#i’m regressing in many ways

[possibly-pasta]

so many emotions today. seeing an up to date picture of a friends child and seeing how similar they look when smiling almost broke me. Dame Maggie Smith passing almost broke me. my Work bullshit that happened this morning almost broke me. waiting to either fully tip into the fog or have a massive crying meltdown. let’s hope it’s the first option

[catwouthats]

“How can this many people simply vote for Trump in the first place?”

✨Gaslighting✨

And

✨Teaching themselves apathy because they have been pushed to the brink and are only focused on their own survival and think that this guy will give it because he

gaslight themmmm✨

[scionshtola]

cringe corishtola lore. and also shb spoilers

making myself ill thinking about how cori’s recently realized feelings + shtola not being able to tell who they are bc of the light make cori withdraw from shtola some, bc cori doesn’t want to confess to shtola while they look like a monster to her. and then they don’t want to confess bc they think it would be worse for shtola if they confessed and then turned into a monster and she had to kill them. so once again cori is keeping what they feel from shtola.

meanwhile shtola is on the other side of this desperately wishing that cori would tell her bc she can tell they’re withdrawing. but she won’t say anything, will just keep working to save them because that’s doing something for them. but she’s very half agony half hope about them throughout shb i think. and despite cori’s worries she doesn’t see them as a monster but she can see the pain they’re in more clearly than anyone else except ryne. and that makes her want to tell cori so badly but with cori withdrawing it once again seems like not the right time.

also i think maybe thancred gets back at shtola a little for her comment about not sharing his feelings with ryne by calling her out on her not telling cori her feelings. not like maliciously but it is a bit like well you called me out so i’m going to return the favor because you need it. and shtola threatens turn him into a frog.

[ko-eko-ev-go-ms]

Brain is braining too much me thinks

[moonstruckme]

Hey so i have a request and you can totally say no if this makes you uncomfortable but would you consider writing a poly marauders x reader where the readers depressed and can’t get anything done im asking cause I’ve been. Going through something and i thought id be okay by now but I’ve kinda regressed idk and now im depressed idk pls don’t write this if its to hard or upsetting

Thank you for your request lovely, I really hope things are getting easier for you or that they do soon <3

cw: depression

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 984 words

You realize the boys must be home when Remus crouches in front of you. You hadn’t heard the car come up the driveway, nor the door opening. You were too deep inside your own head. Or maybe you���d drifted off into another of your light, unsatisfying sleeps. 

“Hi.” He offers you a little smile, putting out his hand. You worm yours out from under your blanket to give it to him, and he rubs his thumb across your knuckles fondly. “How was your day, lovely?” 

“Fine,” you say. Your voice rasps a bit from disuse. 

“I’m opening the curtains,” James warns from somewhere behind you. “Here, take these.” 

Sirius’ grunt sounds surprised. “Since when is carrying in the groceries a relay sport?” he complains. 

True to James’ word, light floods the living room a moment later. It illuminates Remus’ face in front of you, letting you see the gentle concern in his eyes. His gaze moves up above your head just before strong hands grasp you by the shoulders. 

“I missed you,” says James, hugging downwards at you until he gives up and lets his body flop over the back of the couch, “so much, today.” 

You pet down the hair at his nape, love like a bubble in your chest that’s always on the brink of popping. You love the way James hugs; it’s like he really is trying to feel as close to you as he can be, with his face bent towards your neck and one hand splayed behind your heart. You let yourself meld to him. Remus starts collecting your little mess from the coffee table, taking things into the kitchen.

“It was only a few hours,” you say. 

James makes a jokey harrumphing sound. “A few hours too many.” He lets you go to plant a smacking kiss on your cheek. “If you could have one thing for dinner tonight, what would it be?” 

“I thought we agreed to stop playing that game,” says Sirius, coming back in to sit down on the armrest of the couch. He sees where you’re toying with James’ hair and takes a lock between his own fingers. “You need a haircut, Jamie.” 

“You’re one to talk,” James quips, though he leans into the touch, always more than happy to have his hair played with. “And we only agreed to stop playing with you, because your expectations were too high.” 

“They were not.” 

“Why would you think we’d be able to get what we needed for escargot at our corner shop?” 

“If you didn’t want to know what I actually wanted, you shouldn’t have asked.” 

“Anyway,” James turns back to you, “what would you have, lovie?” 

“And before you say,” says Sirius, “the correct answer is tomato basil soup with a cheese toastie.”

James sulks, thwarted, and you stroke your thumb over his nape consolingly. “That sounds really lovely,” you say earnestly. “Was I really supposed to guess that on my own, though?” 

“You might’ve,” he mumbles. “Anyway, I was thinking you could be my soup stirrer. If you’re up for the task.” 

It’s an odd feeling, affection and guilt intertwined so well you can’t fully tell which is which. You know James is making a point of asking you so that you might come to the kitchen, be among them for a bit instead of staying off in your own world, do a task that makes you feel productive even if it’s small. You appreciate that he does it, and you loathe yourself for making him feel the need to. You wish your boyfriends wouldn’t coddle you not because you don’t like it but because you like it too much. You don’t deserve it. 

“Hey.” Sirius’ voice draws you back out from inside your head again. It’s become such a frequent haunt you don’t always realize you’re going anymore. He’s studying you. “You okay?” 

You hum as Remus comes back in, sitting on the now clean coffee table. “Thanks for doing that,” you murmur. His eyebrows lift slightly when he realizes you’re talking to him. “Sorry I left a mess.” 

Remus tsks, reaching forward to brush a piece of hair from your forehead. “It wasn’t really a mess,” he says. “I don’t mind. Are you going to help us with dinner?” 

“Yeah.” It’s not so much a decision as a yielding, but James beams like you’ve made his day. It makes you want to cry. 

Sirius wraps an arm around your waist when you get up to go to the kitchen, squeezing the fat of your hip lovingly. “Think I’ll take up the duty of stirring the soup, too,” he says to you. “Seems like a two-person job.” 

“Probably, yeah.” You let yourself lean into his side. He takes your weight happily, mushing a kiss into your hair. “Sorry I’m so lame lately,” you tell him quietly. “You guys don’t need to coddle me so much.” 

“You’re not lame, who said that?” Sirius jostles you a little bit. When you don’t laugh, he changes his approach, leaning his head against yours. “We’re not coddling you, sweetheart. You’re just in a rut right now, yeah? And we’re meeting you where you’re at.” 

He makes it sound so simple, but your throat clogs with the true difficulty of it all. When you reply your voice is thick. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to get out.” 

“You will,” he promises surely. “I don’t know how long it might take, but it’ll happen. And if whatever we’re doing isn’t working for you, we can figure something else out, okay? We’re with you.” 

When James says it’s your time to stir, Sirius insists on standing behind you and holding your hand that’s holding the spoon. Remus rolls his eyes at the idea of it being a two-person job, but you don’t know. You think maybe it takes all four of you to make it work.

[dysphoricangell]

“K!nk is empowering... I use CŇC to cope with my s@/r@pe.. ૮˶ᵔᵕᵔ˶ა”

Well, no.

Women that think this way have been brainwashed by pornography & other predatory systems into thinking that it’s actually morally ethical or safe to cope with their traumas through violent sexual acts. It’s also not surprising that most of these women are young, and are past victims of grooming at the hands of older male pedophiles. It’s mortifying to see, but what’s even more evil (albeit not shocking at all) to see is how many perverted, porn-addicted males use the fact that these women are clearly traumatized for their own personal gain/pleasure. They see these women as vulnerable, which equals easier to control and to treat as a sex object, rather than a traumatized person that needs support and healing. This is one of many differences between porn addiction in males and females. If you are a man that has ever encouraged these regressive behaviors in a mentally & physically traumatized woman, I hope you’re strung from the wall by your foreskin. Thanks! ❤️

I don’t know who told the “k!nksters”that’s it’s normal to exist in a trauma response, but it’s actually not. And no man should be encouraging you to, that’s fucking disgusting.

(I’m a r@pe survivor and I’ve never considered sexually roleplaying the crime committed against my body in order to cope with it. This is literally just another way to normalize male violence against women I fear, and unfortunately it’s hard for most of the women who defend it to realize this as they’re traumatized FROM male violence. It makes me so upset).

[girlgenius1111]

mami v mama

getting your daughter to sleep through the night proves difficult... mostly for alexia. little mila blurb :) brief mention of anxiety, no other warnings!

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It wasn’t even the baby crying that woke you up. It was the quiet sniffles and whimpers from next to you in bed that really woke up. You were expecting Mila to cry; sleep training her was going… rather roughly. It was difficult, because sometimes there would be long stretches where she would sleep through the night, and other times there would be weeks on end that she’d wake up throughout the night. The baby was going through a sleep regression at the moment, though, which restarted the conversation about sleep training. She was already 8 months, and well past ready for it, but you’d been met with resistance. Not just from Mila, but also from Alexia. 

You knew it went against every single one of your wife’s instincts to let Mila cry it out. It felt that way for you, too, but you were a much heavier sleeper, and for some reason, much more convinced that sleep training was the way to go. Alexia had many hesitations. The biggest of which was that if her baby cried for her, she was going to comfort her. 

So, waking up to crying wasn’t new. Waking up to Alexia crying, though? That was new. 

“Love?” You asked groggily, rolling over to face your wife, who was staring up at the ceiling with tears streaming down her face. You didn’t really process the crying coming from the baby monitor, much too concerned with why your stoic wife was in pieces next to you, in the middle of the night. Alexia only let out a soft cry in response, one not unlike the sound your daughter made. 

“What’s wrong, baby?” you cooed, allowing Alexia to roll into you and sob roughly into your chest. She shook her head, not giving you an answer. “Tell me, what is it?” You pressed. 

“She sounds so sad,” Alexia cried. Realization washed over you, and you shut your eyes tightly for a minute, not proud of the annoyance that washed over you. This process could have been done already if it hadn’t been for Alexia’s insistence to bring Mila to sleep in your bed any time she cried.

“I know, Ale. She’s okay, though. She’ll fall back asleep soon.” You soothed, carding your fingers through her hair in a manor you hoped was comforting.  

“No, she needs me.” Alexia complained, looking up at you with a pout that, again, really resembled your daughter’s. You fought back a smile at the sight, stroking her cheek delicately. 

“She’s fine. She’s old enough for this, Alexia. She has to learn how to self-soothe.” 

Alexia frowned at you. “She doesn’t. It’s unnecessary, I will always be there to soothe my baby.” Alexia knew she was being ridiculous, but she couldn’t help it. All the little cries radiating from the baby monitor were making her feel like she was being stabbed repeatedly. 

“Alexia,” you sighed. Maybe it was the hour of the night, or maybe it was the emotions your wife was feeling, but your words sounded condescending to her. She didn’t appreciate that. Being so emotional was new to her, and she was still self conscious about it, and this felt like you were making fun of her for it. She rolled off of you, refusing to meet your gaze. 

“I do not understand how this is so easy for you.” Alexia said accusingly. 

And maybe because you were exhausted, you took that in a worse way than Alexia intended. “Yes, Alexia, it is SO easy for me to hear my baby cry for me, and not go to her. Don’t be ridiculous.” You bit back.

“Well, it seems easier.” Alexia scoffed. 

“It seems easier because one of us has to put their foot down about this, and it’s clearly not going to be you. I’m doing what’s best for Mila.” 

“And I am not. You are the perfect mother, with all the right opinions, and I am wrong about everything.” Alexia exaggerated, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms over her chest. It was a low blow; Alexia knew that you felt like far from the perfect mother, and it felt like she was throwing that in your face. 

A few tears stung your eyes, and you shook your head, moving to slide out of the bed. “I’m going to sleep on the couch.” You mumbled startling slightly when a large arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you back. 

“No, no please stay. I am sorry, so sorry. I am just upset, I did not mean any of that. Please, please stay.” Alexia pleaded, and something in her tone, something more than sincerity, had you turning around and looking carefully at your wife. You should have seen it before, that she wasn’t just upset about this. In your defense, she had promised to be better about telling you. 

“What’s going on?” You asked, although you knew, placing a gentle hand on Ale’s cheek. 

She breathed deeply for a few seconds before she spoke. “I am anxious.” She admitted, voice barely audible. “I cannot fall asleep, and it just gets worse and worse every time she wakes up and cries, I feel like I am going to throw up.”

