#last reblog has me in stitches

[tojisun]

konig makes me so crazy bro like ik this man loves fucking you against the wall or smthn. lets you wrap your legs around him only to chuckle when they cant even close around his bulk. and he bites so much. folds you there against the wall because he knows you got a size and strength kink-

i dunoooeoe

[lubdubology]

Take My Love and Wear It

SYNOPSIS: Taking care of Charles has its own special challenges, but you didn’t expect the hardest one to be the man who hired you. Distant, gruff and rough around the edges, Logan still manages to worm his way under your skin. But you’ve worked your way under his, too. 

PAIRING: Old Man Logan x fem!reader

WC: 10.8k 

WARNINGS: smut 18+; mdni; angst; swearing; non-explicit mentions of wounds, blood and use of stitches; extreme physical pain; Charles is a lovable, meddling little shit; fluff sprinkled in for good measure; Logan in a tub (if I had a nickel for every time I bathed him, I’d have two nickels—which isn’t a lot, but its weird it happened twice, right); touch-starved Logan; handjobs; shower sex; fingering; dirty talk; oral (f receiving); sex with feelings; unprotected p in v; creampie

A/N: There’s something special about Old Man Logan, isn’t there? Old and grumpy and desperately in need of some love and affection. I know the Charles caregiver story has been done before, but I couldn’t get this idea out of my head. And then Charles starting talking in my head and well...it blossomed into this. As always, thank you to @joelsgoldrush for allowing me to send her snippets of this as I went along and offering her love, support and suggestions. I hope you enjoy this and any likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated!

You stare down at the remnants of yesterday’s cold and congealed dinner and sigh. Scraping the food into the trash, you resist the urge to pack everything you have and leave. 

One month. 

One month of helping Charles—making his meals, washing his clothes, giving him his meds, making sure he doesn’t hurt himself (or others), assisting with daily tasks—and Logan still regards you as a nuisance, like a gnat needing to be swatted away. 

At best, he ignores you, moving around the house as if you don’t exist. 

And at worst, he treats you with barely concealed contempt, his scowl deepening the lines of his face whenever he’s around you. As if you’re invading his space uninvited even though he’s the one that sought out help. 

You grip the edge of the sink, staring down into the porcelain basin as if it holds some hidden answers. Every day you’ve tried to break through walls Logan’s built around himself, held onto Charles’ promise that eventually he’ll soften, just give him time, but he only seems to have grown more hostile. And you’ve done nothing to incur his ire besides watching him come home every day battered and bruised, his very bones weary with exhaustion, and offering your assistance.

Part of you is angry—angry that you care so much when your main focus is supposed to be Charles. Angry that despite all his efforts to come across unapproachable and cold, Logan’s worked himself under your skin and takes a little piece of you with him whenever he leaves. 

Angry that somehow he’s stolen a piece of your heart. 

You hear shuffling behind you and turn to find Logan entering the kitchen, fingers fastening the last buttons on his dress shirt. “What?” he asks gruffly and for a moment you wonder if he can read your thoughts.

You straighten and meet his gaze head on, swallowing down your nervousness. “How much longer are we going to keep doing this, Logan?”

“Doing what?”

“This,” you say, gesturing between you. “You walking around here like I’m some stain upon your life, acting like I’m a problem when all I’ve ever done is try and help.” Your voice is steadier than you feel. “You asked for me to be here, Logan. It’s not like I barged in here without permission.”

Logan holds your gaze, his jaw tight, and for a moment you think he’s going to grab his keys and leave, head off into the night and drive until sunrise. His eyes soften for just a moment, something like regret crossing his features. 

“I know why you’re here. And I do…appreciate it,” he says, his words coming out low and rough. As if the words taste foreign in his mouth. 

“Wouldn’t kill you to show it,” you challenge.

You’re waiting for him to lash out and instead he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look, I’m not good at this.”

“I’m not asking you to bow at my feet,” you say, hoping to ease some of the tension in the air. “Although, I wouldn’t be mad about it.” You think you see the briefest hint of a smile flicker across his face. “I just want us to be able to live in the same space. I’m here to help, Logan. Let me.”

“You have no idea how hard this life is.”

A rueful smile tugs at your lips. “I understand more than you think I do.”

Logan’s gaze sharpens, inquisitive as he searches your face, as if he’s trying to decipher the meaning behind your words. He rubs a hand across his face, scratching lightly as his beard. “I’ve gotta couple jobs tonight. Maybe more,” he finally says, changing the conversation. “Should be back before sunrise.”

You nod, his switch in topic not lost on you, but you don’t push him. “Alright,” you say softly. “Just—just take it easy, okay?”

He glances down at you, relief softening his gaze and you know a part of him is grateful you didn’t push further. 

Grabbing his keys, Logan heads towards the door but pauses just before he’s about to leave. He turns to look back over his shoulder. “Thanks,” he murmurs, the word awkward on his lips. 

You give him a small nod of encouragement as he slips out the door. He may not be ready to full open up, but you feel as if he extended a tiny olive branch tonight, cracked open the door just enough to let you peek in.

+++

Over the following weeks, Logan’s a little less avoidant. He doesn’t go out of his way to make conversation—you didn’t expect him to—but he at least as acknowledges your presence. Small nods and murmured goodbyes when he leaves and sleepy hellos when he returns. It’s not much, but you’ll take it. 

You’re cleaning the last of the dishes from dinner, Charles safely settled in front of the TV watching an old movie when Logan comes home. He’s earlier than you anticipated, but exhaustion lines his face nonetheless. You expect him to slip away quietly, but he pauses instead, lingering in the doorway. 

“Smells good,” he says softly, nodding towards the pan of half eaten lasagna still sitting on the counter. 

Surprised, you turn around to face him. You brush the hair from your face and say, “Sit. I’ll make you up some.” 

Logan hesitates and for a moment you think he’s about to decline, but then he nods, his shoulders dropping slightly as he sits down at the table. You fix him up a plate, setting it down in front of him with a bottle of beer as you slide into the chair across from him.  

He tucks quietly into the food, his fork scraping against his plate as he eats, pausing only to wash it down with a few swigs of beer. You watch him, a strange satisfaction tugging at you at the sight of him actually sitting down, enjoying a meal with you, even if it is in silence. 

“Long day?” you ask quietly, gesturing towards his bruised knuckles.

He flexes the fingers on his free hand before tucking them under the table. “Nothin’ I can’t handle,” he mutters, taking another bite of lasagna. “They’ll be gone in a day or two.”

You know not that long ago an injury like that wouldn’t have even marred his skin. Now, the simplest of wounds can take days to heal and it’s not the appearance of his skin that bothers you, but the newfound ache he experiences, the heaviness of constant pain.

You want to help him, ease his discomfort, like you know you could. But you know he’s not ready for that. Not yet.

“You’re good with Charles,” Logan says then, his gaze steady on his plate. “He seems calmer around you.”

Logan’s admission is so unexpected, you find yourself staring at him in disbelief. At your silence, his eyes flicker up to yours and you see more than simple acknowledgement in his expression. It’s subtle, but it’s there, a current of something more, something you’re not quite sure how to address.

“Thank you,” you murmur, your voice softer than you intended. “Charles—he means a lot to me.” You pause briefly, but something compels you to continue. “You both do.”

His gaze is focused on you and you don’t miss the flicker of surprise that breaks through his usual stoic expression. Clearing his throat, he looks down, pushing around the last bit of lasagna on his plate and then after a moment, he sets his fork down and leans back in his chair. “You mean a lot to him, too,” Logan finally says and you wonder if he’s talking about more than just Charles.

From the living room you hear Charles call for you, his voice soft but insistent. The moment between you still crackles as you stand from the table and as you begin to walk away, Logan reaches for your hand. His fingers are warm and rough against your skin and you’re barely able to suppress your shiver. 

“Thank you,” Logan says, his voice surprisingly soft. 

His grip against your skin is gentle, a stark contrast to all his roughness and you can feel the weight of his unspoken words curling around you. Charles calls again, his voice breaking through the moment, but Logan’s hand lingers just a beat longer before he lets go, fingers trailing along your skin. 

+++

“He likes you, you know.”

You glance up from shaving Charles’ face and find him staring at you, a mischievous glint in his eye. You give a soft hum. “Did he tell you that or did you read his mind?”

Charles scoffs and waves his hand dismissively. “What’s the difference, dear?” 

You chuckle, shaking your head as you rinse the razor. “With Logan I’m pretty sure there’s a big difference.”

