okay?”

You peeked through the blinds of your office and saw no one suspicious but you can never be too careful.

“I, uh.” Reacher starts, earning confused stares from Finlay and Roscoe. They hadn’t seen him speechless before.

He takes the phone off speaker and goes outside for some privacy. “Y/N, I need your help cracking something. You’re more than welcome to say no-“ “Send it over,” you interrupt.

“I can’t. It’s likely they’ll track the IP address to you and pay you a visit.” “Let them try.” A proud smile makes its way on his face. That’s my girl.

“It’s safer with us. I’ll send you the coordinate incognito.” “Jesus, Reacher. What have you gotten yourself into?”

“It’s something I have to finish,” “How long should I pack for?” His silence told you all you needed to know.

“I’ll be on the next flight out,”

**

You stepped off the metro with your carry on suitcase by your side and a backpack on.

You downed the rest of your coffee and tossed it in the waste bin before advancing towards the escalator. You scanned the area for Reacher with no avail but Reached saw you.

He didn’t want to call attention to you by calling your name so he watched as you waited for the escalator.

“Wow, she’s.. ” Finlay trails off when Reacher’s gaze left you to stare at him. “Really pretty,” Roscoe finishes. “She’s clearly your girlfriend,” Finlay adds.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” “You’re rather protective of her. You care about her.”“That doesn’t make her my girlfriend,”

“Uh guys, where’d she go?” Roscoe starts. The group looks at the empty space where you were previously standing.

“Fuck,” Reacher rushes down the stairs, Finlay and Roscoe not far behind. I should have never took my eyes off of her, Reacher thought to himself. If she dies, I swear to God.

Meanwhile, you stood over the man who had pushed you a few feet into the metro tunnel.

He had pressed a knife to your throat while his teammate searched your belongings. They expected you to be a quick kill.

You had to say you were a bit insulted that they only sent two men after you. They must not see you as a physical threat. That was their mistake.

He laid at your feet, his eyes widen as he looks up at you. He peers over to his teammate who laid dead on the tracks, his neck split wide open.

You slowly approached him and he attempted to crawl away from you. The blood from his chest wound stains the pavement under near him.

You wasted no time as you pressed your boot down on his trachea. He gripped your ankle, looking up at you with pleading eyes.

Thrusting your foot down, you crushed his trachea and watched as his chest slowly falls to a stop.

You slung your book bag over your shoulder and rolled your carry on back to the metro docking station.

Reacher had his back toward you, he was talking to two people you didn’t recognize.

A younger woman looked over at you, her mouth fell open at the sight of you. You’re sure you had blood splattered across your neck and face.

She mumbles something to Reacher and spun around so fast, you’re surprised he didn’t crack his neck.

In the blink of an eye, he was in front of you. He doesn’t say anything at first. You admired the stubble that was forming on his face.

You were always a sweetheart for facial hair. He held your face, turning your head from side to side in search of wounds. His hand gently trailed down your abdomen.

He continued his silent survey until you said, “Reach, I’m fine. The blood isn’t mine.”

His gaze fell behind you before returning to your face. He raised his brow and you nodded at his silent question. They were dead.

“I should have kept my eyes on you. This is my fault. I’m sorry.” “Hey, you taught me well. I handled myself. Besides, it was only two guys.”

“What did they use?” “Knives,” you said with a smirk. “They didn’t stand a chance,” he says, making your smirk widen. “No, they didn’t.”

“Sorry to interrupt but uh,” Finlay hands you a hanker chief, motioning to your face. “We should go. You’re getting stares.”

“Y/N Y/L/N, pleasure.” You reached down to grab your luggage but Reacher beats you to it.

You didn’t bother arguing with him, you were occupied with getting all of the blood off of your skin while it was still wet.

“So.. are you Reacher’s girlfriend?” Finlay asks as he opened the trunk and Reacher slide your luggage inside.

Roscoe looked at you expectantly, which tells you that she has a crush on him.

You don’t blame her. He’s Jack Reacher after all.

“No, I’m his ex-wife.” You answer, setting your book bag next to your luggage before closing the trunk. Roscoe’s mouth fell once again, along with Finlay’s.

They stared at you as if they were waiting for you to say just kidding. You slide into the back seat and Reacher joined you.

“Close your mouth, Finlay. You’ll catch flies.” He says before closing the door.

“Care to tell me what happened the last time you were at the metro?” You asked when you all piled into the car.

“What do you mean?” Roscoe asks as Finlay pulls off the curb and descends into exit to go onto the freeway.

“The way you were looking for me was frantic. It makes sense why Reach was worried, but not you two. Something else happened at the metro station. Someone was taken out like they tried to take me out. Who was it?” You explain.

Finlay and Roscoe looked shared a look but didn’t say anything.

“There was a woman. Her name was Molly-“ “Molly? As in Molly Gordon?” “You know her?”

“Joe brought her as his plus one to my sister’s baby shower. God, that’s.. how’s Joe holding up?” You asked, your mouth felt dry at the new information.

Reacher looks at you, his features hard as stone. Your heart sank in your chest the longer you stared at him.

You felt compelled to reach for his hand in comfort but you had to remind yourself that he wasn’t big on public affection.

Nor was he big on being vulnerable in front of people so you kept your hands in your lap.

“How long?” You asked after a pause. “It’s been a few days now,” Finlay confirms. “They got too close,” you said with a sigh.

“How many people have died?” “Five so far,” Roscoe answers. “And that’s just the ones we found,” Finlay adds.

“So they’re dropping people like flies and it’s still a state police matter?”

Bringing in the FBI and the CIA will only push these people into the hiding. We need to lure them out and kill them.” Reacher explains and you nodded in agreement.

“Copy that,”

[chaotic-birds]

strong for you || j.pt

Jason comes home injured, prepared to patch up and rest with you, but he soon realizes something isn't right.

❤️‍🩹 Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

❤️‍🩹 Genres/AUs: Action, some angst & fluff, established relationship

❤️‍🩹 Warnings: Use of guns, mentions of killing, hostage situation, blood, injuries, reader referred to as girl

❤️‍🩹 Word Count: 2.3k

❤️‍🩹 Author's Note: Just felt like writing more Jason 🥰

masterlist

Jason uses the rest of his strength to lift open the window. His panting grows louder after he tumbles inside, feeling a bit safer in his home. He doesn’t have to worry about people hearing him in pain and taking advantage of his weakened state.

He knows you’ll be by his side in a matter of seconds. He hates how he came home injured since it always worries you, but he rather be hurt here than anywhere else.

His eyes shut tightly as he tries to calm down. It’s becoming harder to breathe under his helmet. He feels suffocated. He needs fresh air.

With a shaky hand, he begins to raise it to unlatch his helmet. However, an all too familiar click makes him halt; his eyes open wide and he forces his breathing to slow so he can hear better.

It’s then he realizes you should’ve been tending to him by now. You should be easing him out of his suit as you comfort and scold him simultaneously.

He lowers his arm as slowly as he can, worried whoever it is will act irrationally if he moves too quickly. Maybe if he was somewhere else and not injured, he would’ve leaped up and snatched the weapon from their hand.

But he can’t.

He’s home. He can’t put you in any more danger.

In slow motion, he turns his head to assess the scene.

There are five men in total. Each has a rifle in their hands, accompanied by a handgun on their hips. You’re seated on one of the dining table chairs that’s been moved, hands and feet tied together. You’re staring at him with big eyes—a mix of worry and panic.

Jason curses to himself mentally.

You’re already fearful of being held captive, but now you’re fearful of his wound too.

He already knows what questions are floating in your head: How deep is it? How much blood has he lost already? Are there any more injuries?

Jason hates that he was stupid tonight. He hates how out of all the nights to have fucked up, he fucked up tonight. But that doesn’t stop his determination. He’ll power through the pain if it means you’ll be safe in the end.

You turn your head to the man on your right. He holds himself to a different status than the others. The amount of confidence this man must have makes Jason want to gag.

“I’ll give you the files if you let me tend to his wounds,” you bargain.

Macho Boss smirks down at you before moving his sight to Jason.

“Well, you’re surely an unexpected guest. Didn’t think one of the bats would come to rescue a mere civilian when there are bigger crimes out on the streets,” he observes, then glances at you. “I guess this one’s special, huh?”

Jason suspects that this guy thought he could get away with his act since he’s not committing a big crime, compared to others in Gotham. Illegal activities happen all the time here, right? Jason almost snorts at his bad luck. 

Macho Boss nudges your shoulder with the barrel of his gun. The cold metal touches your bare skin exposed by your cardigan, making you shiver. It must’ve fallen in your scuffle earlier.

Jason narrows his eyes at him even though his glare is hidden by his helmet. He’s grateful he etched a permanent scowl on it now. He wants your captors to know that despite being injured, he’s still got enough strength to incapacitate them.