“Ale,” you sighed, seeing for the first time how pale your wife looked, how unsteady. “Are you going to be sick?” It wouldn’t be the first time. Alexia hadn't ever experienced anxiety like this in her life, and was horrified the first time it happened. The first time Mila got a little cold, and Alexia worked herself up so much that she made herself sick. She was so embarrassed, even as you reassured her that it was a completely normal symptom of anxiety. It had only happened a few times since, but Alexia always got so teary and emotional when it happened. 

She shook her head though, taking another deep breath. “¿Puedo tener un abrazo, por favor?”

“Of course you can.” You told her, sliding off the bed and standing with your arms open on the side of it, knowing it was Alexia’s favorite way to hug you. It made her feel smaller than you, made her feel protected and safe. Alexia scooted over right away, wrapping her arms tightly around you, her head pressed against your chest. “Mila is okay, baby. She’s fine, she’s getting quieter, sí?” 

That didn’t seem to make Alexia feel better, though, her breathing picking up again as she tilted her head up, and rested her chin on your chest. 

“Can I please go check on her?” Alexia asked shakily. You didn’t want it to be like this; good cop bad cop. Alexia asking you permission to do things. She was just as much her mother as you were, and if Alexia needed to check on her, that was always going to be okay. You knew your wife wouldn’t relax until she saw that the baby was okay. 

“Go get her, bring her back here.” You said, smiling to yourself when Alexia practically ran from the room. You heard her over the monitor entering the room, and you melted a little at how soft she sounded. 

“Hola mi princesa, estás bien, estás bien. Te tengo mi bebe, te tengo.” Alexia cooed. You could hear the moment she picked Mila up, the baby’s cries instantly quieting as she snuggled close to her mami. “Te amo, te amo, te amo, te amo,” Alexia repeated, her voice fading from the monitor as she walked back towards the bedroom. 

Mila was practically already asleep when Alexia walked back into the room with her, and you resisted the urge to point out that she was probably only a few minutes away from falling asleep herself. Alexia didn't need that right now. 

Your wife slid back onto the bed, laying Mila on her chest, fixing you with a sheepish smile as she did so. 

“Do you feel better?” You asked. Alexia nodded, though she avoided your eyes and her face burned red. “You don’t need to be embarrassed, it’s okay. I shouldn’t have been so harsh earlier. I know this is hard for you, I should have been more understanding. I’m sorry this makes you so nervous.”

“I am sorry too. I was not kind to you, I was just very upset.” Alexia explained, absentmindedly rubbing one large hand over Mila’s back. The baby was wearing a onesie with footballs all over it, and she looked so snuggly and adorable laid on your wife, it was hard to focus on Alexia’s words. “I do not want to be a… helicopter parent. Sometimes I get so scared, though, I just need to know she is okay.” 

“That makes sense, Ale, that’s okay. I just need to know when you’re anxious and you need to see her, and when you’re just upset that she’s upset.” 

“I can do that.” Alexia said. “I just… I love her so much. Look at her, amor. She is so perfect.” 

You both looked down at the baby, who was sitting up under the gaze of you both. She slid off Alexia, plopping down in between the two of you, a gummy smile on her face. 

“Hi my baby,” you cooed, completely and utterly distracted from the conversation you’d been having with your wife. Mila sighed, flopping down until her head was resting on your pillow, though her face was turned towards Alexia. “You see your Mami?” You asked, not really expecting any kind of response.

Alexia turned on her side, grinning at her daughter. “Hola Milabear,” she whispered, booping the baby on her nose. Mila giggled, a sound that made you both melt into a puddle. Alexia reached out and grabbed her, easily lifting the baby up into the air and flying her around, making airplane sounds. 

“Alexia, it is supposed to be bedtime.” You admonished, though you couldn’t wipe the grin off your face as Mila continued to giggle, and your wife continued to look so light and happy. 

“We are having Mila and Mami time, amor, I cannot interrupt.” Alexia said, bringing the baby down to kiss her nose every few seconds. “Mila and Mami.” She whispered again, finally laying Mila back down on her chest. Her hand stroked over the back of the baby’s head, trying to calm the now very awake child down. 

“Mmmm,” Mila hummed, squirming around in Alexia's grasp until she was sat up on top of your wife, staring down at her.  “Mmmm. Mami.” She babbled, catching one of Alexia’s fingers and trying to drag it into her mouth. 

“What?” Alexia said, her face completely stricken with surprise. 

“Maaaami,” Mila sang again, giggling at the silly look on her Mami’s face. 

“Amor!” Alexia shouted, glancing ecstatically at you while sitting up suddenly and holding Mila up so the baby was at eye level with her. Evidently, the abrupt action startled Mila, and she immediately burst into tears. “No, no no no. I am sorry mi niña, I did not mean to scare you.” Alexia soothed, pulling Mila in and rocking her back and forth soothingly. 

“Mami,” Mila whimpered sadly, hiding her face in your wife’s shirt. Alexia was in tears, too, but had the biggest smile you’d ever seen on her face, staring at you in wonder. 

“She said my name.” She murmured, almost looking confirmation that she wasn’t having some kind of auditory hallucination. 

“She did.” You smiled, reaching out to run your fingers through Mila’s short curls. 

“I can’t believe she said my name first.” Alexia continued, holding the baby to her in a way that made you doubt whether she would ever let go. 

“Me neither. I carry her for 9 months, get my body cut open so she can be born, and this is how she repays me?” You joked, not really caring at all that Mila had chosen Alexia’s name to be her first word. 

“I’m sorry, amor. We’ve been practicing, but we practice your name too, I promise.” Alexia said worriedly, her eyes scanning your face for any hint that you were being serious. 

You laughed at how concerned she was, leaning over to kiss her cheek. “I’m kidding, Ale. You are a great Mami, and Mila is very lucky to have you. Which I think she knows.” You nodded your head to where the baby had fisted Alexia’s sleep shirts in her tiny hands, her eyes sliding shut as she nuzzled in close to Ale’s chest 

Alexia blushed hard, her face turning bright red. “I am more lucky to have her and you both.” She mumbled, somehow allergic to taking compliments when it came to being a good mother. You shook your head, laying back down on the bed and pulling Alexia to join you. Only when you were both resting against your pillows, Mila passed out in between you, did you reply.

Pressing your forehead to your wifes, you poured all your love and admiration into your words. “We are the most lucky to have you, Alexia. You are the best wife, and the best Mami, and I love you very much.” 

If possible, Alexia blushed even harder, nudging her face into the crook of your neck. “I love you.” Her words were muffled, but you could feel her sincerity. 

You sighed happily, thinking that you’d be content to stay right here, with both your girls, forever. 

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this won the poll after like an hour and i was too impatient to wait any longer so i hope this doesn't disappoint :)

[space-station-nursery]

◜ 🎧𓂃 Helping regressors with: Social Anxiety ‧ ⛈️◞

⁺　　◍ 　 . 　 ⁺　　☆　　⁺ 　 . 　 ◍　　⁺

Regression comes in many different forms, for many different reasons, including anxiety for some. As a CG, it is important to be able to help your regressors during this time, SO, here are some tips on how to help a little with Social Anxiety

⁺　　◍ 　 . 　 ⁺　　☆　　⁺ 　 . 　 ◍　　⁺

⧼ 1 ⧽ Make sure to plan ahead!

Letting your regressor know where you’re going, what day, and what time can give them enough time to mentally get ready for the day. Some littles need more time and some less so make sure to discuss it with them!

⧼ 2 ⧽ Remove them from the stimulant!

Sometimes, taking a break from big social locations can help your regressor calm down quickly and assess their needs before moving forward. Safe spaces for this can include a family bathroom (ones that are one room only) a far off booth in a food court, sometimes even in small corridors, hallways, and even outside

⧼ 3 ⧽ Learn grounding techniques!

Going out can be stressful and can cause big emotions like anxiety or panic at stacks. Learn east/simple grounding techniques like the countdown method, blowing bubbles, or even non-harmful stimming !

⧼ 4 ⧽ Show them affection!

This may vary per regressor, but actively reminding them that they’re loved, holding/squeezing their hand, giving them frequent hugs or praise can help a regressor remember that they can get though this scary time ! DO NOT RE-WRITE OR POST AS OWN

⧼ 5 ⧽ Comfort items!

Having a regression bag is incredibly helpful to give your little a way to carry comfort items [check this post for bag ideas]. If they’re not big on affection during times of high stress, offer a comfort item (like a paci or toy) or even offering a short distraction like snacks might be helpful !

⧼ 6 ⧽ Communicate!

Sometimes a “Don’t worry” or a “You’re okay” isn’t enough to sooth an anxious little. Instead, acknowledge and validate their feelings and offer ways to help! Try out phrases such as “I know you’re feeling [blank] but I’m not gonna let anything happen to you” or “I can tell you’re getting [blank emotion/feeling], would you like to try this?[this being anything you believe can help your regressor]” !

⧼ 7 ⧽ Avoidance!

Whist taking a break from an extreme stressor is good, always remember to premise going back into the space with kind words and affirmations! Avoiding triggers/stressors reinforces that the issue is something to fear, and not to conquer. It is not always possible or even healthy to avoid triggers 24/7

⧼ 8 ⧽ Notes!

Everyone is different in how they show stress and what their needs will be, make sure to communicate with your young one to find solutions that will help them and recognize when they might become anxious in a space. This won’t always be easy, but it is necessary Always use kind words with your regressor. Your patience will always be appreciated by your little especially when they know their thoughts are getting the best of them.

⁺　　◍ 　 . 　 ⁺　　☆　　⁺ 　 . 　 ◍　　⁺

18+ blogs // DD!LG, AB!DL and variants [even "SFW"] // 27 and older // DNI

Fact OTD: There is a statue of Jason Voorhees [killer in Friday the 13th] at te bottom of a lake in Minnesota!

[beachreg]

People in this community need to get off their purity high horses and realize that everyone experiences regression differently and not everyone will fit in their imaginary box of the perfect regression experience.

I’ve only been active in this community for less than a week, but I’ve already gotten a purity anon clutching their pearls over my interests that aren’t Bluey or Sanrio, literally accusing me of supporting the same trauma I went through all because I enjoy a show?? Learn some media literacy and understand that I can skip past certain scenes that I am in fact made uncomfortable by and still enjoy other parts of a show.

The hypocrisy on display here is almost laughable to me. It’s fine that many regressors like the notoriously foul mouth, r-rated character of Deadpool because it’s popular right now, but I like to watch an (also very popular right now) show for the cool dragons, costumes and a few characters I enjoy but because it has some dark topics suddenly I’m a freak who shouldn’t be allowed in the community?

Literally get over yourselves, you're not “better” than anyone for bullying others, you’re literally acting the same as the trolls I’ve seen harass the community, just doing it in a more disgusting way. Acting like you care, like you’re just a concerned member of the community when you really remind me more of my manipulative abusers.

It’s baffling to me that in a community of people just trying to heal, you’re willing to hold others back just because they don’t match your idea of a perfect regressor.

Anyways, shoutout to the few friends I’ve already made, (esp @bunnelbaby, you rock!!) the cool people with amazing skill, interests and seemingly infinite kindness, you’re the majority of the community I’m glad to have already encountered. And ofc shoutout to the other regressors like me, those who enjoy adult-targeted media and such, you’re perfectly valid and I’m sure a very cool person as well!!

I’m still mad at the anon I got, but I have better things to look forward to, lots of ideas for flags n stuff to create and my art project to focus on. I hope everyone is having a nice timezone wherever you are, keep being you, for that is the version that deserves happiness. ;; - beau

[waughymommy]

MOMMY KNOWS BEST

CHAPTER 2

Sunlight splashed into the bedroom and Rebecca started to stir awake. As she opened her eyes, she realized that Brian was still in the same position he was in when they fell asleep. He was still asleep and to her delight he was still suckling on his pacifier. She managed to wriggle herself free and made for the kitchen to make her coffee. The previous evening was coming into focus and she realized that she had a lot of work to do. Her home wasn’t equipped for a baby yet. She had much to prepare, so many things to get. First thing first was to make plans for a nursery. She started to daydream about all of her plans when footsteps crept up behind her. “Good morning Rebecca,” Brian said sheepishly. She whipped around, “Rebecca? Have you have forgotten last night already?” Her voice was steady and firm, but also lovingly maternal, “Can you tell me what you are wearing?” Brian turned his eyes to floor and fidgeted. So embarrassed, he could barely find his voice. “Brian, I asked you a question. What are you wearing sweetheart?” This time he managed to allow words to escape, “Im, Im wearing a……diaper.” The last word exited as a faint whisper. “What was that? I couldn’t hear that last word.” He nervously glanced up to see her face, but he couldn’t find the strength to look her in the eyes and once again focused on the floor. “I said a diaper.” “That’s so good sweetheart. I’m so proud of my baby. Now tell me whose diaper is it.” He closed his eyes, wishing he could be anywhere but here. “It’s my…my diaper.” “You are doing so great sweetie. Now can you tell me what you were suckling on when you woke up?”