“Bah, if Logan wanted to keep me out of his head, he would. Stubborn man.” He tsks softly to himself and shakes his head. “But, no my dear, he can be quite loud if you know how to listen.”

You raise an eyebrow, giving him a playful look. “Loud, huh? And what exactly is that brain of his telling you?”

Charles gives you a knowing smile. “Oh, just little things,” he says casually with a wave of his hand, but you can tell by the look on his face that he’s holding back. “He notices you—what you do for me, this place, for him. He may not realize it himself, but his thoughts linger on you more often than he’d like.”

A flicker of hope sparks in your chest and despite yourself, you feel a blush creeping into your cheeks. “Logan doesn’t strike me as the sentimental type.”

“Logan has spent so much of his life running,” Charles continues, his tone and expression growing more thoughtful. “The loss he’s experienced has led him to believe it’s better to be alone than form meaningful connections with people. But you’ve somehow become something of a home for him. And he doesn’t quite know what to make of that.”

Your heart skips a beat as you take in his words. The idea of being a home for Logan, a comfort, feels surreal, and yet...there’s a part of you that dares to hope what Charles is saying is true. That this isn’t some fictional truth his brain has concocted, a product of his disease riddled mind. 

“Home.” You repeat the word softly to yourself, testing the word on your own tongue as if it might shatter into pieces.

Charles nods, his hand reaching for yours, his gaze warm and knowing. “Yes, home. He feels it, deep down, in a way that’s unfamiliar and frightening for him.”

You glance down at your hand in Charles’ grasp, his touch grounding you as his words settle over you. 

“Logan’s spent so long hiding from himself,” Charles continues. “I think he’s convinced himself he doesn’t deserve that kind of peace.”

“And you think I can give him that peace?” you ask quietly, your eyes flicking back up to Charles’ face.

He smiles knowingly and gives your hand a squeeze. “You already have, dear.”

+++

“Want some help?”

You turn to find Logan standing in the entrance of the kitchen, hands tucked into his pockets.

It’s a rare night—one where Logan’s chosen to stay home, taking a night off from the almost endless driving he does. He’s dressed down, well worn jeans and a button-up flannel, and for once you actually think he looks comfortable.

You smile, surprised, but happy to see him there. “Sure, the company would be nice,” you reply as he comes to stand next to you. “Want to wash and dice the potatoes?”

Logan nods and rolls up his sleeves before reaching for the bowl of potatoes you had set aside earlier. You watch him for a moment as he settles into the task with a quiet focus. 

“Smells good,” he comments, gesturing towards the oven. “What’re we having?”

“Charles has been asking for beef tenderloin for weeks now, so I’m finally indulging him.” You finish trimming the last of the green beans and toss them into the bowl beside you. “You know, if you have any favorite meals you’d like me to make, you can tell me.”

Logan pauses and glances at you as he shuts off the tap. He clears his throat and says, “You already are.”

You blink in surprise as Logan’s words sink in and then the realization dawns on you. A soft smile spreads across your face as you piece together the extent of Charles’ meddling. You can’t find it in you to be annoyed and only feel a mix of amusement and fondness towards the old man as you chuckle softly to yourself.

“What’s so funny?” Logan asks, raising his eyebrow as he catches your expression.

“Oh, nothing,” you say, waving him off with a smile. 

Logan doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t pry as he picks up the knife and begins to deftly dice the potatoes. You watch him for a moment, captivated by the simple domesticity of the task. It’s in direct contrast to the man you’ve seen numerous times before, brooding and gruff, brimming with an almost untamed violence. 

It suits him, you think, this quieter version of himself.

You both finish the prep with relative ease. He helps you set the table as the rest of the food cooks, plates clinking softly as he sets them down. You busy yourself with finishing the green beans in a garlic butter as you wait for for the tenderloin to rest enough to carve into. 

“Ah, my dear, this smells wonderful,” Charles announces as he rolls into the kitchen, a warm smile on his face. “And you managed to pull Logan out of his room. What a treat.”

Logan snorts in response, giving Charles a pointed glare.

“I dare say it’s because the company has improved much as of late,” Charles says, his eyes twinkling in amusement as he glances between the both of you. “We all know he’s not out here for my benefit.”

You laugh as you bring the dishes to the table, noting the faintest of blushes creeping along Logan’s cheeks. “I’ll take that as a compliment, Charles.”

“As you should, dear. Your personality is quite sparkling.” He looks over towards Logan. “Isn’t it, Logan?”

Logan’s eyes land on you as he answers, “Yes. Yes, it is.”

Dinner begins quietly, the three of you settling into easy conversation as the first few bites are consumed. Both Charles and Logan hum in delight and a warmth blooms within you watching them both. This—this is the simplicity you’ve been craving with Logan.

As the meal continues, Charles launches into his usual repertoire of stories, those of the school and his students, his words brimming with nostalgia and pride as he talks. Logan sits back in his chair, arms crossed as he listens to him speak, shaking his head fondly at some of the memories.

“You know,” Charles begins, setting his fork down with an air of mischief, “I don’t think I ever told you how I met Logan, have I?”

Logan’s head snaps up. “Don’t, Chuck.”

But Charles is already smiling at you, ignoring Logan’s warning. “It’s a good story, dear. See, Logan had quite the career as an underground cage fighter.”

You lift your brows in surprise and you glance over at Logan, who’s thoroughly unamused by Charles’ choice of topic. “Cage fighting, huh?” you ask, unable to suppress your curiosity. 

Logan shifts uncomfortably in his seat, stabbing at his potatoes with a little more force than necessary. “It wasn’t a career,” he mutters. “Just a distraction. Way to get by.”

“Mmm, yes, perhaps,” Charles chuckles, clearly enjoying himself. “Regardless of the reason, it lead you to this exact moment. Didn’t it, Logan?”

Logan narrows his eyes at Charles, though the glare is only half-hearted. “You make it sound like all it all had some grand purpose.”

“Did it not?” Charles says gently, his tone shifting into something more serious. “Kept you alive, for one. But more than that, it brought you to us. To me.” He pauses for a moment, his eyes darting towards you. “To her.”

The words hang in the air and you glance over at Logan, whose expression softens just slightly. Without thinking, you reach across the table and give his forearm a gentle squeeze. His eyes meet yours, a flicker of a smile tugging at his lips.

Charles watches the exchange with quiet satisfaction before clearing his throat. “Well, I believe my work here is done,” he announces, wheeling himself back from he table. “Logan, fancy a game of chess? I haven’t made a player out of her yet.”

You laugh to yourself as Logan follows Charles into the living room. After clearing the kitchen from dinner and loading the last of the dishes into the dishwasher, you join them both in the living room. Tucking yourself into the couch, you read while the two of them play, the clinking of wooden chess pieces and the occasional dry quip from Charles filling the room.

From your spot on the couch, you glance up from your book every now and then to watch them. Logan’s brow furrows in concentration, while Charles’ face is more relaxed as they play. You smile to yourself, wondering how often they played like this in the past, when times were simpler.

You’re not sure when you fell asleep or how long you’ve been out, but you’re jostled awake as two large, warm arms wrap around you, holding you close as you’re lifted off the couch. Logan’s familiar scent—cigar smoke and pine—fill your nose and you blink up to find him walking you down the hall towards your room.

“Logan?” you mumble, voice thick with sleep. “D’you really cage fight?”

Logan chuckles softly, the sound rumbling through his chest. “I really did.”

“Did it hurt?”

“No.”

You blink slowly, your sleep-laden mind struggling to process his answer. “Not even a little?” Your voice is barely audible as you nestle closer into the warmth of his chest.

“Not in the way you think,” he answers, nudging open the door to your room with his foot.

You’re too drowsy to ask what he means and instead you hum softly, a noncommittal sound that Logan feels more than hears. Lowering you onto the bed, he moves with a gentleness you’ve never felt from him before. He brushes a strand of hair from your face and pulls the blanket over you before he turns to leave.

Your limbs are heavy, eyes barely open, but you call out softly—“Logan?”

He looks back towards you. “Yeah?”

“I’m glad Charles found you,” you murmur, closing your eyes.

Logan doesn’t answer, but you swear you feel the lightest of kisses against the top of your head before he leaves.

+++

It’s deep into the night when you hear the front door finally open. Your heart flutters against your ribs as you swing out of bed, unsure of what condition you’ll find him in. He was expected back two days ago, those extra hours away feeling like an unfathomable eternity. 