“Please,” you grab the captor’s attention again. “Let me help him.”

“Why should I let you? His injury means he’s weak. I can’t let him stop us, now can I?” he questions, slightly mockingly.

“You can tie him up after I’m done.”

“Like hell you will,” Jason gruffs and the other person holding a gun to his head jabs him with it.

You send him a glare—signaling it isn’t the time to be snarky. Jason rolls his eyes but doesn’t say anything more.

“Do you want the files?” you ask Macho Boss.

“You’re going to give us them whether we let you play nurse or not.”

“Perhaps, but you’re wasting time. Why take the hard way when I’m offering to give them up so easily?”

The man hums in thought. Finally, he nods at the man to your left.

Within seconds, your ropes have been cut. You gesture to the bathroom.

“First aid is in there,” you inform and carefully make your way to the room.

One of the men follows you, gun pointed to your head. You expect nothing less.

If they weren’t here, you’d be rushing to the kit, but any sudden movements will get them trigger-happy.

Your movements are slow as you retrieve the first aid along with a wet washcloth. You make your way to kneel beside Jason. Blood continues to seep through his fingertips, creating a pool of red beneath him. You fight back the worry consuming you.

You gently guide his hand from the wound so you can begin cleaning it.

Jason watches you for a second before shifting his gaze to the others. They’re staring at you both, weapons aimed. They seem impatient and ready to fire.

“You should be making a run for it,” Jason says to you lowly. Though it doesn’t matter the volume of his voice, it’s so quiet that everyone will hear him regardless.

“And get shot in the back? No thanks,” you argue, setting the bloodied rag to the side to start patching him up.

Jason wants to reply he wouldn’t let that happen. He’d have his hands on his guns, shooting everyone before you could get hurt. But he doesn’t want them to know how much he cares about you. Perhaps that’s a fruitless wish since they’ve probably already gauged their affection from their body language.

Jason grunts when you touch a certain area. He’s been trying to keep his cool—for the sake of seeming stronger than he appears to his captors, and for the sake of your sanity.

Your eyes move to his helmet, and there’s a silent “sorry” in your expression. He can tell you’re trying to appear strong, too.

All Jason wants to do is fill these guys’ heads with lead, then snuggle you in bed.

As you continue attending to his wound, he asses his options. He could quickly shield you with his body while he took out the men, but even then, he wouldn’t be able to move and risk the potential of you getting shot. The thought about tossing you out of the window since there’s a fire escape there is strong—get you out of harm’s way so he doesn’t have to worry about you in the crossfire.

Jason’s thoughts get interrupted when you lean in. He watches quietly as you kiss his helmet softly. His lips twitch in an immediate response, but then he feels something slip into his palm.

Clever girl.

With one hand, he slips the small knife you gave him up his sleeve; with the other, he caresses your back. He hopes his action distracts the men from the quick exchange.

You pull away carefully as Macho Boss grits out, “Touching. You done now?”

“Yes,” you reply.

The second the word leaves your lips, a pair of hands are pulling you from Jason roughly.

Jason quickly begins to stand but a heavy boot stomps on his fresh wound, forcing him down again. He breathes in a sharp inhale at the impact, head tilting back and fists clenching.

“Red!” you gasp, struggling against your captor’s hold. More so for his health and safety than yours.

“Relax, love,” Macho Boss coos, but it’s nothing close to soothing. “You can’t expect us to trust your buddy here.”

Then, he turns to the person who’s pinning him down. “Tie him up.”

“You better be treating me to dinner after,” Jason huffs.

Suddenly, Jason’s hauled up and shoved into a nearby chair. His arms get pulled back, forcing a grunt out of him because of his injury. His feet are then secured.

“What a charmer,” Macho Boss scoffs. “Now, the files.”

Your gaze lingers on Jason to make sure he’ll be okay before walking to your bedroom where your laptop is.

“Put me in that room,” Jason demands as he watches you leave.

“Not a chance. You can sit pretty with me right here,” the man behind him says.

Jason clenches his fists as you disappear from view. There are only three of them in the room now. Two went with you.

Easy.

Jason shimmies the blade low enough to reach the rope around his wrists. He waits a few minutes for everyone’s focus to dim before beginning to slice at the material.

“So what’s Red Hood doing in some rando’s apartment, hm?” Capture Two says.

Jason shrugs, subtly cutting the rope as he speaks, “Would you believe me if I said I have a magical power that lets me sense trouble? Because wow… My inner crime detector was blaring.”

Captor Two huffs in annoyance. “Yeah right. You probably got cameras set up around here.”

Jason catches on to the man’s agenda: Find the location of the cameras so they can take them out next time. 

“There’s even one over there,” Jason says with a nod to the left. 

“There is?” the guy questions and turns. 

The second he does, Jason breaks through the rope and disarms and knocks out the man behind him. Gunfire erupts and Jason quickly takes cover in the kitchen nearby. 

“Fucking liar,” Captor Two growls. 

Jason laughs. “Sorry, man. Let me make it up to you.”

Jason peeps around the cabinets and aims with proficient precision. Two down, one to go. 

Upon hearing the scuffling in the living room, you quickly retrieve the gun that’s taped under the desk. For once, you’re grateful for Jason hiding guns around the apartment.

Before you can second guess your actions, you shoot Macho Boss in the kneecap before ducking and shooting the second man in the same place. Once they’re both down, you take away their guns in case they try anything on the ground.

Jason rushes into the room hearing the gunshots, both pistols raised. He pauses in his trek when he sees you—seemingly unharmed—standing between the two men on the ground.

The men are groaning, blood soaking the carpet he vacuumed yesterday.

“Next time come when the carpet is already dirty,” he says before slamming the heel of his gun onto his head—knocking him out. He walks to the second guy and does the same. It’s tough for him to do so since he really just wants to shoot them instead, but he told Bruce he’d attempt his no-killing rule. It’s day four, and he already feels like giving up.

“Nice teamwork,” you comment and place the guns on the desk.

Jason stuffs his pistols in his holsters before he unlatches his helmet. He tosses the item on the bed, then pulls you close until his mouth captures yours in a heated kiss.

You yelp in surprise into his mouth. Jason smiles at the sound and squeezes your body tightly against his armored one.

When you pull back, you’re looking at him with a silly smile.

“Don’t tell me all this is what gets you hot and bothered?” you tease, fingertips gliding down his chest gradually.

Jason grins and pecks your lips with a proud grin. “Can’t help it. You’re sexy when you’re in action.”

You laugh, pushing at his chest until he’s loosening his grip reluctantly. “You’re sexy too.”

Jason can’t resist but lean in again, although this kiss is shorter.

“You okay?” he asks, mood turning serious. He holds you at arm’s length to examine your body.

“I’m okay, don’t worry about me. Are you okay?”

“Nothing but a flesh wound,” he beams.

You shake your head and glance around the untidy room.

“Can you call Dick or someone to clean this up while we go to a safe house?” you plead, too lazy to help with the cleanup. You just want to sleep with Jason next to you.

“We don’t need him. I’ll take care of it,” Jason informs and bends to pick up one of the men.

“I don’t want you to hurt yourself more, Jay,” you sigh, words meaningless as he throws the second body over his shoulder like a sack of rice.

“I’ll be fine, babe. Give me ten then we can cuddle. I know that’s what you want.” He smiles knowingly.

You roll your eyes playfully at his light tone. He isn’t wrong, but you wish he wouldn’t exert all his energy now when he’s injured.

But this is Jason.

Stubborn ass.

Jason takes two trips to carry the men out. You rest your elbows on the window seal, watching him drag the unconscious men in a small circle with their backs to each other. He takes a chain and secures it tightly around them. You think he’s done but he pulls out a paper. You squint, leaning a little out the window.

Sprawled in black ink is:

BAD GUYS FOR PICK UP

Jason steps back to admire his work, then turns to look at you. Although you can’t see his expression due to his helmet, the two thumbs up he gives you indicate there's a smile adorning his handsome features beneath.

Chuckling, you shake your head playfully and return the thumbs up before nodding to come back inside.

Your gaze follows the tall man as he struts back toward the building. You tuck yourself inside, shutting and locking the window as you stare at the silly paper with his handwriting.

He wouldn’t be your Jason if he wasn’t mischievous. After all, it’s one of his many talents.

©️chaotic-birds // DO NOT REPOST OR MODIFY Please consider reblogging if you liked this work to show your support. Feedback/commentary is always welcomed.

[sirfrogsworth]

I'm moving out of the city and I'm going to have to learn to drive. Any advice for someone (reluctantly) looking into cars for the first time?

Sorry for the late response, but I really wanted to answer this because I think I have some relevant advice.

I started driving the very day I was allowed to get my learner's permit. I took it very seriously. My dad was a mechanic, my brother literally built a car when he was 16. They were car guys and I was the goofy comedian they didn't really understand. So I wanted to be a really good driver to impress them.