��Why won’t she just let me go. Overcome with his embarrassment, he snapped. “Forget this whole thing, Rebecca. Can we just pretend like last night happened? I shouldn’t be doing this. I just need to grow up and forget this stupid fantasy.” He stormed back into the bedroom. Rebecca took it all in stride. She knew her husband too well. She knew he would refuse to let go. He would fight it, even though he wanted this so badly. He was never going to give himself permission to just let go. It was going to be up to her to regress him. She entered the bedroom, just as Brian was about to un-tape his diaper. “Do not touch that diaper, young man!” “You can’t tell me what to do, Rebecca.” The look in her eyes made him realize his mistake. She marched over and pushed him down onto the bed. She smacked the back of his thigh as hard as he could. He let out a cry much to his surprise. “Get over my lap. And if you disobey me, you will absolutely regret it.” The sheepish feeling swept over him again and he complied. She pulled down his diaper. She laid smack after smack over his cheeks. At first he tried to grit his teeth through the pain, but after a few minutes tears streamed down his face. Tears turned to sobs as snot ran down his face. What a sight. Here was a grown man in a diaper over his wife’s knee getting a full spanking. Rebecca let up and with that same forceful maternal tone spoke up once again, “Let’s try again. Now what were you suckling on earlier?” Brian heaved his chest to catch his breath after the uncontrollable tears. “A pacifier.” “That’s right honey. So you have your diaper and your pacifier. Who uses those?” “Ba…babies.” “Great job. So if babies wear diapers and suck on pacifiers, what does that make you?” He tried to wipe the snot from his nose. There was no way to pretend that he didn’t look like a baby in this moment. “I’m a baby.” The sobs started up again, “I’m just a baby. I’m so sorry mommy.” Rebecca wrapped her arms around him and brought his face to her chest. “That’s right sweetheart. You are mommy’s baby. Mommy wants you to be her baby. I know you feel embarrassed Brian, but there is no reason to feel that way. I want this too. But you need to trust mommy and listen to me. Mommy knows best. Let me take control and I will make everything all better. Will you do that for me? He looked up and just nodded. She reached over to his bedside table and grabbed his pacifier. She gently placed it between his lips. “Once you have calmed down, I want to you to get dressed for me. Mommy has a lot of work to do. So today, you will get to be an adult. I want you to spend the day as a big boy. Go have some fun. But I want you back here this evening and we can discuss your return to babyhood.”

To be continued…

[areyouwell]

Somnophobia

Noun: An extreme fear of sleep. Children or adults with this condition may experience hallucinations, voices and in some cases, death.

Ch.4

Ch.3, Ch.2, Ch.1 <--

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Mutant!F!Reader

Warnings: MDNI, no spoilers ;), mentions of suicide attempt, scarring, nightmarish sequences

Word count: 13.2k

A/N: a reward for all your patience :)

Taglist: @badbishsblog @reidsworld @idioticstar @toogaytofunctiondangit @ghostyv @wolviesgirl @over-bi-the-wayside

‘Told ya you looked tired. Get some rest, see you at 11 am. L.’

You’d woken up that morning to a note scribbled on a folded piece of paper, propped up against your alarm clock in such a way that you couldn’t actually see the time. And it had been like that every day for almost a month before that month fell into two. You and Logan fell into a comfortable rhythm, teaching classes together every other day, and on the days you weren’t teaching, he was helping you develop your mutation. 

You’d cook together, sometimes for the kids as well, and spend hours talking over dinner before heading into the lounge and cosying up in front of some movie or tv-show. Most of the time Logan noticed just as you were nodding off and would switch off the show before carrying you back up to your room. Sometimes you were still awake, but you didn’t protest. It was all part of the routine. 

However, one thing was bothering you slightly. You’d assumed, with Logan’s more animalistic instincts, he’d waste no time pouncing on you and dragging you into bed, though the moment things would get a little heated between the two of you, he’d pull back, breathless and warm, muttering something like “Not here.” You were fine with it, for now at least, but considering the two of you went from strangers to kissing in the kitchen to Nick Cave, it took you off guard a little. 

Though you’d settled on the explanation that maybe he wanted to take things a little slower, you were frustrated. Pent up. And it was taking all of your concentration not to pounce on him now as he shrugged off his flannel shirt. Neither of you had class today, which meant it was a training day. Not that your training has been useful. You seemed to have regressed, being unable to pull the shadows out with you as you had that first time. It was a completely different kind of frustration, and it was pissing you off. Majorly.

“I’m starting to think Xavier was wrong and that we all collectively imagined what we saw a month ago,” you lamented, hanging up your hoodie on one of the hooks near the door. You’d occupied a regular training room for this session, opting to leave the danger room for another day. Nothing had been accomplished, though it did serve to prove once again just how well you and Logan worked together.

Logan folded his arms across his chest. In truth, he thought this was going to be a lot easier than it was turning out to be. The progress you’d made in that first session set him up with a false sense of confidence, though he had to remain encouraging, despite the growing concern that you may not be able to pull this off. That was why he’d asked Charles to take over from Scott. He’d lost too many people in his life and was unable to do anything about it. If things were going to go anywhere between you, he needed reassurance that you weren’t about to disintegrate in his arms. Because the thought of ever losing you genuinely terrified the shit out of him.  “When was the last time Charles was wrong, hm?” 

You huffed, rolling your shoulders, wincing slightly from the cracking of your joints. “First time for everything…” you grumbled, hooking your elbow around your other to stretch out the muscle. Logan swallowed, his eyes drinking in your appearance. A pair of fitted gym leggings that had him gritting his teeth every time you turned around, paired with a front-zip sports bra that his fingers itched to tug down. He could smell your morning shower, the deodorant you used, whatever body spray you decided fit for today. Never one of those gaudy, overly fragrant perfumes. You preferred a softer scent, something that gave the allure of a misty forest, or a rainy lake. 

Fuck you smelt divine. Logan’s teeth ground together, wondering if what he had planned for today was a good idea. He’d been holding himself back from you. Fear of hurting you or driving you away had him shoving his instincts and desires to one side, burying them deep, deep beneath the surface. He could smell it on you, though. When he barely had enough strength to control himself, with wandering hands and lingering touches. He could smell how turned on you got and it killed him to step away from you every goddamn time. 

It was fucking torture. He was torturing himself. He was torturing you.

Maybe this wasn’t a good idea after all… but it was a little too late now.

“I don’t wanna focus on your mutation today…” he began, and you whipped around to face him.

“What? Why? Isn’t that kinda the whole point?” You challenged, and Logan sighed. You were irritable today, and rightly so. He recognised how the lack of progress must have been making you feel, and he knew you were scared, and he wished he could tell you he was scared too. How he was terrified of failing you. But he couldn’t, not if he wanted you to have someone to lean on. 

“You rely on it too much.”

“Says the man who tanks bullets because he knows he can heal.” you shot back, folding your arms defensively. Logan took a breath.

“That’s different, sweets. ‘S not circumstantial. You get surrounded in the sunlight with nothin’ around to duck into, and you’re dead.” However, that would never be the case because Logan couldn’t imagine a situation like that where he wouldn’t be by your side. But the hypothetical worked to make his point.

“Okaaaay, what do you suggest then, Professor?” there was nothing malicious in your tone this time, the curve of your smile doing dangerous things to his head. He pushed it down again, cursing his body’s truly terrible timing, before gesturing to his chest.

“Hit me.”

You blinked. “What?”

“You heard. Hit me.”

“No!” 

“Yes.”

You took a step back. “I’m not gonna fight you, Lo’.”

“Why?” he took a step forward, smirking wildly. “Afraid you’ll lose?”

“Yes! Extremely!” Logan barked a laugh at your honesty, earning himself a smile of your own. “Look at you! How is this a fair fight?” you grinned broadly at the ridiculous idea of sparring with him. “I pick my battles, Howlett, and I’m not about to pick one where I get my ass handed to me!” you exclaimed through bubbles of laughter. Logan listened to the constant urge to be closer to you, stepping forward to wrap you in his arms, your chin against his chest as you craned your neck to look up at him.

“I’ll go easy on ya, how ‘bout that?” He was provoking you. The sly bastard knew you couldn’t deny a challenge like that, and the way your eyes narrowed told him he’d hit the jackpot.

“You’re incredibly grating, you know that?” you hissed, wriggling to free yourself from his arms, only for him to respond by holding you tighter.

“Yeah? You gonna do anythin’ about it?” he smirked again, and you had an extremely strong urge to wipe it from his stupidly handsome face through any means possible.

“Let me go and find out.”

“Get free.”

You huffed. “Logan I’m serious.”

He raised a brow. “Yeah? So am I. Get free. And don’t use your mutation.” If you weren’t so pissed off, you would have fainted at the way he fucking growled. But instead, you took a calming breath. Annoyingly, he was right. You did rely on your mutation a lot when in combat. You’d been lucky enough on missions so far not to get caught without any shadows around, but from what you could tell from the very few meetings you were permitted to attend, was that the fight was evolving. Technology was evolving, and if an all out war was to break out, the odds between humans and mutants would be falling into humanity’s favour. 

And sometimes, a good ol’ fashioned punch to the face was worth more than dragging people into shadow. 

Tensing and flexing, you attempted to contort from his arms, resulting in nothing but an infuriating chuckle from your captor. “Strugglin’?” he asked, condescension dripping from his tone, and you spared him a fleeting glance only to see a mocking pout on his face. 

“Fucking asshole.” you snarled, managing to free your arms enough to push back against his chest. But Logan was strong. Insanely fucking strong, and you were held fast.

“Now what?” he poked, deriving a sick amount of sadistic joy from watching your growing fury. He wasn’t worried. You were already harbouring a lot of frustration, and this was the best way he knew to help you let it out. Since the other option was off the table for now.

You’d been formulating a plan for the last few minutes, your last few wriggles had been purely for show. Lulling him into a false sense of cocky security. Your hands slipped beneath his arms, grabbing a secure hold on his forearms. Sending him a knife-like smile, you went to push against his arms.

Logan sensed what you were about to do, feeling slight pressure against his elbow, he moved his arms lower, assuming you were about to attempt slipping out underneath. 

Bingo.

You barked a triumphant laugh, changing your grip in an instant. Your hands slipped up between his arms and your waist and gripping his shoulders. Logan didn’t have time to do so much as blink before your foot pushed against his hip and you flipped backwards and out of his embrace, landing a sharp blow beneath his jaw with your knee before you rolled back to a steadying stance a few paces away.

He blinked, hand subconsciously braced against his chin. It was a savage blow, but the throbbing faded almost instantly. He stretched his jaw, pride blossoming in his chest. “Good job, honestly didn’t think–” he was cut off instantly as you ran towards him, glaring venom. Something in you had shifted, and he’d be lying to himself if it didn’t make him think twice about pissing you off so much. 

He dodged back as you swung a punch, your left hook flying dangerously close to his nose. You moved with a speed he hadn’t seen from you yet, and with precision he’d only expect from highly trained veterans. You swung again from the right, and he dodged left, only to be met with a sharp blow from your leg. How had you shifted your weight so damn quickly? He didn’t have time to contemplate before your foot slammed into the centre of his chest and he stumbled backwards.

Catching his footing, Logan looked back at you, eyes wide in complete surprise. You stood dangerously still, your dark gaze watching him like a hawk. He was right in his observation. Something in you had shifted. Like a switch being flipped, you’d gone from treating this as a simple training exercise to actually engaging in a fight. He held his hands up in an attempt to placate you. “Alright, let’s take a breath, yeah?”

You silently bared your teeth before launching yourself at him again. Your leg sweeping towards his face in a roundhouse kick. He flinched back, pushing your foot to continue its trajectory past him, only to barely escape another attempt to decapitate him from your other leg. He caught it in his palm, his hand gripping your ankle tightly as he called your name. But you didn’t respond, using his grip on your foot to pull yourself closer. 

You hooked your leg around his neck, the way you pulled yourself upright was a testament to your sheer core strength as you shifted your weight back, and attempted to bring both of you to the floor. But Logan was a lot sturdier than you’d anticipated, loosening his hold and quickstepping forward, letting you fall to the floor. You were only down for a second before you flipped upright again. 