You find him sitting at the kitchen table, dress shirt hanging off one shoulder, the rest of his clothes rumpled and bloodied. A large gash oozes from his shoulder and you can’t stop the gasp that falls from your lips. 

Logan looks up at you, eyes narrowed and lined with exhaustion. “Don’t look at me like that,” he grunts, tugging off the rest of his shirt. 

“How else am I supposed to look at you?” you ask, taking a tentative step forward. “No phone call or text letting me know you’re not coming home and then you waltz in after midnight soaked in blood and covered in wounds.” Unshed tears burn in your eyes but you will yourself not to cry. 

“Didn’t ask you to care about me,” he bites back, but his tone is more weary than argumentative. 

“Oh, fuck you, Logan,” you snip, but your tone lacks venom.

He ignores you, pushing up from the chair with a heavy groan and limps over towards the cabinets. He shuffles through one of them, pulling out the makeshift sewing kit before sitting back down. You watch as he attempts to thread the needle, growing increasingly frustrated when he keeps missing. 

Shoving down your own frustration, you pull up a chair next to him and reach for the needle and thread. He pulls his hands away from you, turning in the chair to keep you away. You chase after his movements, finally grabbing his wrists and removing the supplies from his grasp.

“I don’t need your help,” he growls. 

You sigh, tired of this same argument, this same endless loop every time he comes home injured. “Goddamit, Logan, just let me help you.”

He drags his gaze up to yours, eyes tracing the lines of your face. His chest still heaves with heavy breaths, but you can see the anger bleed from him. He nods once, turning just enough so that you have access to his wound. Threading the needle, you place a gentle hand on his shoulder, ignoring the flinch he gives at your touch. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” you whisper. 

Logan huffs. “It’s a needle, darlin’. It’s not gonna feel nice.”

You try to ignore the flip your heart does at his use of the word darling. Despite his earlier gruffness and proclivity to push you away, Logan has softened to you over the last couple of months. Since that first dinner you shared, he’s joined you and Charles more often. Or if he comes home late, sought out the leftovers you’ve kept for him. He’s engaged in conversation, offering small pieces of himself, pieces that you’ve cradled close and nurtured. 

But there’s a tension between you, thick and heavy in the air, and you wonder if he feels it too. Feels that same undeniable pull you’ve always felt in his presence. You’d like to think so, otherwise you were doomed to love him silently, your feelings for him bound in the quiet of your mind.

“Just trust me,” you say. 

Slowly, you release your power, warmth spreading from your fingertips, easing his pain and discomfort as you begin to stitch him up. You try to ignore the heavy press of his gaze on your face and you can almost hear his unspoken thoughts, his words still stuck on his tongue.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, his shoulder relaxing as you continue to work.

You glance up at him then, finding his expression softer than you’ve seen it. “A mutant is a dangerous thing to be, Logan,” you answer, your voice soft. “Few people know what I can do. Those I trust.”

For a long moment, Logan just looks at you, his eyes unreadable. Then, a rough, tired sigh falls from his lips. “You coulda told me.”

You take a steadying breath, his words lingering in the space between you. “Maybe,” you say, your fingers brushing against his skin as you continue to stitch. “But you don’t make it easy to talk to you.”

Logan lets out a low huff. “No. I guess I don’t, do I?”

You finish the last stitch, securing the knot. Your fingers linger a touch long than necessary, the warmth of his skin a comfort you’re loathe to lose just yet. Slowly, you lift your gaze to his and you feel your heart beat solidly against your ribs as he looks back at you like he’s seeing something there he hadn’t allowed himself to before. 

Logan’s voice is low when he finally speaks. “Why you keep stickin’ around? Watchin’ me come home time after time covered in blood?”

“Because you deserve it.” The words tumble from your mouth before you can stop them. “Even if you don’t see that.”

He doesn’t respond, not right away, as he continues to watch you, his eyes tracing the lines of your face. Then he reaches up for you, fingers curling around your wrist, his skin warm and rough against yours. He holds you there as if grounding himself in your presence, his thumb drawing random patterns against your skin. The gesture is simple, but vulnerable and open in a way he rarely shows.

“I’m no good for you,” he murmurs, glancing down at where he’s touching you. “For anybody.”

“How ‘bout you let me be the judge of that?” you answer, your voice steady. “You’re more than you think you are.”

Logan clenches his jaw, a flicker of disbelief crossing his features, and you know deep below the surface he’s waging a war against himself, one he’s been fighting for far too long. His thumb stills on your wrist, his grip loosening slightly, but not letting go. 

Placing your hand over his, you give him a soft smile. “C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up.”

+++

You’re surprised that he doesn’t argue, doesn’t try to brush you off or push you away as you gently nudge him towards the bathroom. He still gives you a dubious glance as he looks down at the tub, but you just ignore it, moving past him to run the tap.

You give him privacy to undress and get settled before you reenter the bathroom. The sight of him, as large as he his with his knees pulled up to his chest, makes you laugh, garnishing a terse look from him.

“You find this amusing?”

“Big man in a little tub? Yeah, I do,” you reply with a smile. “Just relax, Logan. This’ll be our secret.”

He huffs, but does seem to visibly relax, resting his arms over his knees. You kneel down in front of him, resting one hand gently against his forearm as your other reaches for the washcloth. You can feel the tension release from his muscles as your power floods through him and he breathes out a soft, “Oh,” as all the pain and discomfort is eased from his body.

You wonder how long it’s truly been since he’s felt like this, unburdened by the pain and suffering of his own body. Your heart aches for him as you slowly begin to wash him, rubbing soft circles over the scarred flesh of his back, rinsing away the blood dried to his skin. 

Even battered and marred as he is, you still find him beautiful—you always have. When you first started working with him all those months ago, you felt that pang of attraction when you met him, you’d have been blind not to. Ruggedly handsome, so strong and sure of himself. But you know that wasn’t all that drew you to him. Deep down, below all the tough, seemingly impenetrable exterior, you saw the man he truly was. Someone born of scars and rough edges, yet gentle. Someone who would selflessly put himself before others, even at his own expense. 

You let the cloth linger a moment longer against his skin before dipping it back into the water, watching as his blood rinses from the fabric. Squeezing the excess water out, you press it back against his collarbone, tracing the warm cloth along his neck and over his shoulders. Logan doesn’t move, his eyes half-closed, his expression relaxed in a way you’ve never seen before.

Something deep tugs at you as you realize how vulnerable he is right now, how trusting. He hides behind a gruff exterior, his true self guarded so carefully so that he doesn’t let people in, doesn’t open himself up to the hurt that trusting another person can bring. But maybe you’ve finally cracked through, broken down a little bit of that wall he surrounds himself with.

The warm water drips from his skin as you continue to wash him, letting your fingers trail gently along the newly cleaned lines of his arms. Logan shivers at your touch, but he doesn’t pull away. If anything, he seems to lean into it, his breathing deepening, muscles falling even more slack. 

“Feel nice?” you ask in a murmur, voice barely above a whisper.

He nods, finally glancing up at you through his half-lidded gaze. “’S very nice,” he replies, his voice rough.

“Good. You deserve it,” you say, repeating your sentiment from earlier.

You feel a flicker of warmth as his eyes meet yours and he simply nods. It takes everything in you to not smile too widely, to keep the moment gentle, but you take his acceptance to heart. 

Running the cloth down his ribs, you pause when you feel the misshapen knot of a bruise beneath your fingers and glancing down, you find a deep purple hue coloring his skin. Your eyes dart to his with worry, knowing that an injury like that will take him at least a week to heal, if not longer, in his weakened state. That with every breath he’ll feel the pain of his muscles pulling and the bruise spreading if you’re not touching him.

Dropping the washcloth in the water, you press your palm against his side and take in a deep breath to steady yourself. Then, a warmth spreads from your skin into his as you pull his injury from him, feeling his skin knit back together, feeling his abused muscles realign themselves under his skin. A dull, yet sharp ache, blooms along your ribs as you continue to pull his pain into yourself, erasing the injury from his body. With a final gasp, you draw back, your fingers now running along unmarred flesh knitted whole. 

Logan tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze as the back of his knuckles brush against your cheek. His eyes flicker to yours, holding your gaze, and for a moment, the room falls into a deep quiet.

That pull between you, the magnetic force that you’ve felt since the beginning, feels amplified now. You’re acutely aware of every inch of space between you—how small it is, how easy it would be to close it. How badly you want to close it. You swallow, feeling the tension coil in your belly as he continues to hold your gaze, unblinking, but more open and raw than he’s ever been before.