I practiced every chance I got. I took driver's ed in school and got a 100% in the class. And I got a perfect score on my written driver's test and only got dinged for 1 thing on the main exam (it was bullshit, but apparently there is no way to protest a near perfect score).

But then I got sick and it didn't make sense to pay for car insurance and maintain a vehicle. So I didn't drive for roughly 15 years.

Then both my parents got sick and they became dangerous drivers and so I had to figure out how to drive again. And at first I was nervous, but after about a week of driving, I was nearly as good of a driver as when I was younger.

The reason?

Muscle memory.

Muscle memory will save your life over just about anything. The less you have to concentrate on the physical actions and habits required to drive, the more you can concentrate on situational awareness. If you don't have to think about turning the wheel, or braking, or even activating the turn signals, you can use all of that brain power to pay attention to all of the dumb fucks they let drive cars.

So my biggest piece of advice would be to break down all of the physical actions required to operate a vehicle. Even the tiny stuff like switching the station on the radio or turning down the fan on the A/C. Then find a way to practice these things over and over and over until you have that muscle memory embedded into your brain. My muscle memory was so deeply ingrained that it lasted through 15 years of not driving and a batch of mind-wiping electroshock treatments.

Find a safe place to practice and just repeat things until they feel like second nature. Especially checking your blind spots. If you can get checking blind spots to the point where you do it without even thinking about it, you will increase your safety substantially.

Other tips...

Small cheap cars are best first cars. Big cars can make you feel disconnected from the road. Almost like you are piloting the vehicle in a video game. I started on my grandma's 1987 Chevy Cavalier. It was tiny. It had no power. It was free. But I could feel everything I was doing. I could feel the turns. I could feel the road. I could feel braking and acceleration. And it really helped me understand the relationship between driver and vehicle. It was like a big go-kart but I think having that as my first car really helped me develop my driving skills.

And my last tip is to learn gradient braking and acceleration. It's mostly for the comfort of your passengers. It gives them a smoother experience but it also makes them feel safer driving with you. Basically you want to figure out how to apply pressure to the pedals in such a way that almost no G-force is felt. So you start with very light pressure and gradually transition into the max pressure you need. And you need to do it quick enough to stop and accelerate at the proper rate. If you don't transition fast enough you might not stop in time or be able to merge onto the highway. And if you transition too fast people will be lurching back and forth in their seat. But, again, practice makes perfect.

My brother is horrible at this, though mostly on purpose. He likes driving like everything is a race. And with his muscle cars, that can be fun at times. But when you are just going to the store it can make one a little nauseous. I find myself just grabbing the "oh shit" handles and never letting go.

But if you can smooth out your acceleration and braking to the point it is barely felt, all of your passengers will thank you for it.

Hopefully that helps. And maybe other folks can reply with additional advice. And if you have any more specific concerns feel free to ask. I wasn't sure if you were more worried about driving or picking out a car, so hopefully we can collectively cover both.

I wish you luck and hope you learn to love driving. It is pretty cool once you get the hang of it.

[mysadcorner]

Helloooo

Would I please be allowed to request affectionate Fem!reader x touch starved batboys + Bale!Bruce Wayne headcanons pls and thx <33

TouchStarved!Batfam x Reader Headcanons

-Credit to the gifs owner - Please be specific about characters wanted in requests -

Masterlist Navigation

Bruce Wayne

• Bruce isn't going to handle his first experience of genuine affection from you very well. He's going to be a bit distant at first until he's comfortable around your affection and he's sure that you're not trying to manipulate him in any way or get something from him (even if he knows that this isn't the case, he still has a hard time with getting close to people and receiving affection).

• Due to the loss of his parents he does hate to genuinely get close to a person in an emotional way, especially if they're a normal person. Until he is finally close to you, and even during your relationship together, he'll be more paranoid and worried about someone finding out his identity and using you as a way to hurt him in any way.

• If you try to get him to open up he will be quite hostile and he genuinely doesn't mean to be. He's becomes very defensive due to the walls he's built up for so long and he isn't quite sure how to allow them to come down and let you in at first without feeling incredibly vulnerable.

• It may be easier for him to get to know you if you're also a hero or vigilante and he gets to know you while keeping his identity a secret. He doesn't have to worry about disappointing you with his true self, and he'll be reassured that you're able to look after yourself if you're ever confronted by anyone intending to cause you harm.

• Opening up to you would be a gradual process, but if you take some time it will be possible to have him be vulnerable and honest with you eventually. You may even help him work through the many emotional problems he has which could lead to him settling down and living a peaceful life without his Batman persona one day in the future.

Dick Grayson

• Dick's loss of his parents cause him to behave almost the opposite of Bruce, and he has become almost addicted to physical touch and emotional comfort. He starts to crave you as soon as you've shown him some affection and he will absolutely become addicted to you being around him.

• He allows himself to open up to you almost immediately if he thinks that you truly care about him and he trust's you. He has a lot of pent up feelings and thoughts that he hasn't able to get out, so you being there for him definitely takes a huge burden off of his shoulders.

• Dick starts to indulge in many of the things he didn't get in the past due to having so many unstable relationships, so this does lead him to rely on you emotionally quite a bit. He always seems to be funny and outgoing on the outside, so once you see this side of him it may come as quite a surprise.

• In public, Dick loves it when you give him affection, but of course he isn't going to go over the top with it. When you give him small touches and affection when outside or around others it gives him comfort and makes him feel much more secure in the situation he's confronted with, even if it's only a social gathering.

• Genuinely opening up to you would be a slow process, and you may need to seek advice from his family at first to try and find a way to make him feel safer while telling you things he doesn't like to talk about. But this will come naturally to him after a while, he just needs to get to a stage where he feels like he's ready to actually say certain things out loud.

Jason Todd

• Jason would probably be quite hesitant to receiving affection, especially if this is shortly after he 're-joined' the family, or hasn't been able to work out the trauma he's been through yet. He get's paranoid about what could possibly happen if you get too close to him, so it's not that he doesn't want your affection - he's just simply scared of the consequences.

• Despite craving someone to be close to, he doesn't have a lot of experience with actual relationships so he may be a bit awkward about how close your relationship is getting. He tries his best as much as he can, but he simply can't figure everything out by himself and he may also seem a bit clueless at times when you first approach him.

• When others aren't around Jason will become very cuddly and attention seeking towards you due to finally getting used to your new found attention for him. He didn't realise how much he was really missing out on, and now when the two of you are alone he can't get enough of it.

• In public, Jason isn't much of a big fan of affection being shown towards him. He's used to keeping up his serious image depending on who is around and he isn't the type of person to want many others seeing him in a vulnerable state no matter how small your affectionate display is.

• When Jason finally opens up to you about being emotionally and physically starved of affection and touch, he will get quite emotional. He's been keeping so many emotions and thoughts buried deep inside himself for so long that when he finally lets it all out it's like huge floodgates have been opened. You can try your best to settle him down, but this is just something he really needs to get out more than anything else.

Tim Drake

• Tim would be more inclined to return your affection even if he has been touch starved for a while since he knows how to express himself in this way a bit better than the rest of the family. He's always much calmer when opening up to you and gets to the point quickly so you wouldn't have to spend time guessing whether he's comfortable or not with your affection towards him.

• He would be quite bashful about your new found affection at first, even though he’s more than willing to accept it. He comes over this very easily though, as soon as he sees how much affection you have for him he loves it instantly.

• Tim will crave your company after you first start showing him some love and affection, especially if he notices that you’re doing it because you want to and not because you think you have time while being with him. He’s constantly keeping himself close to you in the hopes of you giving him attention without him needing to ask directly at first and will keep giving you hints depending on how long it takes for you to catch on.

• If you show Tim affection in public, or while other people are around, he may get flustered and blush a lot at first. After a while he’ll become used to a bit PDA and will be quite comfortable with it as long as it isn’t too much.

• Tim wants to be honest with you, so he’s probably going to be the most truthful about things compared to the other people in his family. However, he still has a habit of leaving out key information from the things he tells you unless you trick him into a very comfortable situation where he can’t help himself but to open up to you.

Damian Wayne

• Damian isn’t going to react well to affection the first time you try to give him some, even if the two of you are deemed to be close. He simply isn’t used to it, so even if he wants it his body may naturally put its guard up due to it being a new concept he’s experiencing.

• It will be awkward for a while as he tries to move past this, but all he really needs it to get used to it and experience it more often. Once you show affection towards him on a regular occurrence then he will be more than happy to receive it in private. He still won’t be into PDA no matter how used to it he is.

•When the two of you are alone then he will absolutely want affection from you, especially after he’s had a difficult day. He’ll be blunt to you about it and may feel more inclined to show affection towards you rather than for you to behave that way towards him once he’s able to express himself well.