Logan watched as you extended your arm into the shadow behind you, cast by the metal balance bar running along all four walls of the room. Whoever this was, whoever he was fighting, you weren’t there anymore. Was this what happened the night Jade died? He couldn’t contemplate that right now, not as the thin shadow along the floor started to morph and shift, running like water from your fingertips to your elbow. He watched in horrified awe as the darkness solidified into a blade around your forearm, your hand having disappeared completely into a sharp point. 

“Holy shit…” he breathed along with a terrifying realisation. 

You were trying to kill him. 

He called your name again as you lowered into a crouch, waiting for a beat before once again sprinting toward him, leaping with inhumane strength. There was a sharp clang as obsidian met metal, Logan’s claws unsheathing from his knuckles to meet your overhead blow. You wrenched your blade from between his crossed claws, launching into a flurry of swipes, slashes and kicks. With every strike, the shadows shifted to each limb with clinical precision, your movements timed to perfection. 

Logan was meeting you blow for blow, though never striking back. He was purely on the defensive, simply trying to stop you from taking off his head or hands. He didn’t know how to get through to you, calling your name having absolutely no effect, and he was getting desperate. “You gotta st–” he flinched backwards to avoid yet another savage swipe. “Stop!” he shouted desperately, ducking below your slash and snatching your other wrist. He managed to make you pause long enough to look into your eyes.

Or, what used to be your eyes? Those captivating irises he’d come to know so well had been replaced by wells of nothingness, and if he hadn’t known any better, he’d say they were just a result of using your mutation to this extent. But he’d seen your eyes that first time you’d dragged shadows with you, they hadn’t been like this. This was something else altogether. You were completely absent. Hollow. 

What the fuck?

Logan barked a cry as searing pain shot through his hand, that black blade piercing through his palm and through the back. He yanked back, flexing his fingers as he started to heal immediately, though blood still left his hand slick. 

“Logan? What’s–” he whipped around to see Jean in the doorway, her eyes now fixed on you, mouth agape in horror. “Shit! Logan, step back!” she instructed, and he did so immediately. Looking back at you, he saw you didn’t move, though your muscles shook with the effort to do so. Jean was holding you fast, he could see sweat beading on her brow with the strain. “The Professor’s on his way now. Damn, she’s strong. You alright?” she asked, not taking her eyes from your immobilised form, your lips pulled up in a permanent snarl, your empty eyes darting between Logan and Jean.

Logan nodded a little hesitantly. “Yeah, ‘m fine…” whilst it wasn’t exactly a lie, it wasn’t the whole truth either. Physically he’d always be fine, his healing factor always saw to that. But it wasn’t your deadly strikes that alarmed him. Nor the sniper precision of your blows. He would be fine with both of these things if it wasn’t for the unmistakable stench of fear. 

Logan knew better than anyone, the more cornered the animal, the louder the snarl, the more viscous the bite. You weren’t acting on logic, you were acting out of fear. You were scared. He could smell the desperation to survive, the necessity to fight your way out. Your strikes had been cold and calculated, but every landed blow had a feeling of panic behind them. 

But you’d told him your past. Where the hell could this have come from? Was it simply an inherent part of your mutation?

Answers could wait as he took a cautious step towards you, his hands held out before him. “It’s okay, you’re okay…” he soothed, glancing back to see the strain on Jean lessen slightly. He looked back at you. “It’s okay, we’re not gonna hurt ya, you’re safe,” he continued, ignoring Jean’s call of protest. “It’s me, yeah? It’s Logan. ‘M not gonna hurt ya, firefly. Never gonna hurt ya…” he reached out slowly, his heart breaking as your breathing quickened, wide eyes flickering between his hand and his face. If Jean hadn’t been holding you, he had an awful feeling you would have flinched away. Although, if Jean hadn’t been holding you, he had no doubts he’d be on the ground slowly healing from whatever you’d have done. 

His palm gently cupped the side of your face and your breathing stopped altogether, void-like eyes staring endlessly into his, your brow creasing as if you were searching for something. He watched as you stopped struggling against Jean’s hold. “You’re alright, it’s just me. It’s just Logan…” You exhaled a breath, your eyes closing, visibly relaxing into his touch. 

“What the fuck happened?!” your eyes flew open again, your head snapping to the doorway where Scott, Xavier and Ororo had just appeared, Scott’s fingers braced against his glasses. You only managed to swing your arm a few inches, Jean catching you before your blade pierced Logan’s gut. He jumped back, though instinctively positioned himself between Scott’s line of sight and your frozen form.

“Damnit Scott, we had her!” he seethed, wanting nothing more than to knock him to the ground. If he wasn’t so trigger-happy with his eyes, Logan would have done. But the hand on his sunglasses had him staying put. 

“Charles I can’t hold her for much longer…” Jean strained, her hand shaking ever so slightly. Xavier placed two fingers against his temple, closing his eyes slowly. 

“Let her go, Jean…” he instructed, and the woman instantly fell to her knees, Scott crouching by her side, his arm around her shoulders, though his eyes never left you. Logan turned back to where you’d been released, your chest heaving, head twitching slightly as Xavier invaded your thoughts. Your eyes screwed shut, your hands flew to your head, Logan only just managing to catch your bladed wrist before you sliced your ear off. He grit his teeth against the pain of the edge carving through his palm, but he didn’t let go. He’d endure it. He’d endure fucking anything if it meant you’d be safe.

You whimpered as your legs gave out, crumpling into his hold as he gently lowered you to the floor. It was a terrifying display, your body contorting and writhing, your back arching as if you were possessed whilst Charles worked to set you free or bring you back or whatever the fuck he was doing.

“C’mon sweetheart, it’s okay, it’s okay. I promise you’re safe. ‘M gonna look after you, yeah? You’re gonna be okay. You’re safe…” he kept whispering over and over in the hopes that wherever you were, you could hear him. You could follow his voice. Holding you against his chest, he grazed his lips against your hair as you started to slow, hearing your heartbeat begin to settle. You still twitched slightly here and there, but you’d stopped writhing.

When you fell still completely, Logan had to shakily check your pulse just to make sure you were still alive. Finding the slight but steady beating beneath his fingertips, he raised his eyes to the rest of the team, irises glittering with murderous intent. “What the fuck was that?” he snarled, looking at each mutant individually. 

Ororo seemed the only one brave enough to step forward, Charles still occupied with your mind. “It… we saw this happen once before, around three years ago now. It was the night–”

“Jade died…” Logan finished, his features instantly softening as he looked back down at you, palm smoothing your hair from your face. “Why? Why does this happen?”

Charles removed his fingers from his temple, opening his eyes now you’d been placated. 

“We don’t know…” Jean exchanged a glance with the Professor as Storm continued. She crossed the room to kneel by your side, now knowing you were unconscious and no longer dangerous. “We think anger might be a trigger.”

“She wasn’t angry,” Logan countered, his eyes not leaving your face. “She was scared. I could smell it. She was fucking terrified like we were…” he trailed off, not wanting to voice what he was thinking. It was like you thought he was trying to hurt you. You fought back out of self-preservation. “I don’t understand… she’s told me about her upbringing. Her childhood, I didn’t-” he cut himself off as he took your hand, eyes widening as he noticed something he hadn’t before. How the fuck had he not noticed this before?

A thin, heavy scar ran down the length of your wrist, a centimetre wide and a few inches long. His breath caught in his throat as he rushed to check your other hand, finding a mirrored mark. Running his thumb down the scar, his eyes flickered to Ororo’s, who looked away.

“Guess she hadn’t got round to telling you that yet…” she said by way of explanation. His heart shattered. It had been a long time since Logan had cried, but he felt hot tears line his eyes. The thought of you being low enough to attempt to take your own life, the possibility of you succeeding and he never got to meet you. To know you. To love you.

He gathered you back into his arms and held you close, tucking your head beneath his chin. He wanted to apologise. To apologise for not being there for you. For not even knowing you. It was illogical and pointless, but he wanted to make up for not always being there for you. For only coming into your life now. 

“We should get her to the med bay,” Jean broke the silence, standing from where she was recovering on the floor, Scott’s arm still wrapped around her shoulder, steadying her. 

“I can’t be the only one thinking what we should actually do, and what we should have done years ago. She’s unstable, there’s kids here for fuck’s sake!” Cyclops exclaimed, gesturing to the floors above.

Logan felt his anger bubble to the surface. He didn’t need to be telepathic to know what Scott was talking about, and there was no way in hell he was about to stand by and let this motherfucker neutralise you. “Why don’tcha say it out loud, Scott,” he snarled, baring his teeth. “Let everyone know what ya thinkin’.”

“Logan take a breath, nothing’s going to happen to her,” Ororo placed a calming hand on his shoulder, though he was too riled up to care. “Right Scott?” she prompted, and Scott scoffed loudly.

“Yeah, right. Though, not that it shouldn’t.”

Logan snapped. Passing your body to Ororo, he leapt from the ground, claws bursting through his knuckles as he thundered towards Scott, who was taking his arm from around Jean to grip his sunglasses in retaliation.

“That’s enough!” Xavier’s voice cut through both the air and Logan’s mind, and taking a glance to the group, everyone else had heard it in their heads as well. He ground to a halt, eyes glaring bloody murder at Cyclops. “Now is not the time to fight amongst ourselves. Storm, take her to the med bay. Jean, I need you in my office please. And you two,” he looked pointedly between Logan and Scott. “Find somewhere far away from each other.”

“Fine by me.”

“Not a problem,” they spoke in unison before Logan turned back to where Ororo was holding you in her lap. “I got her, just lead the way,” he spoke curtly, stooping to effortlessly pick you up, holding you tight in his arms. Storm nodded as she stood, dusting her knees off before heading for the door. Logan took a minute to look down at you, drinking in your unconscious appearance. He felt a pang of fear for you echoing throughout his chest, brows pinching as his eyes frantically flickered across your face. 

“She’ll be okay Logan, just give her time,” Charles said gently, knowing to choose his words carefully. 

“We don’t got time.” Was all he said in return, before following Storm out the door and to the med bay.

Time was simply a concept. Nothing mattered. You’d found yourself sinking into your mind, taking a backseat in your own body. Floating in water but breathing wasn’t impossible. It was peaceful, tranquil, the same kind of feeling when you were nestled against Logan’s chest in an evening, or standing by his side and instructing him how to perfect a sear on a steak. 

Logan. Your chest surged as you thought of him, colours around you shifting and swirling from obsidian to the dark greens and browns you associated with his scent. Being around him. Content wore a new face, joy had a new feeling. Swirling colours became scenery as your bare feet touched grass. Wind kissed your cheeks as you looked around at the rolling hills surrounding, nothing but blue skies above you. Though you were confused, nothing could dampen your sense of ease. Pinewood and smoke wafted through the breeze and you turned but saw nothing. 

“Come back.”

You turned again, laughing as if he’d told a joke. It was his voice, unmistakably. You guessed he was just in a playful mood. Your toes dug into the ground as you spun around, laughter bubbling from your chest. 

“Where are you?” you called out, only your echoing voice answering from the hillside. The wind died down, birdsong quieting to nothing as you waited for his voice again. 

“Come back to me.”

You whirled again, your smile slowly fading as you once again were met with nothing. “Logan? C’mon, this isn’t funny anymore!” you called out, hoping he would finally stop the games and come out. You could feel panic start to rise as you heard nothing in response. You spun and twisted, only to be met with silence and emptiness, the ease of the countryside now morphing into anxious loneliness. “Logan…?” you called out again weakly, your hand crossing your front to hold your arm in an attempt to bring some kind of comfort. 

The next time you turned, your heart stopped and you stepped back. Seven humanoid shadows stood before you, their forms shifting like smoke. In unison, their heads cocked to the side. Like the shifting of emotions, the blue sky faded to grey, then to black. Angry, broiling storm clouds swirled overhead, and once again in unison, the shadows sank into the ground.

Fear gripped your heart as you tried to do the same, but found yourself unable to. You tried again, only to force yourself to your knees, the ground refusing to let you pass despite the darkness overhead. With a frustrated cry, you punched the earth with your fist, as if you were able to beat it into submission.

“Come back.” 

This time his voice provided no comfort as you hung your head, tears stinging your eyes and falling into the grass, blades shifting slightly. “I want to…” you responded shakily, despair clawing at your mind, having no idea how. But you had to. It didn’t matter how. You just had to.

Standing back to your feet, you took a deep breath. You could do this. You could find your way back. With newfound determination, you took a step forward.