“What are you doing to me?” he asks.

Your breath catches in your throat at his question, voice rough and laced with something between wonder and disbelief. As if he can’t quite fathom what you’ve done for him—what you’ve given him so freely.

Logan’s eyes search yours, his fingers drifting from your cheek to trace along your jaw, lingering with a tenderness that belies the man he presents to the outside world. His gaze is steady and intimate, as if he’s trying to understand you in a way that goes beyond words. But you say nothing, your heart pounding too loudly in your ears to form a reply.

“You took it on yourself, my pain?”

You simply nod, distracted by the way Logan’s fingers continue to brush along the edge of your ear, tracing the lines of your face as if he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go. 

“Why?”

“Because I want to,” you whisper, unable to resist the pull of his hand against your skin, the warmth of his touch that you feel with every fiber of your being. “Because it’s the one thing I can do to help you.”

A beat of silence passes, the air thick and heavy with unspoken words. He exhales, shaky and deep, letting his hand slide to the back of your neck. The calloused pads of his fingers press gently against your skin, anchoring you in place and you can feel him pull you closer, his gaze dropping to your lips, his breath mingling with yours in the small, intimate space between you.

“I shouldn’t want this, want you,” he says, voice so low it’s almost a rumble. “But, fuck, I do.” 

His confession is raw, leaving him unguarded for the first time in a long time and before he can pull back, before he can throw those walls back up around himself, you close the gap, resting your forehead against his. You bring your hand up to touch his face, thumb brushing over his cheek as you breath him in, feeling the heat radiate between you. 

Logan’s hand slides further along your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he finally, gently, presses his lips to yours. His kiss isn’t demanding or rushed or filled with passion, but a lingering connection, the promise of something more. His lips are softer than you imagined, his touch more careful than you expected, as if he’s afraid he’ll break you. Slowly, his thumb traces circles against your cheek, steadying and soothing, pulling you closer. 

When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours, eyes closed. His breath is warm against your skin. “I don’t wanna push you away anymore,” he murmurs.

“Good because I don’t want you to.”

Logan lets out a breath, a hint of a smile finally softening his features. 

Reluctantly, you pull away and pick the washcloth up again, intent on finishing what you started. The water turns to rust as you wash him of blood and grime, making sure you reach each cut, each bruise, each scar on his body that makes up the map of who he is. 

You turn off the tap and hand him a towel, averting your eyes as he stands, wrapping the towel low across his hips. Logan reaches for you, tugging on the collar of your shirt to pull you closer. You stumble a bit as he pulls you in, surprised by the insistence in his grip. Logan’s eyes meet yours, an intensity behind his gaze that makes your breath catch.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, hand slipping along your jaw, his thumb pressing against your bottom lip. 

You’re drawn forward as Logan’s lips find yours again, but this time there’s an urgency behind the kiss, a desperation and need he’s no longer trying to hide. He holds your face gently in his hands as he deepens the kiss, his nose pressing against yours, his beard scraping against your skin and you find yourself melting against him.

This is what you’ve been craving since you met him. Despite it all—the rage simmering just below his surface, the sharpness of his exterior, the sometimes shocking callousness of his words—you always knew there was a tenderness underneath, a softness that even his tortured past couldn’t erase. 

Logan’s hands drift from your face, trailing down your neck and tracing along the curve of your spine as he presses you closer until there’s no space between you. The dampness of his skin bleeds into your shirt and you gasp into his mouth when he shifts his hips just enough and you feel heat of his erection against your thigh.

He pulls away from your mouth long enough to husk against your lips, “I’m old, not dead.” His teeth nip lightly at your bottom lip. “I’ve gotta beautiful woman lettin’ me kiss her, what did you expect?”

Your fingers trail along the edge of the towel slung low across this hips and a thrill runs through you as you feel his abdominal muscles flutter beneath your touch. You peer up at him, noting the flush of his skin, the black of his eyes as you tug the fabric just enough to loosen it. “How long has it been since someone has touched you, Logan?” you ask, your breath warm in the space between you.

Logan’s hands urge your hips closer, seeking friction as he starts to slowly rut against your thigh. You hear him swallow as your fingers dip below the fabric, brushing along the damp hair at the base of his cock. 

“F—fuck,” he groans, guttural and low, his head dropping down to your shoulder. “Since before you.”

The weight of Logan’s confession presses into you and in that moment you want to give him everything. Wrap him in all the love you can muster, show him something other than pain and suffering. 

You move your hand from the towel, allowing the fabric to fall from his waist and pool forgotten on the floor. Logan’s breath catches as your fingers wrap around him fully, the heat and weight of his cock pressing against your palm. 

A ragged groan escapes his throat. “Christ,” he mutters, voice thick and vibrating against your skin. “You don’t gotta—”

“I want to,” you interrupt, slowly and deliberately dragging your hand along his length, tracing the vein along the underside of his cock with your fingertips.

Logan’s hips jerk involuntarily, seeking friction, chasing your hand, and you oblige, tightening your grip just enough to elicit another groan from him. 

“What do you like?” The question lands in the sliver of space between you, your strokes still light, teasing.

“Firmer, more ah—” He breaks off as you tighten your grip on the upstroke. “Fuck, yes, like that, sweetheart.”

A shiver runs down your spine as his hands find your waist, fingers clutching at you almost hard enough to bruise. His breaths are growing uneven, each exhale warm against your neck as he fights to maintain some semblance of control.

“You keep that up,” he rasps, lips grazing your ear, “and I’m not gonna last long.”

His admission sends a rush of pride through you and you tilt your head back to look at him, your thumb brushing over the sensitive head of his cock, spreading the wetness there. Logan’s eyes meet yours, dark and heavy-lidded, his expression raw and unguarded. You like him like this, such a large, imposing man boiled down to pure wanton need. 

“I don’t mind,” you reply, keeping your movements steady, your strokes firm yet gentle. You focus on the subtle shifts in his breathing, the way his fingers grip you tighter each time you find the right rhythm. “Just wanna make you feel good, Logan.”

He leans forward, capturing your lips into a kiss that’s both rough and messy, teeth nipping at your lip as his tongue licks into your mouth. He groans are muffled against your mouth as his hips begin to thrust in time with your strokes, his movements growing more erratic as he chases after his release. 

“Can’t believe—ah, fuck—can’t believe how good you’re makin’ me feel,” he growls against your lips.

You smile into his mouth, your free hand brushing along his hipbone as your strokes quicken. His whole body tenses, the muscles in his shoulders and arms flexing, his abdominal muscles taut as he teeters on the edge.

“Let go, Logan,” you say. “I’ve got you.”

With a strangled groan, he comes, his release spilling over your hand, hot and thick. His body shudders against yours as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. You hold him close as he continues to thrust lazily into your grip, your own movements slowing as you guide him through the aftershocks. 

For a moment, neither of you speaks, then Logan lifts his head, his hazel eyes soft as they meet yours. “You walked into my life and I knew—I knew—you would ruin me.”

You smile to yourself, unable to stop the thought that floats into your head—he’s ruined you as well. 

+++

The text comes in at a little over one AM—hurt.

You jump out of bed, adrenaline rushing through your veins as you slip into one of his discarded flannels and head out into the night. Pacing the driveway, your heart jumps into your throat at every passing headlight, your thumbnail almost bitten down to the quick as you wait for him.

The minutes bleed into eternity until you finally see the limo turn down the long drive and it takes all your willpower to not run and meet him halfway. You’re bouncing on your heels as he finally comes to a stop, the driver’s side door opening with a faint groan of steel. 

Your heart stutters in your chest as he emerges from the car, blood soaking through his shirt, dark and spreading, as he steps towards you on shaky legs. Logan’s face is pale in the moonlight, his breathing uneven and shallow and white-hot dread shoots up your spine as you see his arm hanging limp, two of his claws unsheathed and dripping blood.

“Oh, fuck, fuck!” you gasp, rushing to his side.

Logan tries to wave you off, gritting his teeth as he grips the doorframe. “”M fine,” he grits, but the tremor in his voice betrays him. 

You reach for him, hands already attempting to steady him as his knees buckle and he collapses to the ground beneath him. “Careful. Claws,” he rasps as his left hand seeks purchase against your shoulder.

“I don’t fucking care about your claws, Logan,” you snap, although you both know your anger isn’t at him. You glance up at him and for once you think you actually see fear in his eyes. “What happened?”