• He’ll be strongly against it in public. Not only does he see it as a weakness but he would also prefer it to be a highly private thing for him. If you ever reached out to hold his hand then he may hold it back after a while of consideration, but under no normal circumstances would he initiate it himself.

•After Damian is used to giving and receiving affection from you physically, it will be much easier for him to express his emotions. It may still be quite hard for him, but after he starts to open up he realises how much better he feels to do so.

[pinknightsinmymind]

CANON and the morning sex part? maybe some slow messy ✂️ ? nah i'm on my knees throbbing shaking and all

【 mornings - abby anderson | NSFW 】

abby anderson x fem!reader

MDNI NSFW CONTENT BELOW THE CUT

wc: 2.8k

content: established relationship, top!abby, bottom!reader, some soft dom!abby, morning sex, you and abby are very much in love, fingering(r!receiving), scissoring, lots of praise, slight body worship, use of pet names(princess, baby, love, etc.), kinda possessive abs, abby teases you a lot, slight exhibitionism (can you call it that? she wants you to be loud enough for other ppl to hear), nipple play for like one second, not choking per say but abby just has her hand on your neck at one point, cuddling/spooning, i think that's about it? this is pretty tame and kinda cute despite being smut lol

a/n: now wait a minute bc..... you got me thinking.... i got so carried away with this😭😭😭 enjoy!!! also for this fic let's all collecitvely imagine abby's morning voice bc i bet it's so sexy😵‍💫

Abby has always been a morning person by nature. Maybe it’s because of all the times she’d get up early with her father, or because of her training as a soldier for the WLF—either ways, she’s an early riser through and through. That’s why it’s no surprise when she wakes up before you, both for convenience and for her own selfish reasons. Those reasons being, namely, that she loves having the extra time to admire you before you wake up. To Abby, there’s nothing like the beauty and the sanctity of waking up next to you every morning. There’s something sacred about it, a preciousness that belongs only to you and her. You’re here in her arms, safe, loved and cared for by her, and she’d have it no other way.

Your head is resting comfortably on your pillow, having rolled over onto your back at some point in the night. The sheets crinkle underneath Abby’s body as she turns to lay on her side because she’s set on taking in the sight of you. She can’t help it; her mornings don’t feel complete until she has. She pushed your shared blanket off her body, but she accidentally uncovered your torso in the process. She adjusted it a little for you, knowing just how much you like to stay under the covers while you sleep. As you continue to snooze, she takes this time to memorize your face, to see the moles decorating your body, the way your eyebrows are so relaxed while you sleep. You look so at peace, and it reminds her why she works so hard in the first place: to keep you safe. You mean everything to her, the whole world, even, and she’d do anything to protect you. That’s why she takes her job so seriously, why she does all the tasks Isaac assigns her, why she clears so many Infected out on patrol, why she keeps an eye out for Scars like she does. It’s all so you can live in a somewhat safer world.

After admiring you for what feels like forever—because she wishes this could last forever, just you and her safe in bed, your own little world—her hand starts to rub your stomach, caressing your sides, her hand coming up to graze your cheek. Right now she can’t help but remember you’re not wearing anything underneath her t-shirt, and the thought excites her. She remembered watching you slip it on over your naked body after making love last night, and how a part of her was sad she could no longer see every curve, every mark, every inch of your skin. Just thinking about how pretty every portion of your body looks underneath that shirt has her head spinning already. She grabbed onto your waist, pulling you into her, but you ended up rolling over onto your side. Abby doesn’t mind, though, and assumes her role of big spoon so she can rub your sides and your stomach even more.

You may be laying on her left arm, but that doesn’t stop Abby’s ability to caress your body. Her free hand roams over your body gently, so contrary to the scary image many people have of her in their heads. So much destruction has been done by her hands, but when she touches you, it’s like she’s never torn anything apart in her life. It’s like for once she has the capacity to care for something, like she’s not who she used to be, like that version of herself never existed. She’s never cared for anyone as much as she has for you, maybe the last person being her father. When she holds you, when her hands touch your body, she feels like she has the hands of a farmer or a painter, because those are people who know how to nurture, how to grow, how to care. That’s something she’s always desperately wanted to do, but she didn’t know how, not until she met you. All it took was one look into your eyes for her to learn, because suddenly she knew just what it meant to want to protect someone and look after them.

It’s after the caresses that she starts kissing your neck and your face, peppering them all over your skin. This is when you start to wake up, familiar with the routine Abby has set after many mornings together, one you never dislike fulfilling. When you start to stir, that’s when Abby finally speaks.

“Morning, princess,” she whispers. You hum in response, still half-asleep and barely batting away your grogginess. “Missed you.”

“Missed you, too, Abs.” Your voice is still rough with sleep like Abby’s, and you find yourself rubbing the hand she has nestled over your stomach. So touchy, you think.

“Look so pretty this morning,” she whispers into your neck. You feel her breath fanning against your skin, and you shiver a little.

“And I didn’t look pretty yesterday morning?” you tease her.

“No, you definitely did,” she says. “You just get prettier each morning.” Her hand moved from your stomach to your sides, rubbing them before sliding down to your hips. She rubs lazy circles there with her thumb as her lips resume kissing your neck. Her kisses are so soft and gentle, and you sigh a little bit as you melt into her touch. Her kisses continue until you feel her move her arm underneath you to slide her hand underneath your t-shirt, skirting over the warmth of your skin until they meet your breasts. Your body feels like it’s on fire with her hands on your skin, and that heat goes straight to your center. A small whine leaves your lips when you feel her start to play with one of your nipples.

“Abs,” you whisper.

“What’s the matter?” she asks, delivering a particularly harsh pinch to your nipple. You let out a loud whimper at the feeling. “Do you need me like I need you?” she asks. Her voice is lower and more gravelly than usual after waking up, and the sound of it has you feeling weak. You nod your head quickly as her hand comes down to grope your ass. “Words, princess.”

“Yes,” you hiss. “Need you bad.” Abby lifts up your leg and places her hand over your cunt. Her fingers just move through your folds, not really touching you how you need, but moving them gingerly to tease you and feel how wet you are. It’s like she’s just trying to feel that you’re there.

“All this for me?” she asks. You say nothing, caught up in how desperate you feel for her touch. You feel hot and bothered and you just hurt. You want her to touch you more and end the anticipation already, but Abby has other ideas. She stops moving her hands through your wetness and instead lets it rest there, cupping you. She removes her other hand from your breasts and rests it on the base of your neck. She doesn’t squeeze, and instead just holds it there firmly. “I thought we went over this, love. Answer me when I talk to you.”

“It’s all for you, Abs,” you whimper. She moves again, satisfied with your answer. “Want you inside.”

“Really, baby? So early in the morning?”

“I just need you,” you answer.

“So desperate for me,” she mutters. You were going to respond, to tell her how mean she was, but you found your words being swallowed when you finally felt one of her fingers insert themselves. You moaned as you felt her fill you up, moving slowly and languidly. She knew how to make the moment last forever, how to make you beg for more. You moaned again as you felt her finger curl inside you, hitting the spot just where you needed her. She chuckled lowly in your ear after hearing your sounds. She loved making you feel good, knowing you were hers to pleasure like this.

“You’re all mine,” she said assertively. “All mine to touch like this. You understand?” She knew you did. You were as devoted to her as she was with you, but she loved to hear it from your lips.

“Yes,” you answer. “I’m all yours. Feels so good.”

“I know it does,” she replied, inserting another finger. A small yelp left your lips at the sudden intrusion, your brain immediately going hazy and filled with pleasure. You found yourself shamelessly moaning with each move of her fingers, one of your hands reaching up to hold onto the one she had on your neck. She moved it from its spot on your skin and laced her fingers through yours as she continued hammering into you with her fingers.

“Keep making those pretty sounds, princess,” she commanded. “I want everyone in the base to hear you. I want them to know it’s me making you feel this good.”

“Oh, fuck, Abs,” you groaned. You wanted to tell her how good she was making you feel, but all that was coming out of your lips were incoherent mumbles. Abby couldn’t help the smirk that grew on her face hearing you fail to speak.

“Yeah? Making you feel that good?” she teased. You poor thing. Just fucked so dumb you can’t even speak, and done all by her. It was an ego boost, but it also made her feel good. Hearing your moans and being able to tell you were feeling good made her wetter by the second. Her own cunt was aching, and it was all for you.

“Abby,” you whined. You could feel your stomach tightening as she continued to hit that spot deep within you that made you go crazy. She knew what she was doing—she always did. She knew your body so well, knew just what it took to make you come apart when she was fucking you. “I’m close.”