Only to find, the moment your foot touched the ground, a hand crawled from the shadow, wrapping around your ankle. Once again panic clawed at your chest as you tried to yank yourself free, watching in horror as one of those seven shadows rose from the ground, its humanoid body contorted and backwards, head twitching from side to side. 

You tried to pull away. Tried to take a step back, only to find another holding your other foot, rising only far enough for its head and shoulders to reform from the ground. Another hand grabbed at your thigh, then another around your waist. You fought to free yourself, kicking and flailing as you felt the ground beneath you give way and you started to sink. A hand clawed down your back, another wrapped around your neck, silencing your desperate scream as your hand outstretched towards the dark sky above.

Your eyes went dark as those shadows gripped your face, obscuring your vision before all you could feel was nothing. You were nothing. And you were sinking. 

Down. Down down you were dragged, those inky black hands weighing you down like a ball and chain through water, only this time you couldn’t breathe. You tried to scream again only to find yourself voiceless, bubbles of emptiness rising from your mouth. 

You didn’t know how long you’d been drowning before light burst from above you and you inhaled a guttural breath, closing your eyes against the blinding white. When you managed to adjust to the light, you cracked open your lids, panic still flooding your veins. An operating theatre? No, it was too light. But judging from the instruments to your left, that’s exactly where you were. You tried to lift your head only to find coarse leather strapping you down. Trying to move your arms and legs resulted in the same conclusion. 

A whimper escaped from the other side of the room, and you turned your head, eyes widening as you saw your brother, clad in some kind of hospital gown, tears streaming down his face. “Rowan…?” you croaked, your throat raw from what, you didn’t know. 

“I’m sorry…” he whispered shakily, before agony flared through your body and you released a blood-curdling scream, fire reining free throughout your nerves, your limbs straining against the bonds holding you down.

‘We remember.’

Your eyes flew open as you sat bolt upright on the table, panic surging adrenaline through your system as you took in your surroundings. You were still there, in that room, just a different version of it. But you weren’t tied down, not this time. No, this time, you followed the wires hooking your body up to a monitor, the dips and valleys in the lines meaning nothing to you, only serving to fuel your fear.

You ripped the stickers from your body, swinging your legs over the side of the bed. Whatever, or whoever was holding you clearly didn’t have the sense to leave you unattended. You might still be learning how to control your mutation, but that didn’t mean you weren’t dangerous.

Crossing to the drawers opposite, you tugged the top one open, rifling through the contents in the hopes of finding some kind of weapon. A scalpel, a knife, hell you’d take a staple gun at this moment. Anything that would help you escape this nightmare. You had to find Rowan. Why the fuck was he here? What the hell was going on? You brushed the questions to the side for now.

None of that mattered at the moment. Your sole goal was to find him and get the two of you out of here. 

A slight sing sliced through your fingertip as you rifled through the second drawer, pulling out a small scalpel. It wasn’t ideal, but you figured it was better than nothing. Clutching it tightly in your hands, you cursed medical rooms for their bright white lighting, only finding singular shadows beneath the bed and around the desks. Nothing connected, so you couldn’t travel far. 

You whirled at the slight whoosh of the doors behind you opening, holding the scalpel in front of you threateningly, attempting to still your trembling hand. Though it took your eyes a moment to register who you were looking at, you knew that voice and the way he softly called your name like the back of your hand.

Logan had only stepped out for a few moments, spending the last three days by your side, vigilant, unmoving. But upon the insistence of Jean, he’d taken seconds for himself to smoke a cigar and calm down. Every twitch of your body, every micromovement he noticed, every small cry of his name set him on edge, fighting the urge to pull the medical tags from your body and keep you safe up in his room, build a home for you there. He’d resisted purely because both Jean and Charles had said it was safer to monitor your brain and heart.

But now here you were, eyes wide, pointing a scalpel at him. He held his hands up, trying to show you he didn’t mean any harm. “It’s me…” he soothed as you looked around wildly as if trying to recognise your surroundings.

How was he here? Why was he here? Had they got him too? But he looked fine, dressed in his usual white singlet, worn jeans and brown flannel. “Logan?”

He breathed a sigh of relief, taking a slow step towards you. “Yeah,” he confirmed, noticing how you were still caught up in confusion and fear.

“Wh– where am I? Where are we?” you asked frantically, still keeping the small blade pointed towards him as he inched closer around the bed.

“We’re in the med bay, underneath the school. ‘S’okay, you’re safe here.” he explained slowly, gingerly reaching for the knife in your hand, his fingers wrapping around the warm metal as he gently took it from your grasp and set it down. 

You let him take it from you, your heart settling in your chest as he encircled your wrist. “The school?” you asked, uncertainty lacing your tone. Logan nodded in confirmation, and you let loose a steadying breath. “What happened?” your voice was barely audible, shaking slightly as he guided you into his arms and enveloped you in a sense of security.

“You’re okay…” he breathed, not only to reassure you but to also reassure himself. For three days he’d sat by your bedside, listening to people tell him you were gonna be okay, but it was so fucking hard to believe them when you were lying unconscious on a medical bed, the only sound being the steady beep of the heart monitor you were hooked up to. 

Seeing you here, on your feet, awake, set that fear to rest. He set his chin atop your head, closing his eyes as he breathed you in, your scent wrapping around his heart in a comforting embrace. You were safe. You were okay.

You allowed yourself to simply feel him, basking in his presence and the peace he brought you. Your arms slowly wrapped around his body beneath his shirt, clasping tightly at the back of his singlet. “I don’t understand…”

“I know. Neither do we, not fully. But we will, ‘kay? Promise,” he hoped it was enough to reassure you, but it was barely enough to reassure himself. “What d’you remember?” he asked pulling back slightly to cup a hand against your jaw, angling your face to look up at him. 

You swallowed, brow furrowing as you tried to think back to the last thing you remember. “Training. We were training. You said we weren’t gonna focus on my mutation, and you challenged me to get out of your grip… that’s it,” you explained quietly, your eyes flickering between his own in search of some kind of answer. “That’s what happened with Jade, isn’t it? It was the same thing…” Logan nodded again, though almost imperceptibly as if he was afraid to confirm your own fears. “What happened?” you asked again, though this time a little firmer.

Logan took a breath, bracing himself for your reaction before he’d even spoken. “You tried to kill me…”

You instantly stepped out of his arms, and as much as he didn’t want to, he let you. Horror flickered across your face as you looked down at your hands as if you could see the blood staining them. You couldn’t do this again. You couldn’t kill someone else you loved because you couldn’t control yourself. “It wasn’t your fault, I pushed you too hard. I didn’t know this w–”

“Don’t.” you stopped him quietly, eyes staring, unblinking, at the white tiles beneath your bare feet. “Please don’t…” you inhaled shakily, balling your hands into fists by your side. “Scott was right.”

Logan froze, knowing exactly what you were referring to. He guessed what he suggested three days ago wasn’t the first time he’d said it. “The fuck he was. You lost control, that doesn’t make you a monster. Y’think half the kids here were monsters before they learnt how to control their mutations?”

“Half the kids here don’t try to kill the people they fucking care about!” you cried, feeling like he just wasn’t listening to you. 

“No, they just do it by accident. Remind you of anyone?” He didn’t know how else to get you to see. You were no different from those who just hadn’t learnt to control it yet. “Why is it always so different when it comes to you, hm?” he took your hands in his own, begging you to understand. 

“I don’t wanna kill you, Logan. I don’t know what I'd do if I did…” you looked up, tears silently sliding from your eyes. But Logan simply smiled.

“Then ain’t it peachy I can’t die. Hundred ‘n’ thirty still going strong,” he thumbed away the tears from your cheeks as you blinked in realisation. “Forgot that, didn’t ya?” 

“Yeah… guess I did.” you tried to smile, but Logan could tell you were still burdened by guilt and grief. Planting a kiss on your forehead, he guided you back to the centre of his chest, wrapping you up again. 

“We’ll figure it out, yeah? Whatever this thing is, we’ll figure it out. Charles can help you,” he promised, his hand stroking through the back of your hair. “And fuck Scott, he doesn’t know what he’s fucking talking about.” That earned him a teary chuckle against the crook of his neck.

“Fuck Scott,” You repeated, nestling closer into his embrace. “Thank you, Lo’.”

“Anytime, sweetheart,” he responded, pressing his nose against the top of your head, breathing in your distinct scent. “The good news is, you harnessed your mutation flawlessly.” 

You looked up at him with slight awe, your mouth parted slightly. “Seriously?”

Logan nodded. “I almost brought ya back as well, so I’m thinkin’ we should–”

“Don’t even say it,” you interrupted, your chin resting against his chest. “Not a good idea.”

“Might be the only way,” he shrugged, delicately moving a strand of your hair from your face. “Think it over.” He prompted softly, his hand travelling from your jaw to your cheek, eyes lingering on your lips for a beat before he dipped down, capturing you in a soft kiss. Your lids fluttered closed, arms sliding from his back up to his neck, your fingers finding a home in his soft hair. 

You groaned softly as his hands left your face to occupy your waist, lingering long enough to squeeze you gently before descending lower to your thighs and hoisting you against him. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his hips, ankles crossed against the dip of his back. 

Logan swallowed your gasp as his fingers dug into the flesh of your ass, and he couldn’t tame his low growl of approval when you opened your mouth for him, your nails scratching lightly through his hair and tugging against the soft strands in a way that had his closed eyes rolling skyward. Carrying you back to the steel table, he set you down, his lips never detaching from yours even as your back touched the steel. Your ankles stayed crossed at his tailbone, and the way you arched your hips into his growing arousal had him groaning your name against your lips.

The sweet scent of your slick drove him fucking wild, and he knew he had to stop himself before he fucked you here and now on this godforsaken table. He drew back from you, jaw falling open as you dug your nails into his shoulders. Fuck you looked so good, a passionate flush dusted your cheeks, your lips slightly reddened from his mouth. He panted against you, attempting to catch his breath. “We can’t, n–”

“Not here, right?” you finished, frustrated irritation lacing your tone. “Then where, Lo’? Because so far, it hasn’t been anywhere.” You finished, sitting up as he pulled away from your legs. “What’re you so afraid of?” It was your turn to gently pry, hoping to gain insight as to why he always stopped just when things were getting good. 

He looked away from you, tensing his jaw against your question. “‘M not afraid…” 

“That’s a lie.”

His eyes shot back to look at you, recalling the last time he called you out. He’d used that same phrase, that same no-bullshit tone. Logan debated shooting back at you the same way you did back then, but at the same time, he wasn’t that petty. He could be petty, sure, but not that petty.

He ran a hand down the side of his face, taking a deep breath. He heard you shift on the table, your hand gently pulling his palm down. “I’m not made of glass, I won’t shatter.”

But that’s exactly what he was afraid of. “I– I’m good at controlling my instincts most of the time… but when I feel you like that… when I can smell how you react to me, it gets so much more difficult. I’m so afraid of hurting you,” he confessed, and you silently pressed a gentle kiss to his lips.

“You’re not gonna hurt me, Logan. Was your plan to just, not have sex this whole relationship?” you asked softly, watching as he processed the wording of your question. 

“Well, no but, is that what this is…?” he asked slowly, and you raised a brow.

“I wouldn’t exactly call us friends, Lo’, but I guessed we never really discussed it…” you mused, not a single worry on your mind. You were what you were, labels didn’t really matter to you, and you had a feeling they didn’t matter to him either. 

“Hate the title of boyfriend,” He wrinkled his nose and you snorted a laugh. “Makes me sound like some inexperienced kid.”

“How would I know how experienced you are, you refuse to have sex with me. Maybe it’s appropriate.” You teased, and Logan shot you a dark look full of even darker promises. “I’m not too bothered either way, to be honest. We don’t have to put a label on things. We’re just…”

“Together.” He finished, his dark glare softening at the words he uttered and how right they felt. 

“Exactly. And you’re not the only one who can heal, remember?” You flashed him a grin now it was his turn to blink. “Now look who’s forgetting things.” He returned your smile before pulling you in for another lingering kiss, both his hands braced against the soft skin of your waist. He hadn’t forgotten about the scars on your wrists, nor the way you’d cried for him in your unconscious state, but he’d save those questions for later, for when you weren’t in the med bay still wearing the same clothes you’d been wearing three days ago.

Not that he minded. You smelt irresistible. 

Footsteps echoed in his ears from behind the door, and he separated from you. He glanced to the door in response to your look of confusion just as the two halves separated and Jean strode through, stopping immediately upon seeing you.