“Gas. Robbery.” Each word punches out of his chest, the effort to speak sending tremors down his limbs. “Got ‘em.” He nods down towards his limp arm, claws still unsheathed, but slowly, so slowly starting to retract.

He winces as you help him peel off his coat to get to the shirt underneath. Your fingers shake as they trace the holes the bullets made—one in his shoulder, dangerously close to his lungs and the other just below his ribs. Hooking your fingers through the fabric, you rip it from his chest—the wounds are deep and his skin is hot and slick with sweat.

Panic claws at you and unshed tears burn in your eyes. You’ve seen Logan hurt before, but this—this was different. His breathing is painfully shallow, his usual gruffness and resilience absent. 

“Logan, you’re not healing,” you whisper, your voice shaking as your fingers stain with blood. Logan simply grunts, trying to wave you off, but lacking the strength. “I can’t…I can’t lose you. I can help.”

Logan’s eyes widen as he grabs for your wrist. “No. You’ll hurt yourself.”

“I don’t care!” you shout. “I love you, dammit, and I’m not just going to sit here and watch you die!”

Before he can protest, you press your palms over his wounds, the familiar warmth of your power surging through you as it spreads from your palms into his torn flesh.

The pain hits you like a freight train.

It’s sharp and relentless, searing through your shoulder and into the softness of your belly like molten fire. You gasp, biting back a scream as your body jerks instinctively away from the intensity, every cell in your body demanding you withdraw from the torture. 

But you don’t stop. You cling to him, tears streaming down your face as you channel your power into him, knitting his flesh back together. You can feel it, the way his muscles, bones and tissue rearrange themselves, months of healing taking place in mere moments. Every second feels like an eternity, but you refuse to let go.

You’re dimly aware of Logan yelling at you to stop, his own pain momentarily forgotten as he watches you endure his agony. 

Black dots dance in your vision as the last of his wounds come together, the spent bullets clinking to the gravel and you finally collapse against him, trembling, your breath coming in ragged gasps. The fire in your body begins to dull, fading to a cold, hollow ache as Logan wraps his arms around you, pulling you tight against his chest.

“Hey,” you mumble against him, your voice barely above a whisper. “You’re okay now.”

“Me?” Logan’s voice is low, disbelieving as his hand cradles the back of your head as if you might shatter. “You’re the one—why the fuck would you do that? You could’ve—dammit, you—”

His words break off, his forehead dropping to yours as his breath shudders against your cheek. You can feel the tension radiating through him, warring with himself between his gratitude and anger, between his guilt and the love he’s too afraid to speak out loud.

“I told you why,” you answer, lifting your head to look up at him. 

Logan’s jaw clenches, his words caught in his throat, but his eyes say everything is voice won’t. You don’t need him to say it, not yet, but you can feel it, pressing just below the surface.

“C’mon, let’s get you inside.”

+++

There’s a reverence in which Logan washes you. 

Steam swirls around you as he works the thickly lathered loofah over your shoulders, down across your collarbones and down along the soft planes of your stomach. The water rinses away the faint metallic tang of blood, leaving behind the fresh scent of soap. He continues with a silent determination, as if the act of washing you can erase all the pain you’ve taken from him.

You know better than to convince him you’re fine, that the pain is always temporary, that it only lasts for a few minutes, sometimes just a bit longer. That the pain is something you’d endure for him again and again if he’d let you. 

His thumb brushes along the underside of your ribs, searching for a wound you know he won’t find. You reach for him, lacing your fingers together with his. He blinks up at you, hazel eyes holding far too much worry for such a stoic man.

“I’m not going to break, Logan,” you say softly.

A wordless noice escapes his throat as he removes himself from your grasp and continues to work, ditching the loofah in favor of his hands. His fingers are warm and calloused against your skin as they glide lower, down over the swell of your hips, over your thighs, down towards your knees. 

His touch morphs from one of care and comfort to one more sensual, simmering with unspoken tension as his fingers rest in the hollow behind your knee. You glance down at him, water droplets catching in his hair, running off the slope of his nose. 

Though you’ve seen him bare before, you can help but trace the lines of his body—the broadness of his shoulders, the well defined muscles of his chest, the sturdiness of his thighs, the scars that mar his skin. The sight of him stirs something deep within you and you feel your pulse thrum beneath your skin.

“Logan,” you murmur, your voice almost lost in the sound of the water.

He looks up at you then, eyes locking with yours. A storm swirls within them, a mix of guilt, affection and an intensity that takes your breath away. Leaning in, he presses the barest of kisses to the inside of your knee before he rises to his full height, pressing you close.

“D’you mean what you said before?” he asks, voice low.

I love you, dammit!

“Yes,” you answer without hesitation.

Logan exhales sharply, the tension he’s been holding coiled in his muscles loosening as he loops his arms around your waist. “I’m not very good with words,” he admits, his breath fanning across your damp skin. “Can I show you?”

There’s no mistaking the meaning behind his words and you can only nod, your voice catching in your throat. 

His lips find yours, mouth moving over yours slow and deliberate as if he’s savoring the taste of you. The first touch is a spark, the second a fire, and by the third, it’s an inferno that engulfs you both and leaves you breathless. Logan kisses you like you’re his anchor, his salvation, his touch desperate and full of everything he can’t yet put into words.

Your fingers slide into his hair, gripping the strands at the nape of his neck as you pull him closer, deepening the kiss. He groans against your mouth, the sound swallowed in the space between you. His tongue brushes against yours, teasing and exploring and you respond in kind, your nails scraping along his scalp.

Logan’s control is fraying. You can feel it in the way his teeth nip at your bottom lip, the way his hands press along the curve of your spine, the way he can’t seem to find enough of your skin to touch, to caress. A low growl rumbles through his chest as you slip a hand between your slick bodies, finding his cock, thick and heavy against your belly.

You give one slow drag of your palm along his length before he’s gripping your thighs and forcing your legs around his waist. His mouth leaves yours, trailing down to the curve of your jaw as he presses you against the wall, the coolness of the tile a direct contrast to the heat of your skin and you can’t stop the gasp that escapes your lips. 

Despite his age, the metal bones inside him slowly poisoning him and causing him human aches and pains, he’s still able to hold you up solidly with one arm as the other trails along your hip bone and dips down to where you’re warm and wet. 

“This all for me?” he asks in a murmur, sliding a finger along the seam of your cunt, just barely brushing against your clit. 

Your breath hitches and you grip his shoulders, nails pressing lightly into his skin as you nod. Logan’s eyes darken at your reaction, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Yes,” you finally manage to whisper. “Always for you.”

“Good,” he growls, leaning in to nip at the skin just below your ear. The deep rumble of his voice vibrates through you, his touch deliberate and almost torturously slow as he slides his fingers through your folds, spreading your slickness with a focused and unrelenting precision. 

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp, your head tilting back against the wall as he finally presses his thumb to your clit, circling it with just enough pressure to have your thighs trembling around his waist. 

“I got you,” he coos against your skin, his lips trailing from the pulse point in your neck to your collarbone. His teeth scrape along the curve of your shoulder, his free hand gripping your hip tighter to steady you as his fingers continue to tease and coax. “Lemme make you feel good.”

Every nerve ending is afire beneath him, every motion, every stroke of his fingers against your cunt leaving your mind reeling with pleasure. Your nails dig further into corded muscles of his shoulders, desperate for something to anchor yourself to. You pull back when you see the tiny, crescent shaped cuts marring his skin.

His eyes snap up to yours, sharp and molten. “No, do it,” he urges, fingers still moving. “Mark me with somethin’ pretty.”

“Fuck, Logan,” you gasp. 

“Say my name again,” he demands, his voice rough and commanding. There’s a quiet desperation in his tone, as if hearing it grounds him. Grounds him to this moment. To you. 

You can’t help but obey, whispering his name like a prayer, and he rewards you by slipping one long finger inside you, the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure along your spine. Logan watches your face intently as if memorizing the way you react to his touch. When he adds a second finger and slowly begins to thrust his hand, you cling further to him, the heat inside you building to an almost unbearable intensity.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice low and reverent. “You’re so beautiful like this. So wet and warm and tight around me.”

His words barely register in your mind, too focused on the way his fingers curl and thrust inside you, finding that soft spot that makes your eyes roll back. He’s relentless now, his thumb pressing hard against your clit as he brings you closer and closer to the edge.