“Look at you. Cumming on my fingers already?” You only whimpered in response. “Yeah, keep going, love. Cum all over my fucking fingers.” She quickened her pace, the sound of her fingers pumping into your wetness echoing through the room. You couldn’t help as the loud moan left your lips once you climaxed, the feeling overtaking you and every single one of your senses. It was like disappearing for a moment, swallowed by the white hot pleasure all over your body. Abby removed her fingers from you, grabbing onto your body and turning you to face her. Her lips were on yours faster than you expected, but you gladly returned her kiss. Her hands grabbed onto your shirt and pulled you even closer into her body. She was so desperate and hungry for you, and you were just what she needed to cure the ache between her legs.

“Need to feel you,” she whimpered against your lips. “Want to feel you against me.”

“Fuck,” you whined. “I want to make you feel good, Abs.”

Abby removed her lips from yours and sat up in bed, and you followed her actions. She pulled her boxers and her tank top off, then leaned over and pulled your shirt over your head. That only ignited the aching she felt further as she leaned in close to your body and began kissing you, her hands roaming over your skin, touching you anywhere she could. She loved to admire your naked body like the work of art it was, and she could never get enough of it. As she scooted closer to you, she spread your legs apart as she settled her own between them. When she was finally close enough, she could feel your warm skin on hers, your wetness coating her own. She let out a small groan at the contact as she grabbed onto your leg to her right and started grinding against you.

“Oh, fuck,” she moaned. She could feel your clit rubbing against hers, and it was driving her crazy. You were still sensitive after your previous orgasm, and it just made your pleasure intensify. She was grinding against you slowly, taking her time with you, staring so deep into your eyes as she did so. The intensity of her gaze turned you on even more, which you didn’t even think was possible.

“Abs,” you whimpered. Her eyes didn’t leave your face as she watched your expressions twist with every emotion you felt. Lust, love, pleasure—she loved to see it all on your face.

“Love having you like this, baby,” she grunted. “All desperate for me. You like it when I make love to you like this, huh?” Her hips kept that same slow, steady rhythm against yours, and you could feel yourself getting lost in the feeling of her against you, the sounds of your wetness echoing in the room.

“Yeah,” you answered her. You knew she’d punish you if you didn’t, and you couldn’t stand to be punished at a time like this. Not when you were feeling so good. You made eye contact with her again, her gaze boring into you and every part of you as she continued her movements. Her eyes were half-lidded as she stared at you, something wild and full of lust taking over her gaze. Feeling her watch you made it all feel even better. You felt like your body was overwhelmed with pleasure, the only thought in your head being Abby. Her name kept being repeated in your head, just Abby, Abby, Abby, and you found yourself muttering it outloud, too. Abby kept grinding her cunt against yours, and with each movement of her hips you were both losing yourselves deeper into one another. You met every thrust of her hips with your own, and it caused moans to slip out of each of your lips. The feeling was just so heavenly in a way you couldn’t put into words.

“Feel so good against me, baby, fuck,” she moaned. She was always the dominant one, always the one in charge, but whenever she got overstimulated like this, she started to lose her cool. Abby was doing her best to maintain the image she usually did, to stay in control, but she was faltering. You could both tell from the whimpers uncontrollably leaving her lips. “So–so good,” she groaned. “I–fuck,” she cursed. If there was a higher power, you had to have been sent to her by it. There was no worldly explanation for why she was blessed with someone as good as you, how she came to love and be loved by a real life angel.

“I want you to cum on me, Abs,” you whimpered. “Use me to cum. Just fuck me,” you begged. Abby let out a grunt at your words and immediately picked up the pace of her hips against yours. That sent you both over the edge as you both got much louder from the sudden sensations. You did your best to reach her pace, but Abby’s hips were moving much faster than yours, so much so she was starting to get messy. She was doing exactly as you asked, not sparing a moment to pause as she chased her orgasm. She was so close, and she knew that she would unravel soon as she was already coming undone. The whimpers leaving her lips were so pathetic, but she just felt so good she couldn’t help it.

“You’re so good to me,” she moaned. “Letting me fuck you like this. Shit.” She could feel her climax approaching, the heat in her stomach overtaking both her mind and body. “You’re—Fuck. Gonna cum.” She grinded her hips against yours a few more times and that’s when she felt her orgasm overtake her. She let out a choked moan at the sudden pleasure, but she kept grinding against you regardless. She wanted you to cum again, to cum with you. You found your eyes filling up with tears at the pleasure you felt, still so sensitive from earlier. The sensitivity made it hurt a little, but it just felt so good.

“Fuck, fuck, Abby,” you moaned, feeling it all finally wash over you. Abby kept grinding against you until your orgasm finally ran its course, then stopped. Both of you were catching your breath with heaving chests, staring at each other in post-orgasm awe. You could feel your body was sticky with sweat—and probably other fluids—but you wouldn’t have it any other way. You collapsed onto the pillows behind you, Abby following suit as she pulled your bare body close to hers. Abby felt so tired and like she could pass out within seconds, but her tendencies as a clean freak were stronger than her sleepiness.

“You wanna take a shower?” she asked. You shook your head, snuggling further into Abby’s chest.

“No. Just wanna lay here with you for a while.”

“But you will shower with me later, right?” she asked again.

You hummed in response. “Yeah. But right now I just wanna cuddle with you.”

“Fair enough, love,��� she said. She wrapped her arms around you tightly, the one place she liked to keep you the best.

[void-star]

I'm starting to get the impression that people don't actually know what a trauma trigger is or how to identify them.

It is not feeling uncomfortable or disgusted with a concept or subject.

It is an activation of your sympathetic nervous system (activates fight or flight) over things your brain has associated strongly with a traumatic event.

The things your brain associates with the traumatic event don't always have to make sense: it can be as innocuous as a certain song/ringtone or notes from a cologne/perfume, or as direct and obvious as the sight of a weapon.

The important thing here is that it's a moderate to severe body experience in response to something that is not immediately dangerous to you and reminds you of a traumatic experience you have had in some way.

When you know and understand this, you can start to catch the physiological signs of the activation of your sympathetic nervous system. It's helpful to recognize both to calm your body down when you're not in immediate danger, and to recognize how this activation can affect other areas of your life.

I say that last part because it shuts down a lot of cognition, makes you stop thinking clearly, because it serves the purpose of trying to get you immediately out of danger.

My therapist still does a kind of explicit mirroring with me a lot, where rather than focusing on the thoughts and the fear that's on the surface, she brings my attention to my body: tightness in muscles, narrowing of vision, increased awareness of sounds/smells, constriction of the chest.

I bring this up because, first of all, it seems like some people use "trigger" to by synonymous with feeling uncomfortable or disgusted, to ride on your concern for their wellbeing in order to control your behavior. I don't like that.

Second of all, it also seems like other people are focusing on the occurrence of a trigger as a hallmark of something being harmful. Like once you're triggered, you're hurt and damaged yet again, and there's no coming back from that.

This is both untrue and disingenuous. I don't think it's particularly useful for trauma survivors. It's important to recognize that triggers are the residual effects of the things that harmed us that we couldn't do anything about. Triggers are manageable and they are not an indication that you're being harmed again. They are the body's memory of the harm, and its commitment to preventing you from being harmed again by latching onto a pattern it thinks will help you be safe if there's a next time.

You HAVE to learn to rationalize this if you want to feel safer, more comfortable, and in control of your world. You deserve that.

You don't deserve to sit inside of the intense fear and lack of understanding that comes with not investigating your own experience, or the way it can box you in to see danger and harm and abuse all around you.

And if you don't learn that, you're going to end up believing the only thing that can keep you safe is the elimination of everything that reminds you of what you went through... which is harmful to other people.

[visionsofmagic]

saving [kuai liang, tomas • short]

―✹ they save you from an attack of lin kuei and propose you join shirai ryu.

+ requested by anon! couldn’t get whether you wanted it to be kuai liang x reader x smoke, so, I did it separately, hope you all will like this! special thanks to anon! 💌 "Can you write for Smoke and Kuai Liang from Mk1? Something like saving the reader from a Lin Kuei attack and offering reader shelter in the Shirai Ryu"

+ hurt/comfort, gn!reader, mentions of blood and injuries, soft!kuai liang, soft!tomas, past mk1, fluff, a little angst, using of y/n, scared!reader, newbie!reader, friends to lovers (kinda), patching up. ‘is all. enjoy!

❦ KUAI LIANG

seeing you from a far away, he immediately understands you are in danger as the sight in front of him becomes clearer when he gets closer to you - staying behind the balcony’s edge, you use it as a shield, hands gripping your weapon tightly, the rain washing over your shaking body.

he realizes how you try to stay calm, strong, and unemotional even though you’re getting wetter each passing second, holding your own arms while listening to the silence - the fight between lin kuei and others decreases its intensity, lin kuei gets the hold of power against others.

kuai liang doesn’t waste another time when he sees you, vulnerable yet staying still.