“You’re awake! How’re you feeling?” she asked, setting down her mug of coffee on the desk before crossing to the flatlined heart monitor and switching it off, the screen going dark.

“Physically or mentally?” you asked, a little sarcastically, and Logan had to pretend he was extremely interested in the screens around Jean’s desk, covering his mouth with his palm to hide his smile.

“You were out for three days, it’s only natural for me to ask.” She responded flatly, shooting Logan a pointed look which he chose to ignore.

“I’m fine. Weirded out and I wanna know why this keeps happening, but I’m fine.” You shrugged, wanting nothing more than to head up to your room, shower until you burn off all of your skin, and fall into bed. Preferably with Logan by your side, but you’d take what you could get with that whole situation. 

Jean shifted on her feet, busying herself with the monitor, and Logan picked up the distinct scent of discomfort. “The Professor’s working on it, for now, he wants you to rest, maybe take a break from training and teaching, too.”

You scoffed, standing up from the table. “He gonna send me away for another two years, yeah? Keep the big bad wolf away from the children? Just in case I go ape-shit again and commit mass murder. Seems like a sound plan, worked last time, didn’t it? Oh, except it didn’t, because I’ve only been back two months and the same fucking thing happened. Only this time we got lucky because Claws over here can’t fucking die” You spat, annunciating every fucking syllable. 

Logan shifted his gaze to you, giving you a look as if to ask why he was being dragged into this. You responded with something he could only interpret as apologetic. Good enough.

“It wasn’t like that–”

“It was and you know it, don’t you?” Logan chimed in, suddenly feeling the need to rush to your defence. You’d already been through enough today, you didn’t need to be gaslit to be added to the pile. “Just like you know more about what’s going on here, right?” He raised a brow, coming to stand by your side, an arm braced against your shoulder. 

Whatever Logan had noticed, you trusted his instincts, staying silent as Jean straightened, her gaze steely. “I have no clue what you’re talking about, Logan,” she responded plainly, before turning to you. “And since you seem well enough to wander around and rifle through my equipment, I’d say you’re well enough to head out.” It was as rude as Jean was ever going to get without being unprofessional and telling you to get the fuck out. 

You raised your head, narrowing your eyes in challenge, before deciding that maybe scrapping so soon after you woke up was a bad idea. So instead you turned on your heel, striding out the door with your dignity and without leaking blood. 

Logan fell into step beside you, his palm resting at the small of your back. “Ya know, she could barely contain you when you went all… freaky. You’re strong as shit.” He smirked down at you, and your eyes widened along with your smile.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You both entered the elevator, pressing the button for the ground floor. “Fuckin’ A.” You grinned, and if he was being honest with himself, Logan didn’t think he’d ever been more proud of you.

“I’ll be below so if you need anythin’, just shout, I’ll hear ya,” Logan instructed so sincerely your heart skipped a beat. After insisting he made you a rudimentary evening snack of grilled cheese, he’d escorted you up the stairs and into your room and was now looking into your eyes with such seriousness it made you laugh a little.

“Logan, I’m taking a shower, not heading into the Colosseum. Though, you’d know all about that, right? What were the Romans like?” you asked, feigning innocence when he rolled his eyes. “What? I’m curious.”

“Glad ya feelin’ better, freak.” He flicked your forehead and you chuckled, not bothering to swipe his hand away. “If you need anything–”

“Howl at the moon three times and spin in a circle yeah Logan I get it. Now clear off so I can shower, I smell like a dead horse.” You shooed him away, but he caught both your hands in one of his own, his bare arms flexing as he pulled you closer so he could lean into your ear.

“You smell fucking delicious,” he growled and your knees almost buckled. Fuck, how could he do that with one small phrase? “But I’ll let ya go, see you later.” He pecked a kiss to your lips, brows raising in surprise when you leaned into him in a much more passionate display before you pulled away far too quickly for his liking.

“See you in a bit!” you beamed, before heading into your ensuite and shutting the door, leaving him standing breathless in the middle of your room. 

You were gonna be the fucking death of him. If he could die, that is.

To say your shower was refreshing was an understatement. Scalding water seared your skin slightly, leaving behind delicious tingles of cleanliness as you scrubbed the last three days of unconsciousness from your skin, using the wild bluebell shower gel Ororo had gifted you for Christmas last year. It was definitely one of your favourite scents –other than pinewood, smoke and whiskey, obviously– but it was the gel you used the least out of fear of running out of it. You lathered your skin, shivering slightly as you remembered the way Logan was holding you earlier. The way his fingers dug into your thighs, the way he squeezed your waist. 

You had to shake yourself back to reality before you used all the water in the goddamn mansion. Quickly rinsing yourself, you switched off the shower and snatched the towel hanging from the hook on the back of the door and opened the window to let out some of the steam. Drying yourself off, you vaguely hoped your plants would forgive you for neglecting them for three days, though a delusional part of you said they’d understand.

Maybe you were losing your mind. 

You finished up moisturising your face, rubbing in the last bits of cream and securing your towel around your chest before opening the door to your room, steam rolling from the bathroom and onto your sad-looking tropical plants, who you swore instantly perked up. 

“Yeah yeah, no need to be so dramatic Herbert, I’m sure you can survive three days without me.” You said to your Herringbone Plant. You found that naming them and giving them all personalities helped with the development and growth… or so you told yourself. 

You crossed to your built-in wardrobe, pausing as you saw an incredibly familiar flannel on your window seat. You had a vague recollection of Logan setting it down when he took a seat there, the two of you talking for a minute of thirty before you finally remembered you needed a shower. 

Considering how little he seemed to talk to the rest of the teachers here, it served to make you feel pretty damn special the way he would talk for hours with you. You smiled thinking about it, picking up the shirt and feeling the material beneath your fingers. It still smelt like him, and your smile widened further.

There was a quick knock at your door, and you barely had time to welcome whoever it was before it opened. “Sorry, forgot my– fuck.”

Logan stood in your doorway, his eyes shamelessly looking you up and down, from your heat-flushed collar to the tops of your thighs where your towel cut off, down to your feet before trailing back up. “Fuck…” he repeated, and your breath quickened just like that.

Maybe he could die. Because there was no possible way he’d just survived looking at you this way. You looked edible, for fuck’s sake, and he wanted nothing more than to sink his teeth into the side of your neck and listen to you whimper beneath him. He closed his eyes against the images plaguing his mind, hoping to hell neither Charles nor Jean were prowling around the mansion’s minds.

“Looking for this?” you asked, your tone laced with faux innocence as you held up his shirt. “Shame, I was just about to see how good it looked on me.” You pouted, and Logan closed the door with the back of his foot in response.

“Don’t let me stop you.” His eyes were dark, pupils blown with lust as he watched you thread your arms through the sleeves that were much too big for you. 

Oh, you were having too much fun with this game, making sure the flannel covered your ass as you turned away from him, letting the towel fall from around your chest to pool at your feet. You grinned wildly at his audible groan as you started feeding the buttons through their respective holes, stopping just low enough that your nipples were covered, but not much else.

You took a step back, glancing at your appearance in your floor-length mirror on the opposite side of your room. “Think it suits me, personally,” you turned, placing a hand on your waist, accentuating just how baggy his clothes were on you. “Don’t you?”

Logan’s chest heaved at the sight of you in his clothes. His clothes. Your hips swayed as you sauntered towards him, hooking your fingers through the belt loops of his jeans and tugging him closer. His breath hitched as you traced your fingertips across his naval, only briefly dipping below the waist of his jeans, untucking the white singlet he was wearing. “Cat got your tongue?” your voice was as softly teasing as your fingers, his entire body shivering as your hands skirted beneath the white fabric, your palm cooler against his heated skin.

“You’re playin’ with fire, sweetheart.” He grit as you thumbed the thick vein pulsing just inside his hip bone. That sweet scent of your arousal hit him like a truck as you leaned up to his ear, biting softly at the sensitive skin just beneath. 

“Then ain’t it just peachy I can heal?” you used his phrasing from before, and it was Logan’s undoing. Ducking back, he crashed his lips onto yours, your mouth eagerly parting to allow his thick tongue to dance with yours. He wrenched your hands from his front, throwing them around his neck as he lifted you from the floor in exactly the same way he did not an hour ago. 

Though this time you moaned freely as your core pushed against the steadily growing steel in his jeans. He bucked his hips in response, growling as you both all but fell onto the bed, your hands tightening their rough grip in his hair. He let his eyes roll as he nipped the supple flesh of your lips, trailing open-mouthed kisses down to your chin, over your jaw and into your neck. His tongue smoothing the sharp bites he left against your skin.

“Logan…” you breathed his name when he found the scar on the side of your neck, your hands clawing at his shoulders when he sucked a small bruise against the mark. You gasped, tilting your head up to provide him with easier access.

His hands had been trailing up and down your sides, venturing beneath his shirt, feeling your bare skin against his palm. Your chest inflated as he teased the underside of your breasts with his fingers, and he nipped against that spot on your neck at the same time as encasing your breasts in his hands. You whimpered beneath him and it was everything he’d dreamed of, and so much more. 

“Fuck, sweetheart you’re killin’ me.” He groaned as you wrapped your legs around his waist again, pulling his clothed cock closer to your core. His hands squeezed and groped at the soft skin of your chest, rolling your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, pinching just hard enough to hear you gasp again.

He could tell you were getting impatient, your hands trailing down his back to the hem of his singlet, pulling it up to his shoulders. He drew back from you briefly, sitting on his heels and pulling the top over his head. You swore you drooled.

“Holy shit Lo’, you’ve been keepin’ this from me?” You followed him up, your legs still wrapped around his hips as your hands found the muscles of his abs, drinking in every valley, plain and peak of his physique. Your fingers grazed up through the hair dusting his chest, bracing against the hard plateaus of his pecs. “Fuck me…” you breathed in disbelief, and Logan responded with a wild smirk.

“Well, since you asked so nicely…” he trailed off, hands cupping the sides of your neck as he brought you in for another searing kiss. Logan gently pushed you back down on the bed, swallowing your low moans of need. His fingers deftly plucked at the buttons of his shirt, exposing more of your body for his hands to feast on. He pulled back again to shove the material off your shoulders, dragging it from beneath you to discard on the floor. “Gorgeous.” He uttered under his breath.

You were completely bare before him, and his eyes locked onto every perfect imperfection on your body, from the various scars on your chest and stomach to the small dents left behind by his own fingertips. You panted softly, placing a foot against his shoulder just as he went to lean back down and hold your lips hostage once again.

“Even this up, Howlett.” You breathed, and Logan turned his head to nip your ankle sharply. Though before he could even think about loosening his belt, you’d already surged forward, your hands flying to the buckle at his waist, your head ducking into the crook of his neck you so often liked to nestle into. Only this time you bit savagely, earning yourself a surprise, husky groan. 

There was a soft clink of metal as you pulled at the leather around his waist, placing it within arm’s reach. Just in case, you told yourself as you licked at the slight salt of his clavicle. You popped the button of his jeans, careful to pull down the zipper before shoving the rough fabric down below his hips. Logan tugged them the rest of the way, shoving them somewhere with the rest of the discarded clothes. 

You fell back against the pillows of your bed, unable to stop yourself from biting your lip as you devoured the sight of his tented briefs, his heaving chest and dark eyes. Crawling back over your sprawled form, Logan dipped back to your neck, ghosting his lips down across your collarbones, his tongue lavishing the dip between the bone and your throat, before descending further between your breasts. 

He nipped at the soft flesh, his mouth fluttering from left to right as if he couldn’t pick which one he wanted to devour. Your back arched in desperation, pushing your pebbled nipples further into his face before he sucked one into his mouth, teething slightly the sensitive skin. You gasped his name, your nails returning to his sinewy shoulders as pleasure coursed through your veins, one of your hands reaching up to grip the headboard behind you. Fuck he was good at this, switching between sucking softly and nipping sharply, before releasing your breath with a gentle pop, only to devour the other. 

Your hips bucked against his abdomen and he moaned against you, grinding his desperate cock against the soft fabric of your duvet. He wanted to taste you first, wanted to feel you on his tongue before he even thought about fucking you. His hands replaced his mouth on your breasts as he travelled further down your body, biting and sucking every scar he came across before he was nestled sweetly between your thighs, drowning in the sickly sweet scent of your dripping arousal glistening between your thighs, the coarse, dark hair around your cunt now completely damp.