“Logan, I’m so close,” you whine, your hips beginning to roll against his hand, seeking just a bit more friction, forcing his fingers deeper inside of you.

The tension coiling low in your belly finally snaps, your orgasm washing over you in waves that make your whole body shudder as you cry out his name. Logan holds you through it, his hand continuing to thrust against you as he draws out every ounce of pleasure from you, his own breathing ragged against your skin.

When you finally come down, Logan presses a kiss to your temple as he helps you unwrap your legs from his waist and carefully sets you down, keeping you close. 

You tilt your head to meet his gaze, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “I didn’t think you’d be into shower sex, old man,” you tease with a smile.

His laugh is low. “I can make exceptions. I need a bed to fuck you properly, though.” 

“Prove it,” you challenge.

+++

The heat and intensity between you doesn’t diminish as Logan helps you out of the shower and guides you down the hallway towards his bedroom. A shiver of anticipation crawls up your spine as you get closer, knowing that once you cross this line, there’s no going back, that he will have claimed you fully.

You scoot back onto the bed, watching as he approaches you with a fire in his gaze that doesn’t waver. He climbs onto the mattress, knee pressing down between yours as he cages you in from above, gently pinning you beneath him. 

Leaning down, his lips brush against yours, teasing. “Still wanna challenge me, sweetheart?” His voice is a low gravelly growl that sends a prickling rush of arousal down your limbs.

“Always,” you reply breathlessly, arching into his touch as his hands slide down your thighs, parting them with ease. 

His grin is sharp as he leans back to take you in fully and you acutely feel the weight of his gaze against your skin. He traces his calloused fingers over your damp skin, along the dips of your collarbones, under the swell of each breast, mapping the curve of your hips as if committing you to memory. Dipping his head, he leans down between your legs, his beard grazing the sensitive skin of your inner thighs and you can’t help but shudder at the sensation.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful,” he says, almost to himself, his voice dripping with desire. He drags his lips higher, brushing along your damp cunt, his breath hot and tantalizing. “And all mine.”

The possessiveness in his tone has you clenching around nothing, heat pooling low in your belly and your fingers tangle in his hair, urging him closer. But he ignores your silent plea, almost deliberately testing your patience as he kisses you everywhere except where you want him most.

“Logan, please,” you gasp, the ache between your thighs almost painful.

“Patience,” he chides with a smirk, though his own resolve seems to be thinning. His hands grip your hips, pulling you closer before he flattens his palms against your thighs, opening you fully to him. Then, his tongue is on you, lapping at you with flat, broad strokes in a rhythm that quickly has you teetering on the edge.

Logan’s focus is unrelenting, his low growls of approval vibrating through you as he works you over with an enthusiasm that proves to you this is about more than just pleasure—he’s claiming you, showing you just how much you mean to him. Making you his. 

Your thighs tremble around him and his warm, rough hands hold you steady as he slips one, then two fingers deep inside of you. It’s embarrassing how quickly you come as he thrusts his fingers against that spot inside you, your second orgasm of the night crashing over you as his name falls from his lips in a breathless moan. 

Before you can properly catch your breath, Logan is moving from between your thighs, making his way back up your body, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses against your skin. His lips finally find yours in a kiss that’s messy and desperate and you can taste yourself on his tongue, sharp and bright, and the intimacy of it sends a thrill through you. 

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” he groans against your lips, his voice wrecked as he grinds his hips against yours, his cock hard and insistent against your hip. “Could spend the rest of my life between between those thighs.”

“Why stop there?” you tease, your lips tugging into a smirk. “I thought you said you’d fuck me properly.”

Logan’s eyes darken, your challenge seeming to light something dark and primal in him. His grin is all teeth as he sits back on his heels, hands curling around your hips and pulling you down the bed like you weigh nothing until your hips are flush with his. “You gotta mouth on you, sweetheart. Should we see if you can still talk stuffed full of my cock?”

The weight of his cock brushes against your slick folds and you gasp at the sensation, your nerve endings exquisitely sensitive. Logan grips himself at the base, giving himself one languid stroke before running the thick head along your cunt, teasing you with shallow thrusts. Each slow, deliberate stroke of him sliding against you leaves you desperate and aching and you lift your hips in search of more.

“Look at you,” he murmurs. “So needy. Bet you’ll take me so well, huh?”

“Yes,” you breathe, nails digging into the muscles of his forearms. “Please.”

He presses into you then, the stretch of his cock making your jaw drop as he takes his time, sinking in inch by inch, filling you completely. Logan’s gaze is locked on yours, heavy and possessive as he watches every flicker of pleasure cross your face. 

“Fuck” he groans when he’s fully seated against your hips, his body trembling with the effort to stay still. “You feel…so fuckin’ tight. So damn perfect.”

Your hands clutch at his shoulders, anchoring yourself to him as he starts to move, pulling out torturously slow before thrusting back in harder, setting a rhythm that’s relentless and consuming. Each stroke of his hips has you crying out, your body arching into his as you meet him thrust for thrust.

“Takin’ me so well, sweetheart,” he growls, his fingers gripping the flesh of your hips hard enough to bruise as he continues to pound into you. “Like you were made for me.”

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mixing in with your whimpered moans and Logans own ragged groans. He leans down, bracing himself on his forearms, the wiry hair on his chest teasing your nipples as his lips find your neck, biting and sucking marks into your skin that feel like promises.

Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him in deeper, your heels digging into his back as the coil inside you begins to tighten once more. He feels it too, the way you body clenches around him, and his pace falters slightly, his breaths coming faster.

“C’mon,” he rasps against the pulse point on your neck. “Wanna feel you come. Wanna make you fall apart.”

It doesn’t take much more—just a few more well-angled thrusts that hit that spot inside you and the tension finally snaps, your orgasm ripping through you with a force that leaves you trembling. Logan’s finesse is slipping, thrusts growing erratic as chases his own release.

“Come Logan,” you manage in a whisper. “Come for me.”

His hips stutter as he groans your name, spilling into you as his body tenses, lazily thrusting against you as he wrings out the last of his pleasure. He stays deep inside you, still for several moments before he shifts just enough to collapse against your side.

For a long moment, neither of you moves, the only sounds in the room being your heavy breathes and the pounding of your heart. Logan rests his head against your chest, heavy and sweat slick between your breasts. You brush at the strands of hair against his forehead before running your finger along the old scar on his cheek.

He lifts his head to look up at you, his gaze soft yet still simmering with hunger. “I do, you know,” he murmurs. His fingers brush idly against your skin. “Love you.”

A smile spreads across your face, warming blooming in your chest.

“I know.”

+++

You wake before he does, rolling over to find him prone, face buried in the pillow he hugs close to his chest. Sunlight filters in through the half slatted blinds, catching on the silver in his hair and beard and you can’t help but admire how handsome he looks, how at peace he is beside you. He’s relaxed in sleep for the first time since you came here. You’ve heard his growls and yelps of terror that echo in the night, seen the claw marks that pierce his sheets.

Your mind filters back to last night and how he looked as he came apart inside you, how desperate and needy he was for your touch upon his skin. The memory of his gasps and groans send a rush of warmth over your skin, making you dimly aware of the ache between your legs. Logan, so guarded, so unyielding and seemingly unbreakable, trembled as he came, his voice rough and wrecked as he called out your name. You shiver thinking about it.

You want to hear it again. But not now.

Resisting the urge to reach out and brush the hair from his forehead, you leave him undisturbed and slide out of bed. Padding into the kitchen, you find Charles sitting in his chair at the kitchen table, the newspaper spread out in front of him. He looks up at you with a warm smile as you start a pot of coffee, the machine humming to life. 

“Ah, I see,” he comments, a smirk tugging at his lips.

You glance over at Charles, his eyes back on the paper in front of him, but his smile still paints his face, sly and knowing. Heat creeps up your neck as you busy yourself with the coffee. “Are you reading my mind?” you ask, trying to force nonchalance into your tone.

Charles chuckles softly and taps at his temple. “I don’t have to. You’re projecting. And quite loudly, at that.”

You bite your lip as you fill your mug, leaning against the counter as the coffee warms your hands. You attempt to clear your mind, trying to think of anything mundane—the weather, baseball, laundry. Charles just shakes his head. “Relax, my dear. What the two of you do together as consenting adults is none of my business.”

“Oh, God,” you groan, your cheeks aflame. “That’s what I’m projecting?”

“Not that explicitly, no. You think more in feelings, rather than words. But they’re quite powerful emotions and rather hard to ignore when they’re radiating as strongly as yours are this morning.”