“hey,” he says, walking towards you, not minding the rain as he kneels down to your level, hands gripping you by the arms, gently. “are you okay?” he asks, wanting you to show him that you’re capable of understanding your surroundings.

when your shining eyes meet with his, you recognize him immediately, the brother of grandmaster - kuai liang, one of your mentors.

nodding, you try to speak, “I am sorry -“ it was the first thing coming into your mind - I am sorry that I couldn’t fight stronger - be better.

the response coming from him isn’t what you expected yet it helps you to calm down, “no need to say that. just let’s get you out of here,” he adds, pointing something on your shoulder, “you are wounded.”

his remark makes you look down at the wound that stopped bleeding - the pain slowly appearing and making you hiss.

waiting no more, for an answer, he picks you up slowly and gently, looking at your surprised face from the corner of his eyes as he begins to walk. the rain pouring over his body to yours, but you don’t care about it anymore when you feel his warmness hugging you, giving a kind of protection and peace that your eyes nearly close at the moment- however, his voice takes you into reality once more, making you realize how tight he is holding you as if he lets go, it will be doom.

the proximity is enough to create a hot atmosphere along with his warmth. never imagined scorpion of all people would take care of you like this yet here you are, in his arms, going to somewhere you don’t need to ask about because you know he’s taking you to a safe place.

“try to take a bit of rest, but don’t fall asleep,” he sounds concerned, looking down at your face for a moment, “your wound needs to be healed. once we find a safer place, we will take care of it. now, just rest, okay?”

nodding, you close your eyes, putting your head onto his shoulder. in the rest of the way you rest on his shoulder as he carries you. no fear, not anymore, not when you have him, you listen to his heartbeats up close, a source of peace, and a healer to your wound which he takes care of as he promised once you reach a safe area.

he’s so gentle with you that you begin to cry when he cleans, fixes, and heals the wound with full care. it makes him go confused - holding you by the chin, he makes you look at him - a smile full of understanding is replaced on his attractive face, “don’t worry. you will be okay.”

you know it’s not the truth because how can you? you have no home in lin kuei, not after everything you’ve been through.

kuai liang gets it though, no need for words from your lips to understand the fear you have. so, he spends the next few hours thinking about how he can propose you join him as he waits for you to take some sleep. deep down, he knows he can’t let you go, not anymore because he has seen something in your eyes that makes the man find a different source of warmness contrary to the one he has naturally.

the next thing he knows kneeling before you as you sit down on the edge of the bed, caressing your hands with the tips of his fingers, smiling widely, and ensuring as he asks, “will you come with me? I know it’s a sudden and odd question but you can join me, in shirai ryu. I promise you will find peace and the power you seek in there.”

you only ask whether he will be on your side or not, and kuai chuckles at that, the relief flows into him.

he promises you that he will be on your side as long as you want him to be, and with that, the new journey you live together begins.

❦ TOMAS

the moment an attack happens, the first thing his mind is covered is you - only you and the condition you have.

the uncertainty of it makes his stomach crumble in concern. he needs to find you. he knows he has no right to think about you because he is the one who can’t say he has a weak point in his heart for you. but you know it, you know him more than he does for himself, and when you see the glimpse of nervous tomas steps inside the room you’re sitting in, a smile appears on your face.

however, tomas realizes it’s an act to hide the wounds you have when he closes the gap between you two. on his knees, hands on your arms, his eyes travel around your body, seeing blood getting dry on the shoulder and arms, cuts are long enough to make them look so painful.

“y/n,” his voice shaky, furrowing in concern and anger - how they can hurt his y/n? he is mad at them but he knows he should take you somewhere safe first. “I am so sorry that I couldn’t come any sooner.”

putting your palms on his cheeks, you smile wider, a sense of calmness washing over you knowing that he’s here and well. “no need, tomas. I am fine, don’t worry about me.”

he can’t - you mean so much to him.

he keeps his silence as he helps you get up. when he sees you can merely walk, he asks whether he can pick you up or not, and when you nod, with such care, he picks you up.

closeness makes him go all red but he doesn’t care about it at all - you are the only thing in his mind, you and tour safety.

listening to the report you’re telling on the way about how the attack has begun, how you have tried to help as many people as you can until you have ended up in a small room to wait for aid because you knew you couldn’t fight any longer without recovering.

he concludes as he listens to you carefully, and finally finds a safe room with medicine.

firstly, with the help of you, he cleans your wounds - having a blush on his face while doing so. yes, you two had these kinds of closeness yet he can’t help but feel a bit shy and excited every single time.

this time is a bit different though, because you have wounds, more than one unfortunately, and you need them to be healed as soon as possible - tomas is determined to give you what you need even if it means staying beside you all week long. he will do it with pleasure.

also, he knows there is no safe place under lin kuei’s shelter for you.

with the trust he has for kuai liang, his brother, he sits beside you on the couch, and lets you put your head down onto his shoulder.

he wishes he could be like this all the time.

“y/n,” he says, waiting for you to respond to him with a cute ‘hmm’ sound. “do you trust me?” he needs to be sure.

picking your head up, you look into his eyes, and he gets the answer only with them - shining bright as you keep looking.

“with my life.”

tomas can be any happier and sad at the same time; the former is because of the way you look at him, the words leaving your pretty mouth that touch him deeply and the latter is due to seeing you hurt.

“then, join us -“ he fixes himself, “join me. in shirai ryu, we can build something different - something better. together, side by side.”

his words echo inside your mind over and over again, the pain coming from the wounds is long forgotten. with him by your side, you feel untouched.

the happiness of highness hits you greatly when you nod, accepting his offer without hesitation. “be ready to patch me up, tomas.” “no need for that pretty y/n. I will make sure you get hurt no more.”

[enderpearlll]

Yandere!Bob Velseb - My Favourite Employee. PT 2.

Um. So this is way longer than I expected so there’ll probably be a part three and four. Sorry not sorry. Can you also tell I don’t edit my work?

Gender-Neutral reader, but pet names such as darling, sweetie, sweetheart, and sweet pea are used.

TW/CW: Yandere content, stalking, descriptions of paranoia and anxiety, brief panic attacks, etc.

• That evening Bob walked you home, you felt sick to your stomach. The smell of Bobs cologne was soothing and stuck to your clothes even after you took off his jacket, but that didn't fully rid of the anxiety building in your stomach.

• Maybe it was the build up of stress…. Yeah, that was it. You decided to give up your shifts for the next three days, thinking that a break from work would be refreshing. But that night when you were getting ready for bed, you felt like you were being watched. Like someone was there with you... It definitely didn't help with the paranoia.

• It was a restless night, spent tossing and turning in hopes that no one was actually watching you and that it was all in your head. Luckily your coworkers were understanding, but when you called in the next morning Bob was distraught. He called you nonstop until you answered.

“What happened? Are you sick or somethin’ sweet pea?!” “Yeah, I asked someone else to take my shifts for a few days, hope you can understand…” “… Of course I do darlin’! Just take it easy, okay?” “Alright, thank you so much Bob!”

• You felt relieved that Bob understood your dilemma, and soon enough you calmed down and spent the whole day trying to relax. After a few hours of bliss, you felt that horrible feeling crawl down your neck again. You walked into the kitchen to grab a snack when you felt eyes on your back. With a shaky sigh, you scavenged through the kitchen for a snack to distract yourself. Turns out that it didn’t help and your kitchen was barren.

• You decided to get some fresh air to calm down, going for a walk to the grocery store. But even on the way there you felt like someone was following you. It didn’t help that you actually heard footsteps and eerie snapping. Like a camera shutter going off… So you practically ran the entire way. When you got to the store you felt soothed in the public eye. At least there was other people around so creeps wouldn’t dare to pull anything in a public place.

• But that only made you think harder. Should you call the police? Eventually you decided against it, seeing as it was only a gut feeling that you were going off of. And you didn’t want to know if someone was actually watching you, not at all. You’d rather live in blissful ignorance.

• You were at the snack isle, shoving a bunch of junk food into your basket. You were debating on whether or not you should buy actual food when you felt a tap on your shoulder. You nearly jumped out of your skin and quickly turned around to face the culprit. It was Bob! (Wait, wasn’t the restaurant still open—) He laughed at your jumpy attitude and pat your back, wiping a tear from his eye. “Woah there, sweetheart!” “Hah, sorry. I wasn’t expecting to see you here, Bob.”

• Bob chides you for your horrible food choices, poking fun at you. You felt safer with him around, walking around the grocery store as you both talked about life. You didn’t ask him why he was off work so early, deciding to focus on the task at hand. Eventually you leave with a cart full of groceries, to which Bob was happy to help you take home.