Anticipation set your nerves alight as you waited for him to do something, anything. And you threw your head back when his lips settled on your inner thigh, finding yet another scar for his tongue and teeth to explore. You whined softly, needily when he skipped your pussy completely, moving to the other side and leaving a mess of bruises for you to inspect later. 

“Fuck Logan, do something!” You managed to grit, feeling his huffed laughter fan your aching cunt. 

“I am doing somethin’ baby. Wanna be more specific?” he teased lightly, fingers tracing circles against your outer thigh. You bucked your hips towards his face, grinding into thin air. You called to him like a siren calls to a lost sailor, and he was all too happy to fall into the ocean for you as long as he was allowed to stay here for the rest of his long life. 

“Fuck me with your tongue goddamnit!” you spat impatiently, and he grinned victoriously. His grip tightened against your thighs as he dragged you down and onto his face, his lips instantly latching onto your swollen clit. 

You pitched back, spine arching as you pinched your lips together to stop yourself from crying out. Bolts of electric pleasure struck each and every nerve, setting you on fire as you writhed beneath his tongue, your hands darting to his hair, dragging him to where you needed him most.

Logan’s deep groan reverberated against your throbbing pearl, adding another layer to your ecstasy, and you barely managed to make a mental note that he liked his hair pulled before you were drowning in honey-laced lightning once again. 

You tasted better than he could ever imagine, and he’d imagined this a lot in the last two months. Your slick like morning dew on his tongue, he ate you out as if he were starved. He guessed he was, in a way. Starved of having you like this, a whimpering, moaning mess beneath him. It fucked with his head, the way you sounded so submissive and yet the grip in his hair was anything but. His cock throbbed with each tug, tip leaking copiously as one of his hands shifted from the outside of your thigh to inside, teasing your throbbing entrance with his fingertips. 

Your mouth hung open as he slowly inserted a thick finger, your walls clamping down as if he would try to escape. Logan latched onto your clit once again, sucking along with every pulse of his wrist, the pad of his fingertip massaging that delicious bundle of nerves hidden inside your cunt. 

Back arching, chest heaving, you held his head exactly there, not letting him move as you could feel those knots tighten and tense, the thread of your arousal building to snap into a mind-blowing orgasm. Your hips undulated in time to the pumps of his finger and the sucks of your clit, riding his face with each pulse of hot pleasure.

You couldn’t stop your pitched whine as he slowly inserted a second finger into your tight cunt, curling them against your liquid heat. You gasped his name to the sky above, managing to crack your eyes open and look down to where he’d made a home between your thighs. 

Sensing your gaze on him, Logan raised his eyes to yours. Your pinched brows, flush face, and gaping mouth were all the encouragement he needed to tongue-fuck you with renewed vigour, lapping at your leaking essence with reckless abandon.

“Fuck! F–fuck, Logan… ‘m gonna cum. G’gonna– gonna make me cum!” you warned, and he responded with nothing but a dark, sadistic smirk as he ground his fingers against that spot that made you see stars.

With another, long suck of your clit, you came undone, the wire finally snapping as you barrelled into your orgasm. Your hands clawed at the sheets by your head, your back arched off the bed with a soft cry of his name. Logan held you fast against his face, eliciting a deep moan, loudly slurping your release like it would in any way satiate his thirst for you. But it only served as an aphrodisiac for his own neglected desires. 

Shadows trembled around the room as you panted with each wave of ecstasy, your hips bucking with no rhyme or reason against his face until the pleasure became a little too much, a little too intense, and you had to tug him away by his hair, gasping as you were met with resistance before he acquiesced.  

You felt like you were floating, basking in the cloud-like afterglow of your high, only to be brought back by Logan’s hand cupping your face, guiding you to look at him and his smug smirk.

“Still with me?” he asked cockily, and you didn’t have the mind to do anything but nod and laugh lightly.

“Yeah, just about. I take it back… You’re definitely experienced…” you breathed and he hummed a chuckle against your cheek. 

“Been around for a while, you learn a thing or two,” he grinned before his jaw went slack with a silent moan. He hadn’t noticed your hand move from beside your head, only realising when you palmed his steel cock through his briefs. You gently pushed his shoulder until he rolled onto his back, swinging your leg over his waist to seat yourself atop his aching heat, rolling your hips slightly and watching as his head fell back, neck exposed for you.

Leaning down, you licked a long stripe up his throat and along the rough stubble beneath his bearded jaw, pinching his ear between your teeth. You tugged slightly, and his hands braced against your waist, guiding you to continue your movements with your hips. You wanted to take your time with him the same way he did with you, but your desperation to feel him inside of you outweighed your yearning to both hear and taste him cum on your tongue. 

Sitting back on your heels, you hooked your fingers in the waistband of his briefs, dragging them down over his muscular thighs, smirking slightly as his cock sprang back to lightly slap against his naval. He was fucking delectable, flushed tip leaking clear slick, veins pulsing down either side of his shaft. You pushed down the want to trace them with your tongue as you shoved his fabric past his knees. 

Logan kicked off his briefs a little too eagerly, and if he wasn’t so drunk off arousal, he would check his behaviour. But the truth was, he didn’t care. Not in this moment. Not when you scooted back a little to take his member in your hands, slowly sliding your palms up and down. 

“Shit darlin’, like that. Fuck, just like that…” he groaned lowly, his fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs as you circled his tip with the centre of your palm. His hips bucked into your grip as you alternated your hands, using a corkscrew motion that had him squeezing his eyes shut, every sense consumed by the pleasure you were giving him. 

You thumbed down one of those pulsing veins and watched as he inhaled sharply, bearing his teeth in a silent, heated snarl. Biting your lip, you rose on your knees, leaning forwards before sinking onto his cock. 

Your back arched as he filled you, stretching your needy cunt deliciously. A long, low moan rose from the depths of Logan’s chest as you seated yourself fully, your cunt pulsing rhythmically around his sensitive heat. Taking a moment to adjust to the feeling, your nails sank into the muscles of his chest, slowly clawing down to his naval and watching as his brows pinched in desperation.

If you were feeling a little meaner, you’d have made him wait. But you’d both waited long enough, so you languidly rolled your hips, mouth falling open as his tip grazed the spot his fingers had been massaging not moments ago. “Logan…” you uttered breathlessly, falling into a steady tempo. 

The shadows of the room quivered and shifted along with your movements, and you felt an itch along your back up to your shoulder blades. Logan cracked his eyes open, watching as the darkness around the room morphed into those same two, broad wings he’d seen that first time your mutation flared. However, nothing was threatening about the sight. If anything, seeing the way they flexed and fluttered as you picked up your pace filled him with a sense of wonder. Fuck you were so fucking beautiful.

He couldn’t take his eyes off you, fighting with his instincts to pound up into you in favour of savouring the way your hips ground against him, your cunt squeezing him in a vice grip, obsidian wings extending towards the edges of your room. Rising into a sit, you whimpered softly with the slight jostle, before downright crying out as his fingers grazed the shadowy membrane. 

You panted into his parted lips, barely able to form a thought other than how fucking good he felt inside you as you bounced on his cock, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and clawing red hot lines down the thick muscles of his back. Logan growled in your ear, no longer able to resist the urge to fuck up into your molten ecstasy.

“You’re so fuckin’ good sweetheart. Feel so fuckin’ good.” he groaned, moving his hand from your wind to your waist, encouraging your movements. He could tell you were close, your thighs shaking slightly both with the effort and the pleasure, your pitched whimpers fanning his neck as you buried your head, nipping and biting in the space where his shoulder met his throat. 

“‘M so fucking close… fuck ‘m so close!” you gaped, nails still scratching down his back, earning yourself yet another delicious growl. Logan bucked his hips, pulling your head back from his neck by your hair to look him in the eye. He wanted to watch. Craved the sight of you losing control on his cock, because of his cock. The hand on your waist skirted down between your thighs, fingers expertly playing with your clit as you crested your high.

Head thrown back, spine arched, you exploded in euphoria, pleasure coursing through your body like a tidal wave, crashing on the shore. Your wings flared in either direction, shaking as he continued to grind his tip deep inside you, rubbing your swollen, sensitive pearl ruthlessly. Breathing came second to feeling, unable to inhale as you all but seized up completely, your muscles trembling along with every wave of your orgasm. 

Logan panted against the hollow of your throat, all and any self-control quickly dissolving as he recklessly flipped you both over, your clock and lamp clattering to the floor as the tips of your void-like wings swept beneath you, his hands gripping the pillow beside your head.

Seeing you cum on him like that, feeling your walls tightened and quiver, Logan lost every semblance of self-control he was clinging to. Sinking his teeth into the sensitive flesh of your neck, he pounded into you relentlessly. Pure, unadulterated pleasure spiked through his system as you whimpered and whined beneath him, your nails clutching his shoulders, breaking the skin and clinging on. 

“Fuckin’ perfect for me. Shit darlin’, squeezing me so good.” He snarled before his teeth returned to the dents he’d made against your neck. He tasted iron as he bit down and you cried out in pain-addled pleasure, dragging your sharp nails from his shoulders, down either side of his spine, to the dip in his back. Your ankles locked around his waist, and it was his undoing. 

Logan’s hips stuttered as he utterly lost control, his staggered groan muffled by the skin of your neck, eyes screwed so tight he saw stars. His fingers gripped the fabric on either side of your head, razor-sharp claws ripping through the threads and sinking into the headboard as he hit his climax, bucking with each spasm of ecstasy flooding his veins. His cock reached new depths as he filled you so completely, anchoring deep within your cunt. Muscles flexing and contracting, he rode out his orgasm as your tight walls milked him for all he was worth, before he almost collapsed into you, his chest heaving.

He struggled to recall a time when he’d cum so fucking hard, his ears almost ringing as those sharp bolts of pleasure started to recede and he pulled his teeth from your neck, tongue swiping up the small trickles of blood he’d drawn. 

Were you still alive? Honestly, you couldn’t tell, feeling so weightless you were sure your soul had left your body. You only knew you were still clutching to the mortal coil because of the satisfying scratch in your shoulder blades as those shadows returned to the room, leaving you with just your corporeal body. 

Logan rose on his arms, his claws retracting into his knuckles as he looked down at you, and you looked up at him, both speechless. Why the fuck had the two of you waited so long to do that. Your brows pinched as he pulled out of you, his hand cupping the side of your face. Since neither of you could form words, he encouraged you to speak through your lips, moulding his own against your mouth.

And you poured every ounce of your adoration into him, arms circling his shoulders, holding him close. You could feel his grin growing before he drew back from you, sweat sliding down his brow.

You responded by mirroring his smile, laughter bubbling from your chest. “Holy shit…” you manage to breathe as he rolled off you, drawing you into his tight embrace. 

He inhaled deeply, basking in the scent of flowers, iron, sweat and sex. “Yeah…” was all he could say, still finding himself reeling a little. “Sorry ‘bout your neck. And your pillows. And headboard… and lamp……” he paused sheepishly. “And the clock.”

You giggled madly as he rolled onto his back, pulling you with him and using you almost as a blanket. You folded your arms across his chest, Bracing your chin atop the backs of your hands and gazed up at him whilst he got comfortable, an arm propped up behind his head. “Please, I think a clock and lamp are worth possibly the best sex I’ve had in my life.” You smirked, bending your legs at the knee for your heels to rest at your tailbone. 

“Yeah? Better than the infamous Shots Shack bin shed?” he teased, cocking a brow.

“Know your limits, Howlett,” You bit back, to his deep chuckle of amusement. Letting the silence settle for a moment, you allowed yourself to reflect on what had just transpired, blinking in realisation as you remembered. “Did… did I pull the shadows…?” you asked slowly, and Logan’s smile widened to a toothy grin.

“Yep. Now that I think about it… this might be a good way to train.” You smacked his chest, your face a picture of faux scandal. 

“Logan Howlett, are you suggesting we have sex every time we train?” You asked in mock offence, unable to keep your façade as he genuinely debated it for a moment. “Not sure Charles would be too pleased. Or Scott, for that matter.”

“I’m sure they’d get over it,” he responded and you snorted a laugh, rising from his chest to sit at his side, stretching your sore arms and back. Your neck throbbed a little, but honestly, you didn’t mind, it served as a reminder of the pleasure you’d just shared. It was the best kind of pain. 

The idea of showering now filled you with dread. You couldn’t be fucking bothered, realistically. Besides, Logan seemed to like it when you smelt like a dead horse earlier. Settling on your decision, you tugged at the duvet beneath you both, clambering beneath the soft blanket and snuggling into his side, an arm slung across his front, ear pressed against the beat of his heart.