You bury your face in your hand, peeking at Charles through your fingers, which only seems to amuse him further. “You’re enjoying this far too much,” you mutter. 

“Perhaps,” Charles says with a laugh. “But you’re helping him. Healing him. And that, my dear, is worth everything.” 

Before you can respond, you hear the sound of heavy footsteps coming down the hall. Logan rounds the corner, hair tousled from sleep, his body still bare except for the pair of low slung sweatpants clinging to his hips. His eyes find yours first, softening in a way they rarely do for anyone else as he scratches at the back of his head and mumbles, “Mornin’.”

“Morning,” you reply with a smile, thankful for the distraction. You pour a second cup of coffee and offer it up to him. “Coffee?”

Logan grunts in affirmation, moving towards you, but instead of reaching for the mug, he loops an arm around your waist, pulling you against him. He buries his face in your neck, beard scraping against your skin as he sighs. “Didn’t like wakin’ up with you not there,” he breathes into your hair, his voice so low you almost don’t hear him.

“Sorry,” you whisper. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“S’okay,” he says softly, pressing the lightest of kisses just under your ear. “Next time, wake me.”

Your heart stutters against your ribs at his open display of affection, the softness and warmth in which he holds you, and the promise behind his words. From over his shoulder you see Charles give you a slight nod, a bright smile on his face before he turns his attention back to the newspaper in front of him.

You think back to what Charles told you all those months ago, about how you were a home for Logan. Those words echo in your mind as you feel Logan’s steady weight against you. He’s so different now, soft and unguarded and in that moment you know.

You’re home, too.

[rbfclassy]

TAKE CARE! — DABI

SYNOPSIS...dabi has always been stubborn, always been trouble, so whenever he gets hurt you’re the only one willing to help him even if he says he doesn’t need it

INFO...ex bf!dabi x fem!reader, slight angst mentions of blood, kissing, makeout, groping, mentions of a breakup, not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

Your eyes were fixated on the tv in front your as you watched one of your favorite movies. It was late at night and you were finally granted a day off from work after working seven days straight. You were exhausted and just needed time to yourself after the last hectic week. This was the perfect way to unwind. You sipped on your cup of juice, letting a small giggle at the scene from the movie before there were three loud knocks on your door.

Quickly, you paused the movie and waited in silence as you looked towards your front door. It was nearly one in the morning and you didn’t have the slightest clue who it could be. That wasn’t until you heard their voice. “Y/n, come on! Open up!” They knocked on the door again. Your eyes went wide as you recognized who it was. Jumping to your feet, you ran over to the door and unlocked it, only to see Dabi standing there slightly hunched over with his hand holding his side. “Fuck!” He hissed.

“Dabi? What—what the hell happened?” You look to see his jacket and hand are soaked in blood and you quickly pull him in and rush him towards the kitchen. He’s stumbling over his feet and groaning in pain before he plops down in one of your kitchen chairs, eyes half open. You quickly remove the jacket and discarded on your floor, a part of his white shirt covered with his blood, but all Dabi could do was chuckle at the sight.

“Motherfucker got me good. Shit!” He chuckled. You carefully lifted his shirt to see he had me slice with a knife. It didn’t seem too deep, but with the way Dabi was bleeding you weren’t sure if he needed stitches or if he was too stubborn to get help. Probably the latter.

“My gosh.” You shook your head. “I’ll be right back.” You ran to your bathroom to grab the first aid kit from the bottom cabinet, hoping you had enough to even get this gash covered up. It look to be about three to four inches in length, but you couldn’t really make it out. When you walked back into the kitchen you placed the kit on the counter and quickly washed your hands. “Wanna tell me what happened?” You asked, voice calm. You dried your hands off before opening the kit.

Dabi looked towards you, you were facing away from him as you grabbed supplies. How long has it been since he last saw you? Spoke to you? He can’t even remember. “Doesn’t matter now.” He answered. You hummed in response knowing you could never be too pushy with Dabi and his business. He always seems to hide it anyway even when you guys were dating. You’d bet money that he doesn’t even remember the last time he was here. It’s been maybe six to eight months when you saw him last, doing the same thing you were doing now, fixing him up. The breakup with maybe two years ago now, tired of the way he lived, tired of his secrets and closed off personality.

You felt like you’d never be able to get through to him no matter what you did and you reached a breaking point. Called it quits out of the blue and threw him out of the house you two lived in. Now, it’s just you. “Keep the shirt lifted,” you ordered, putting pressure on the wound. Dabi groaned in pain, cursing under his breath as his eyes clenched shut. Truth be told, he waited an hour before finally coming to you for help, contemplating whether or not he wanted to see you again after everything that went down. But he knew no one else would be willing to help him, no one would patch him up as good as you do and he sure as hell couldn’t go to a hospital.

He remembers the breakup very clearly, remembers your frustration and anger towards him and throwing all of his things out the door. But damn you two had a good thing going. You were his girl, the one he could always count on to hold him steady and keep him safe and he’ll do the same to you. He just didn’t know that keeping his secrets and keeping his lifestyle from you would drive you crazy. He just wanted to keep you safe from all of it, keep you from seeing what life was really like for him. Overtime, he came to an understanding of how you felt, so he left you alone. That was until the first time he got into a fight and then another and then now.

“Don’t be so rough!” Dabi shouted, gritting his teeth as you cleaned the wound.

“Maybe don’t go getting into random fights and I won’t. If anything, you deserve this,” you retaliated, glancing up at him. All he did was let out a loud sigh, gripping onto the table. “This is gonna burn.” You took the alcohol wipe and placed it on the gash.

“Goddamnit! Shit!” He hit is fist on the table as his leg bounced up and down. He took a deep breath in and exhaled through his nose. The stinging pain ran deep and lasted more than a few seconds as he tried to adjust to it. You lifted the alcohol pad and tossed it in the trash beside you, standing up to walk to the first aid kid to grab a bandage and gauze. “After this I’ll be out of your hair,” he spoke.

You shuffled through the contents of the box, ignoring his words as you grabbed what you needed. He looked towards you, hoping that you’d at least say something back or even look at him, but you didn’t. He looked over your figure noticing the crop top and shorts you had on, your excuse for pajamas. He quickly looked away when you walked back over towards him. "Sit up," you demanded.

Dabi grabbed onto the table for support as you gently placed the bandage on the wound, holding it in place as you wrapped the gauze around his abdomen tightly. "I appreciate this, really." He looked down at you. You hummed in response, not even glancing his way before standing to your feet. His jaw clenched and he reacted before thinking, his hand reaching out to yours. Snapping your head back to look at him, his eyes bore into yours. "Will you just talk to me for a moment? Come on, y/n."

A scoff leaves your lips as you pull your hand away from his grip. "You show up to my apartment bleeding after not seeing each other for months, don't tell me what happened, and then expect me to act like your friend?" Your brows furrow as you stare at him. Dabi then uses the strength he has to stand to his feet, now merely inches away from you.

"I know and I'm sorry-"

"This is the last time," you bluntly state.

"You know it's not," he responded. He gets into fights on purpose, gets himself hurt on purpose as an excuse to see you. There's no other way you'd talk to him, let alone let him see you. So, he gets into pointless fights just so he could come to you to get fixed up because the truth is, he misses you. He misses your presence, your touch, your voice, he misses everything about you. Then, he tells himself he doesn't want your help, he doesn't need it, but his legs are moving on their own and before he knows it, he's at your front door. "I miss you."

"Dabi...don't." You sigh, closing your eyes.

Your feel his hands wrap around your waist. "I do. I know you feel the same way otherwise you wouldn't help me."

You stay silent, looking down at your feet, afraid to look him in the eyes, but Dabi forces you either way. His finger hooks under your chin as you meet his gaze. There's tension in the air, tension so thick that it could be cut with a knife. You already know what he's thinking, the look in his eye is all too familiar with you. It hard to resist, hard to ignore the feeling bubbling in your chest and the thoughts flowing freely through your mind.

You kiss him. You broke your own rules and kissed him. Though it's been forever, your lips still feel like they belong on his, the way your bodies melt into each other feels like two puzzle pieces that fit perfectly together. His hands squeeze your waist, groping your skin before they sneak down to the plump of your ass. Your hands entangle in his hair, pulling him in and deepening the kiss. Before he could think, Dabi pushed towards the counter, lifting you onto it without breaking the kiss.

"Dabi-"

"Shhh." His hands move up under your shirt, caressing your skin. "Let's just have this moment. Together."