• You let him walk you home again, feeling much more comfortable walking back with him. You felt bad for making him carry almost all of the bags though, but Bob was persistent on carrying all of them. Of course you didn’t let him do it all by himself so he made you take the lightest bags. When you got home, Bob let himself in and helped you put everything away.

• You felt weirded out seeing your boss look so domestic, his cheeks a bright red as he hummed a tune while asking you where the cereal went. When all was said and done, Bob asked if you wanted something to eat. You politely declined and said that you could just order out, but Bob was appalled at the idea.

“What?! No way, I can’t have my darlin’ eating junk when you’re feeling sick! Don’t worry ‘bout nothin’, I won’t poison ya!” “… You make me burgers for lunch everyday.” “Well, that’s my cookin’! I don’t wanna have you eat something that I didn’t cook for ya myself.”

• Inevitably, you caved into his offer and you both began to make some chicken noodle soup. When you put on an apron, Bob began to drool and blush red hot. You blamed it on the heat in your house, chopping vegetables. Bob was doing most of the cooking, you measured out the ingredients since he wanted you to take it easy. (Even though it was your own kitchen—) “My lovely chef! Where would I be without ya?”

• You loved Bob’s cooking, so when it was time to eat you were impatient. And wow, was it worth all of the effort! You felt all warm and cozy sipping at the hot broth, giving compliments to the chef. Bob was flustered at your praise, cleaning up the kitchen as you ate to your hearts desire. “Aw, thanks darlin’. I’m happy to cook for ya any time!” “Wait, aren’t you going to eat too?” “O—Oh! Um, I’m not the biggest fan of chicken myself, heh.”

• Bob left after tidying up, wishing you a farewell as he trekked back into the cold. It was a chilly night, so before he left you gave him some gloves and his jacket. Bob was literally shaking at the notion, uttering a strangled thank you as you slid the gloves onto his fingers. (Mind you, he was a big guy so he didn’t exactly fit them.) Now that you were alone again, you didn’t feel as paranoid again. Having Bob around was a nice distraction.

• You settled down with a movie and some popcorn, calling your coworker to check up on them. Other than Bob, you grew rather close to them. “Hey!” “Oh, what’s up? How you feeling?” “I’m feeling way better now, I bumped into boss at the store today. He even cooked for me, ha.” “Oh, that’s where he was! Boss closed the restaurant early today after getting off the phone with someone, he was frantic. In the middle of lunch rush too!” “… What?” “Oh yeah, he even called in sick for the next few days too.”

• Guilt seeped into your skin, a familiar feeling of dread sinking in as you dropped your phone. Bob closed the restaurant for YOU?! “—Bro? Hello? Dude, you okay?” Your coworker asked, worried sick. You picked up the phone with shaking hands, curling into a tight ball. “I… Uh, I gotta go. I’ll call you later.” “What—? *beep*”

• You pinched the bridge of your nose, your heart pounding out of your chest. It was probably a coincidence, you were definitely just imagining things. Bob would never close the restaurant unless it was an absolute emergency, so why would he..? You shook your head and turned off the TV, ready to head to bed before you kept yourself awake with your thoughts.

• As you hauled yourself into your room, you didn’t notice the splotches of steam left on your window, left behind from someone’s erratic breathing. As you brushed your teeth, you didn’t notice the sound of your window sliding open. Nor did you hear the sound of a camera shutter as you washed your face, trying to shake off the feeling of something watching you.

• Turns out he got too desperate, seeing as you walked out and were greeted with the silhouette of the devil-horned man. You screamed at the top of your lungs, watching as his impossibly wide grin drooped down. His chest heaved up and down as he wiped away his drool, heart beating out of his chest. You ran into your washroom and slammed the door behind you, rocking back and forth as you dialled the police station.

• This couldn’t be happening, no way. When someone picked up on the other end, you let tears of relief fall down your face. “Hello, police station—?” “T—There’s someone in my house, I think they broke in!” You sobbed into the speaker, cupping the phone close to your face. You quickly told them your address, desperately gasping for air. It was a few minutes before sirens blared through the streets, waking everyone up at 12 in the morning.

• You heard the door slam open, the sound of someone walking in echoed throughout the house. You waited until they reached your bedroom before clambering out of the washroom, running into a brown-haired officer. “Woah there, are you alright?” You could barely form a proper sentence, on the verge of a panic attack. Another officer came in the room, concern laced on his features. “There’s no one here, John. I think they ran.”

• You fell onto your knees, shaking and trembling on the cold floor. “I swear, someone was here! Please, you’ve got to believe me—! He was wearing a devil costume—“ The older officer named John kneeled down to your level, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Don’t worry, we believe you. Jack, let’s do one last search.” And they left you in the living room with a blanket they found, searching the house one last time.

• “There was no one to be found, but your bedroom window was wide open.” Jack said, watching as John inspected the lock on your door. John sighed and scratched his chin before checking the time. “Keep all of your doors and windows locked, we’ll keep an eye out. Call us if you have any more trouble.” He left you with those words of advice before him and Jack made their leave. None of what they said helped you at all, only serving to make you even more paranoid.

• You grabbed your phone from your pocket, checking the time. It was two in the morning, the cops had spent two hours searching your house for the intruder. You sighed and went to your contacts before clicking on the one that said “Boss.”. You bit your lips as you waited for the phone to ring, tears welling in your eyes. “…Hello? Sweet pea, what’s wrong? You okay?” “B—Bob, can you come over? Someone tried to break in a—and—!” You broke down sobbing, hearing frantic crashing and shuffling on the other side of the phone.

“Sit tight, I’m on my way sweetheart.”

(End of part two. Gotta love cliffhangers.)

[30somethingautisticteacher]

Take Good Care of My Baby

Day 3 of Bucktommy Positivity Week ❤️

@bucktommypositivityweek

****

When it came to Tommy's family, he was a bit of a closed book. Buck knew very little beyond a few passing comments. He was aware that Tommy's dad was reminiscent of Captain Gerrard and that Tommy had a younger brother still living in Oregon. That's why Buck was completely thrown off guard when, three months into their relationship, Tommy casually mentioned, "My mom wants to meet you."

Buck started coughing, nearly choking on his beer. "Your mom?" he sputtered, eyes wide with surprise. "Wow, you've never mentioned her. I honestly thought she had passed away."

Tommy shook his head, a mix of guilt and sadness crossing his features. "No, she's alive. I guess I don't talk about her much. It's a way to protect her, I suppose?"

He took a deep breath before continuing, "People in our hometown were really cruel about her situation. My dad was horribly abusive, and she stayed for a long time. They called her weak and a bad mom for not leaving with us kids."

Tommy's voice grew quieter, tinged with old pain. "When my brother was born - I was seven at the time - they couldn't believe she would have another baby with him. And when she finally left, after he broke her jaw, they had the audacity to call her a monster for 'abandoning' her kids."

Buck reached out, placing a comforting hand on Tommy's arm. "That's awful, Tommy. I'm so sorry your family went through that."

Tommy nodded, leaning into Buck's touch. "It was rough. That's why I don't talk about it much. But my mom... she's incredibly strong. She's rebuilt her life, and now she wants to meet the man who's making me happy."

As Tommy shared his family's painful history, Buck felt a deep, visceral reaction. His mind immediately went to Maddie and the horrors she had endured with Doug. While the situations weren't identical, the core of abuse and the struggle to leave were painfully familiar.

Buck squeezed Tommy's hand, his voice thick with emotion. "Tommy, I... God, it's so similar to what Maddie went through. How could anyone call someone experiencing that kind of trauma weak?"

Tommy nodded, his eyes reflecting shared understanding. "I know. When you told me about Maddie, I couldn't help but think of my mom. The strength it takes to survive that, to eventually leave... it's incredible. And for my mom, having to consider us kids in her decisions, it must have been even more complicated."

"Your mom isn't weak," Buck affirmed, his eyes filled with compassion. "She's a survivor, just like Maddie. And those people in your hometown? They have no idea what it's like to live through something like that, let alone with children involved."

Tommy's grip on Buck's hand tightened, gratitude evident in his expression. "It means a lot to hear you say that, Evan. I think that's why my mom wants to meet you. She knows about Maddie, and I think she feels like you might understand her in a way that not many others can."

Buck nodded, a mix of emotions playing across his face. "I'd be honored to meet her, Tommy. She sounds like an amazing woman." He paused, then asked gently, "How old were you when she left?"

Tommy's eyes clouded with old memories. "I was 16," he said, his voice steady but tinged with pain. "And way bigger than Dad already. He never laid a finger on me or Brad, although the homophobic slurs flew freely."

Buck squeezed Tommy's hand, silently encouraging him to continue.

"I left at 17 to join the army," Tommy went on. "Brad went to live with my Aunt and cousins."

Buck took a moment to process this information. "That must have been so hard, Tommy. Being old enough to understand what was happening, but still so young."