A fond smile pulled at his lips as he looked down at you nestled against his chest, your deep sigh fanning his pecs. It had been far too long since he’d felt peace like this. Far too long since he’d felt this kind of comfort, it almost made his eyes water, only now recognising how fucking lonely he’s felt. 

Sinking back into the pillows, Logan’s arms wrapped around your tired form, holding you close. God fucking help anything or anyone that dares try and take this away from him. He’d lost too much, and though he was terrified of losing you too, it only solidified that he’d fight claw, tooth and nail to keep you safe.

Your breathing steadied as you succumbed to the exhaustion and slow, soothing swipes of Logan’s thumb against your waist. It would take a while for him to fall asleep, and he wished he’d had the foresight to bring a cigar with him when he came to retrieve his flannel. But just like you with your shower, the idea of even leaving the bed wasn’t even worth entertaining, let alone the idea of leaving you.

So instead he simply lay with you, listening to the sound of your breathing and the beat your your heart, until sleep knocked at the door of his mind, and he closed his eyes.

Only to snap awake mere hours later. What the time was, he had no idea, your clock at been knocked to the ground in the tryst. You’d both shifted in your sleep and whilst your head was still buried in his chest, he’d turned to face you. 

Logan’s eyes blinked against the darkness, adjusting rapidly to the severe lack of light. Something was off. He could sense it. 

Silently, his claws fed through his knuckles, instinctively moving his hands from your body as he slowly raised his head.

And froze solid.

Seven humanoid figures draped in smoking shadow stood around the bed, heads cocked to the same side as if their necks had been snapped. His pulse quickened, adrenaline pumping through his veins, fight or flight response triggered.

Although, there was never much flight involved when it came to Logan. He didn’t move, not out of fear, but to not provoke anything. They stood unnaturally still, simply watching with eyeless faces. You shifted in your sleep, and Logan spared a glance at your vulnerable state, his protective instincts flaring wildly at this unknown threat. 

Simultaneously, they all began to sink into the floor, and Logan watched with subdued horror as their bodies faded into the darkness as you stirred awake.

“Lo’? You ‘kay?” you asked groggily, your eyes heavy with sleep. 

He nodded. “Fine. Heard something ‘s’all.” He lied, though making a promise to tell you the truth once the sun had risen. “Probably just one of the kids. Go back to sleep,” he smoothed your hair from your face as he settled back next to you, wrapping you up safely in his arms. You breathed deeply, murmuring something even he couldn’t comprehend before you were dragged once again back to sleep.

Logan stayed awake until long into the small hours of the morning, watching the room with vigilance, glancing it at you with each slight sound you made in your sleep. But whatever those things were, they didn’t return that night. 

[queermasculine]

Okay this is a stupid question. But. How do you… define butchness outside of doing good in communities? I’ve been personally over the “chivalry” thing for a while, but I have spent a lot of time building an internal identity around needing to be active in my community and then… being upset when I can’t do that. Your post really made something click but like. I don’t know what I have left, then. I feel very butch but I don’t know how to embody that anymore. Idk I guess im not really asking for a solid answer because you obviously can’t give me that— but I guess I’m just kind of trying to explain to someone who gets it

not a stupid question! you sound like a good person and i hope my post didn't give you (or anyone else) the wrong idea. my point was not that it's in any way wrong or regressive to express butchhood through selflessness or community good, not at all, in fact i find that extremely admirable – my point was simply to challenge these things as expectations we place upon ourselves (expectations that later come to haunt us when we don't measure up) and to gently expand the narrow notion that butchhood can only ever be about service, when there are as many meanings to butchhood as there are butch hearts out there. 

butches throughout the ages have formed identities very much like your own; based on not just appearance but on actions, their active roles within their communities and/or relationships profoundly intertwined with their identities as non-conforming women – the tradition you continue is a beautiful one, and although it's not one we share, you should never feel the need to change anything if you don't want to.

as for how to define butchhood outside of service, personally i've always thought of "butch" as being sort of like the masculinity that isn't supposed to exist, yet exists anyway. but we must all find our own meaning

[cafejulii]

In honor of the hxh manga coming back in a few days, I want to take a second to honor the more light-hearted moments Succession War that we most likely may not be getting for a long while just simply because the plot is really starting to add up (which is amazing but all the more nerve-wracking). There are many and a lot of people have talked about this scene specifically already, but I just need to talk about it personally because I can't stop laughing at it.

Like all of it is just gold. First of all, just starting off with the plain insult. Amazing. 10/10. There's nothing like telling your co-worker straight to their face and with blatant honesty that they have a below-average level of comprehension. He just says what we all wish we could say. Love that for him.

And then it just gets better really. The subtle shade from Killua to both of them. "Since it's you we are talking about" like damn. Though seriously favorable in comparison to having a whole disclaimer about just how gross you are.

Also the fact that, Kurapika; a mafia boss who has done hordes of awful things such as extorting, manipulating, and stealing from people in order to further advance with his mission (and oh yeah has also killed a member of the Spiders and buried him with a shovel he brought to the fight) had to pause and remind himself that this was all for the sake of his fallen brethren....just because he had to give out the most mediocre, obviously dramatized, compliment to Bisky ONCE?? Just so she could leave him alone too LMFAOAOA

I usually don’t like when people him overdramatic but in this instance I will absolutely let it slide because it’s just the flat out truth.

I’m glad this scene exists because it’s just another example of how he hasn’t fully lost himself to his mission (on top of the many other scenes that explicitly indicate this such as his interactions with Queen Oito, Wobble, Bill, Hanzo, and Leorio). Not because it holds anything of substantial value *really* but because because it shows that he still has a sense of pride beyond his goals and that he's still the brilliantly witty, slightly judgemental asshole from the hunter exam. (I say this in admiration)

I also just love the fact he regresses to his childhood expression of pure annoyance. This was most definitely intentional and I will die on this hill.

I need to lock in and create more serious hxh posts my god. But either way, so incredibly excited for what may come to pass in the upcoming chapters. (Togashi please let him live I need to see him insult people more)

[asher-agere]

Babbles!

Just a little brain thought I’ve had recently… Shout out to all the regressors that are so traumatized by your parents that you’re unable to view a caregiver as a “mama” or a “papa”. You’re still valid. A lot of regression media a caregiver is placed in a parental role, and that is perfectly ok! But I know for me, I’ve always been unable to see a caregiver that way. And I’m sure there’s other people out there like this. So just your reminder, you’re valid, your regression is still normal, your caregiver can fill whatever roll you need them to, they can be a sibling, a friend, or you don’t even need to place a word on the relationship. They can just be there for you. I’ve found this also leads to me just saying some form of my caregivers name since there’s very few titles that don’t feel parental. And guess what? That’s totally ok and valid!

All of you who do see your caregiver as parental figures are also totally valid of course! This is just something that feels pretty unique to me and my regression but thinking reasonably there’s probably many others like this, so time to find out!

[mediumgayitalian]

“Happy birthday!”

“Still not my birthday, Solace.”

“Eh. One day I’ll say it and it’ll be right.”

The flowers he’s holding — pretty, ruffled deep red, although Nico doesn’t recognise them — remains extended between them, clutched fist unwavering. Nico rolls his eyes, biting the inside of his cheek, and takes them.

“Of course, you could also just tell me when your birthday is.”

“No.” A pause. He brings the flowers up to his face, pointedly ignoring Will’s wink, and inhales. They smell almost identical to the shampoo Will wears. “You’re such a loser.”

“And yet you spend all your time with me.”

“Not — all,” Nico protests, cheeks burning. “I spend —”

Time with others, he was about to say, and while it is indeed true that he does, in fact, socialize with more than one person, he realises with startling clarity that Will is almost always there.

Will grins, wide and cheeky and knowing. “Having some thoughts, there, Neeks.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Will gasps dramatically, and when that is not enough he holds up a hand, digs a string of plastic pearls out from his many pockets, clasps them around his neck, clears his throat, and gasps even more dramatically, clutching said pearls.

Nico laughs.

Unfortunately.

But he chokes it back last minute and turns it into a weird horse noise instead, so he’s victorious, basically.

“How dare,” says Will, indeed dramatically, “how dare, di Angelo, deride me, your closest friend, in such a way —”

Nico deliberates his options. Should Will have the space unimpeded to continue on than he shall do so, with increasing gusto. At the six minute mark he will graduate to elevating himself on whatever surface makes itself available, from an infirmary stool to An Actual Roof, and project his voice to make sure that everyone suffers his Elizabethan histrionics, not just Nico (or Kayla or Austin or Lou especially Cecil or Mitchell or Piper or or or or). At the nine minute mark he will be accompanied, magically, by intense background music, because Apollo deserves all of his trauma. Nico doesn’t know what the ten minute mark will bring, but frankly he’d rather walk on hot coals with open sores on his feet than find out, so.

“— good friends, sweet friends, from this group I hail, and to such a sudden flood of mutiny! To bend to the leadborn suffering —”

When Nico gestures he is graceful, obviously. And poised. When Will gestures he narrowly avoids smacking himself square in the face nine times out of ten, and sometimes, like now, he actually does smack himself in the face, but for some reason this does not deter or embarrass him. Perhaps because he, like most Apollo children, does not actually have the part of his brain that produces shame, and such gleeful shamelessness shows in his devastatingly wide eyes. Which are, Nico notices, beginning searching for the nearest climbable surface.

Ah. Level one has been exceeded.

“Hide not thy poison with such sugar’s words —”

Drastic times, drastic measures; in time of theatre kid, regress to caveman instincts. Et cetera. Nico knows the drill. He’s a twice-adorned war hero. He understands sacrifice. He understands betrayal. He knows timing, knows difficulty. He knows the burden of doing the right thing to prevent further tragedy.

He sets his flowers delicately on the ground beside him, ties his hair back out of his face, does a couple stretches, exhales peacefully, and tackles Will to the floor.

“Shut up,” he grunts, over Will’s screeching. Will, predictably, does not shut up, moaning instead about his spleen, his spine, pausing to yell, loudly, et tu, Brutus?!, moaning about his kidneys, and then once again wallowing about Brutus and betrayal.

“Someone should take away your Riverside,” Nico says solemnly, pinching Will on the arm one last time for good measure before crawling off him.

Will remains on the floor, arm thrown over his eyes. “I would sooner live without the lungs in my chest.”

“It’s gonna be me. I’m taking away your Riverside.”

Will lifts his arm, searching to meet Nico’s eyes before pouting. It is a remarkably well-planned strategy, because he has very pretty eyes, and Nico is a flaming homosexual who is openly weak to Will’s wiles. Will, who is a shit and judging by the smirk he is barely fighting back in favour of a quivering lip, knows this.

“Don’t you love me?”

“No,” Nico lies. He forces himself away from Will’s gaze, ears burning. “Go away, you walking annoyance. I never want to see you or anything about you ever again.” He scoops up his flowers and stomps off, smiling as Will cackles.

He carries around the flowers for the rest of the day.

[azzibuckets]

Geno is so fucking washed and has no accountability.

He’s got Sarah on the fucking verge of tears and Paige tired asf bc she’s running around 3 screens to just get a grenade at the end of the shot clock.

He’s so fucking stubborn. Like he got KC and I was so excited bc she’s a bucket, but he’s regressed her into this Nika Muhl role and refuses to let Paige just have the ball in her hand and play PG.

It’s hilarious that he said that he was disappointed with his team in the 1H. Like no offense, maybe don’t fucking start Ice Brady and dig us into a hole from the start?? No fucking 2 way game between Sarah and Paige in the first half. Both of them barely getting any useful touches.

Sorry for the rant Cessa. I’d love to know your thoughts as well. I’m just pissed asf at Geno and the coaching staff rn (and I haven’t even touched on other topics such as Ice starting the 2H, KK get benched even tho she brought energy, oh and that fucking extra timeout we didn’t use at the end).

i agree completely!! I love ice but that girl has had so many games to prove herself and shows up with nothing each time. miss girl watches the ball each time instead of going for the rebound. she turns the ball over almost every single time she touches it and it’s driving me insane.,!!!. i get that she didn’t play for a year so im blaming geno for continuing to start her when she hurts more than she contributes

i’m repeating everyone else but yes, KK brought us back and for Geno to say “One of her biggest roles should be to come in and disrupt the game and change the way the game is played. And I thought she did that." after benching her makes ZERO FUCKING SENSE to me!!! Geno YOU are the coach. He’s refusing to adjust and it’s killing us