Tommy nodded. "It was tough. I felt guilty leaving Brad, even though I knew he was safer with our Aunt. And Mom... I worried about her constantly."

"But you all survived," Buck said softly. "You, your mom, Brad. You all found your way out."

"We did," Tommy agreed, a small, sad smile on his face. "It wasn't easy, and it took time, but we did."

Buck leaned in, resting his forehead against Tommy's. "Thank you for sharing this with me. I know it can't be easy to talk about."

Tommy's hand came up to cup Buck's cheek. "With you, Evan, it feels okay. You understand in a way not many people do."

Buck smiled, leaning into Tommy's touch. His eyes, full of warmth and support, met Tommy's. "So where is she living now? When can we meet up?"

Tommy's expression shifted, a mix of nervousness and excitement crossing his features. "Well, she just moved to San Diego," he said, his voice carrying a hint of anticipation. "So I was thinking I could fly us out there on our next days off that sync up. I think that's a week from tomorrow." He paused, searching Buck's face. "Is that OK?"

Buck's smile widened, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "Can't wait," he said without hesitation.

The tension in Tommy's shoulders visibly eased at Buck's response. He pulled Buck closer, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. "Thank you, Evan. This means a lot to me."

Buck wrapped his arms around Tommy, holding him tight.

****

The Uber pulled up in front of a small, unassuming tan house. As Buck and Tommy stepped out of the car, the front door flew open, and a woman ran outside. She was tiny, barely 5 feet tall, with salt and pepper hair and kind eyes that crinkled as she smiled. The contrast between her petite frame and Tommy's towering height was almost comical as she went in for a hug.

"Tommy, my sweet boy. I'm so happy to see you," she said, her voice warm with affection. Then, turning to Buck with a mischievous grin, she continued, "And you must be 'my boyfriend Evan, but only I can call him Evan, so you call him Buck.'" Tommy groaned, a blush creeping up his neck. "Mama!" he protested, but there was no real annoyance in his voice, just fond embarrassment.

Buck couldn't help but chuckle, instantly charmed by Tommy's mother's warmth and humor. He extended his hand, but she bypassed it entirely, pulling him into a hug as well. "It's wonderful to meet you, Mrs. Kinard," Buck said, his voice slightly muffled against her shoulder.

She pulled back, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "I haven't been a Kinard in over 20 years, sweetheart. You can call me Rachel," she said warmly.

"Rachel it is," Buck replied with a smile, feeling immediately at ease.

"I'm so happy you boys are here," Rachel said as they walked into the house. Her eyes twinkled as she turned to Buck. "You must be pretty special, Buck. You're the first boyfriend Tommy's ever introduced me to."

Buck's eyes widened in surprise. "Oh... Wow... that's... really?" he stammered, looking at Tommy for confirmation.

Tommy nodded, a soft smile playing on his lips.

Buck felt a warmth spread through his chest as he replied, "Well, I don't know if I'm special, but I can say that Tommy makes me happier than I've ever been."

"Wonderful!" Rachel exclaimed, clapping her hands together. "Are you boys hungry?"

"That depends, Mama," Tommy said, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Did you cook? Because if so, we politely decline."

Rachel smacked him playfully on the shoulder. "My son, the comedian," she said, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. "I'll have you know that I ordered in brunch from a little deli. Hope you like bagels, Buck."

The easy banter between Tommy and his mother, and the way they both effortlessly included Buck in their interactions, made him feel instantly at home. As they made their way to the dining area, Buck couldn't help but smile. This visit was already exceeding his expectations, filled with warmth, humor, and a sense of family that he was grateful to be a part of.

As they dug into the spread of bagels and various toppings, Rachel turned her attention to Buck, her eyes bright with curiosity. "So, darlin', tell me about yourself," she said warmly. "Tommy can't stop talking about you, but I want to hear straight from the horse's mouth, so to speak."

Buck glanced at Tommy, a mix of surprise and pleasure at hearing he was a frequent topic of conversation. He cleared his throat before responding, "Oh well, uh, I grew up in Pennsylvania but moved away when I was 19, and then moved to LA when I was 25."

Rachel leaned in, genuinely interested. "Where were you between Pennsylvania and Los Angeles?" she asked.

Buck chuckled, a hint of his adventurous past shining through his eyes. "Everywhere," he said with a grin. "Georgia, Virginia, Montana, Arizona, Peru. I just sort of floated on the wind."

Tommy watched the interaction with a soft smile, clearly pleased to see Buck opening up to his mother.

Rachel's eyebrows shot up in admiration. "My, my, quite the adventurer! Peru, you say? That must have been exciting."

As Buck launched into a story about his time in South America, the atmosphere in the room grew even warmer. Rachel listened attentively, asking questions and laughing at Buck's animated descriptions. Tommy, for his part, seemed content to watch the two most important people in his life bonding over brunch.

The conversation flowed easily, and Buck found himself relaxing more and more. He'd been nervous about this meeting, but Rachel's genuine interest and warmth made him feel accepted and valued. As he shared stories from his past, he realized he was also sharing parts of himself that he rarely talked about, and it felt good to be so open.

As Buck finished recounting a particularly amusing anecdote from his time in Peru, Rachel shook her head in amazement. "Your parents must have been so nervous having you flit all over like that," she said, her voice tinged with maternal concern. "I know when Tommy was in the Army and when Bradley taught in India, I was so worried all the time."

Buck tensed slightly, his previously relaxed demeanor shifting. He glanced down at his plate, his voice quieter as he responded, "Uh, not so much. I've always been something of an inconvenience to them."

The warmth in the room seemed to cool for a moment as Rachel processed Buck's words. Her eyes, so like her son's, grew sad. "Oh honey," she said softly, reaching out to place a comforting hand on Buck's arm.

Tommy, sensing Buck's discomfort, moved closer to him. He put his arm around Buck's shoulders, pulling him close. With tender care, Tommy gently pressed his lips to Buck's birthmark, a gesture that spoke volumes of his affection and support.

Buck leaned into Tommy's embrace, drawing strength from his partner's presence. The simple act of care seemed to ground him, reminding him that he wasn't alone in this moment of vulnerability.

Rachel's gaze flicked between Buck and Tommy, understanding dawning in her eyes. This wasn't just a casual revelation; it was a glimpse into a pain that Buck carried with him. But it was also a testament to the deep connection between her son and Buck.

"Well," Rachel said after a moment, her voice warm and firm, "their loss is our gain. I, for one, am thrilled to have you here, Buck. And I can see how happy you make my Tommy."

Buck looked up, surprise and gratitude evident in his expression. He hadn't meant to bring down the mood, but Rachel's immediate acceptance and support, coupled with Tommy's unwavering presence, touched him deeply.

As the conversation gently shifted to lighter topics, Buck felt a wave of belonging wash over him. He might not have had the most supportive family growing up, but here, in this small tan house in San Diego, with Tommy's arm around him and Rachel's kind eyes on him, he felt truly welcomed and valued.

As the day drew to a close and they prepared to leave, Rachel pulled Buck aside, her eyes serious and full of emotion.

"Sweetheart," she began, her voice soft but intense, "my Tommy, he's been through so much in this life. He has been beat down over and over again, and he has gotten up stronger each time." She paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. "I don't know if he told you about his father, but he's an awful human. I can't believe such good boys, my babies, came from such vermin."

Buck listened intently, his heart aching for the pain in Rachel's voice and for what Tommy had endured.

"Tommy protected me as much as he could from the time he was a tiny little boy," Rachel continued, her voice wavering slightly. "And Stuart, he did everything in his power to break Tommy down. He somehow knew Tommy was gay even before Tommy did and would call him terrible names."

She reached out, grasping Buck's hand in both of hers. "Tommy is selfless, and he deserves the world. So I'm asking you, Buck, will you give it to him, please? Will you love my baby like he deserves?"

Buck felt a lump form in his throat, overwhelmed by the trust and hope Rachel was placing in him. He squeezed her hands gently, his voice thick with emotion as he replied, "Rachel, I promise you, I will do everything in my power to make Tommy happy. He deserves the world, and I'll spend every day trying to give it to him."

Buck paused for a moment, realizing the weight of what he was about to say. Although he hadn't yet said these words to Tommy himself, he felt a surprising comfort in confiding them to Rachel. "I love him," Buck said softly, the words feeling right as they left his lips. "I love him more than I ever thought possible."

Rachel's eyes welled with tears as she pulled Buck into a tight hug. "Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you for loving my boy."

As they embraced, Buck felt a mix of emotions wash over him. There was the weight of Rachel's words and the responsibility they carried, but also a sense of liberation in finally voicing his feelings for Tommy, even if it was to his mother first. It wasn't a burden - it was a privilege. He silently renewed his commitment to Tommy, vowing to be the partner that this amazing man deserved, and promised himself that he would find the right moment to share these words with Tommy soon.