You break away from the kiss, panting heavily. "But, you're hurt. I don't think-"

"I don't care. I need you."

[balladofboothill]

Joe burrow x EMT

note : wrote this purely off kissing a tree with your car brownies and 10hrs of shitty sleep

warnings : brief talk of medical stuff, the q word, couple sex jokes and very short

Like any medical household, the q word is banned (quiet)

"Why the fuck is it so quiet here" Ja'marr comes busting in through the doorway, disturbing the much needed peace of the household, joe shushed him right away as the last time he said the q word he got a stuffed animal thrown his way, "we never speak of the q word here" Joe says quietly as Ja'marr gives him a look as if he has four heads.

Joe asks the strangest questions

"What happens if someone's dick snaps off during sex?" Joe asks, randomly at 4am, "uhhhhh, I don't know, why?" You ask, "dunno just wondering" Joe answered with this strange look in his eye, still slightly confused at why he's asking this, another time while eating dinner he asked what would happen if someone stuck a carrot in their eyes.

Med truck sex.

JK! But he did ask if that was possible while he was watching you load it. "Could you ride me on that stretcher?" Joe asks in a bland tone for the question he just asked. "Joe baby, great idea but I'd like to keep my job." You answered to him, clearly joking upset

Thinks it's the coolest thing that he now has a personal nurse for when he's sick

Man flu is the worst thing to ever happen to men, Joe is 100% down for the count, acting like he's gonna puke his lungs out, "nurse can you please give me some cough meds" Joe begged as best he could between the coughs, "yeah here." You said as you hand him the cough meds, "this isn't what I expected to be using my schooling for" you though to yourself, praying you don't get sick next

If his friends get injured while they're doing guy things he'll text you a picture and ask what to do

A text pings during your lunch break of a photo that Joe sent, it's of a pretty sizable open cut with a fishing hook stuck in it, Joe had taken a couple high school friends fishing at your family's pond earlier before your shift, texting back "don't remove the hook, cut the line and go to the ER", a couple hours later you receive a photo of the stitched up cut

any EMT is awful to watch football with

Watching a random college game after a long shift with Joe should have been relaxing until you get bored and start commentating the injuries that can happen, "during my first week I saw a player snap his entire latissimus dorsi" you commentate as Joe looks in slight horror

Thank you for reading :) please reblog to support writers!!<3

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Sum of All 5

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Steve Rogers

Part of the mob drabbles au

Summary: you are given an unexpected assignment.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

“You look upset?” Rogers’ voice startles you. You sit straight and rub the stitch from your forehead. How long has he been there? 

“Do I?” You wonder.  

Three days in this place, sifting through scraps and musty old receipts, and it’s starting to bleed through. Oh, don’t think of the blood. You grip the desk and shift in the chair. 

“I guess,” he shrugs. “Something wrong? I can get you a different chair.” 

“Chair, uh?” You look down, “no, that’s fine. Actually, I think I’m probably almost done.” 

“Good,” he says.  

He crosses his arms and turns on his leather sole. He starts to pace. He does that a lot. If he’s not sat in the arm chair or disappearing to wreak havoc out of sight, he’s there, walking back and forth. Back and forth. Combing his fingers through his hair, waving his hand in a wordless argument, moving his lips silently. Even if you hadn’t witnessed it that first day, you could tell he’s a man with a lot of pent-up anger. 

You go back to tallying it all up. Your stomach somersaults as you hover the pencil along the columns and review the numbers. Honestly, you are done, you just don’t know how to say what you need to. To tell this man what you discovered. 

“You’re breathing heavy again,” he stops and turns to you, “what’s the matter?” 

“Asthma?” You lie. He grimaces. 

“You got something for that?” He asks. 

“No...” you look away guiltily. “Alright, I don’t have asthma,” you wiggle the pencil nervously then tap your nose without thinking. What are you doing? You still it and put it down. “I’m done, okay, and, er...” you suck in air through flared nostrils, “you gotta promise you’re not going to freak out.” 

“Freak out?” He echoes as if the concept is absurd to him. 

“Yeah, because it’s not good news.” 

“Spill it,” he steps closer to the desk. 

You lean back in the chair and look up at him. A shank of his dark hair slips past his ear and the sheen of silver strands on his chin catch the light. His jaw squares under his thick beard. 

“Okay, but like just remember that it’s this Warren guy...” You clasp onto the armrests as you talk. “Oh boy, right. I’m not sure how to say it...” your eyes skitter back and forth. When you look back to him, that vein is bulging in his head. Just say it before he explodes! “He stole. A lot of money. And he actually hid it quite well but... yeah, I can show you--” 

“Amazing!” He claps and his face lights up. You flinch and your eyes go wide. Huh? He looks almost happy. 

“It is?” You flutter your lashes as the fog fades away from the edge of your vision. 

“You did it,” he said. “Get up. You gotta tell the boss.” 

“Huh? Me? You can’t--” 

“You’re the one who knows numbers. Grab the book, let’s go,” he commands. 

You don’t dare disobey. You grab the ledger and stand so abruptly, the chair snaps on the axle. You give a sheepish smile and scurry around the desk. 

He waves you out of the office. You’re all too happy to oblige at the realisation that you’re close to being out of here. He takes you down the hall and stops you at that same door. He knocks and waits until he gets an answer from within. 

He ushers you in ahead of him and shuts the door with a heavy click. That man, Buck, or Bucky, or Barnes, or whatever he wants to be, sits behind his desk. He is just as unimpressed as the last time you saw him. 

“Steve,” he greets the other man. 

“Go on,” Rogers nudges you with his knuckles. “Tell him.” 

You hold the book up in front of your chest and sway, “may I?” You nod towards the desk. 

Barnes gestures to the empty space and you approach. You put the ledger down, flipping it to face him. You turn the pages back and start at the beginning. 

“So, I was going through it all. This Warren guy. You see, here are the expenses, then--” 

“I don’t need the exes and ohs, doll, just get to the business,” he insists. 

“Right, I know you’re a busy man so I wouldn’t want to waste your time,” you chuckle nervously. “Alright, well,” you stand straight. Your head feels bubbly. “He stole a whole bunch money!” You say it a bit more chipper than you mean too. “Oops, well, not that it’s a good thing but...” 

Barnes’ eyes narrow and his chin ticks. You gulp and chew your lip. Shoot. 

“Sorry, don’t be mad. It wasn’t me, you know, I just added it up and--” You rock backwards and tip.  

You’re saved from hitting the floor as Rogers catches you and puts you back on your feet. He keeps hold of you, an arm across your back and his other hand on your shoulder. Barnes watches with unyielding derision. 

“Holy hell, she got something going on in her head?” Barnes asks. 

“She’s fine.” Rogers insists. “Look, Buck. We figured it out. You got everything you need to off that guy.” 

“Off... you’re going to kill Warren?” You squeak. 

Barnes gives you a sharp look and you seal your lips. Why did you say that? Your vision pulses and the colours blur. You feel yourself tilting and your head falls back. You slip into darkness to the shallow noise of your own breaths. 

When you wake again, you’re in a car. Rogers’ car. It’s dark and he’s silent. You look over at his shadow as he drives. You don’t recognise the streets outside the windows. 

“Noooo,” you sit up and pull on the handle as panic course through you. “Nooo, please, don’t kill me--” 

“Hmph?” He grunts and grabs your arm, pulling you back against the seat. “Sweetheart, if I was gonna kill you, you wouldn’t be awake right now.” 

“Oh god, so you would?” You screech. “I don’t know anything. Consider it all forgotten. Out of my head... oooh, my head.” 

“Calm down. Have some water,” he points to the cupholder. Your water bottles firmly in it. “Boss is happy. You did a good job.” 

“Oh, okay, right. Yeah. I’m a good accountant,” you say. You cringe and take the water bottle. You uncap it and clear your throat. “I’m sorry.” 

You drink deeply as he keeps his foot on the gas. You feel a bit better. You put the water back and wipe your hands on your skirt. 

“Um, Mr. Rogers?” You eke out. “Where are we going? You don’t have to say but I’m just asking.” 

He snorts quietly, “gotta pick someone up. You just stay quiet and don’t move.” He pulls up in front of a house. It looks like a really normal one. “Can you do that without passing out?” 

“I...” you look between him and the window, “I’ll try.” 

[irisintheafterglow]

but who wants to live forever, babe?

summary: you're too sweet for dabi.

wc: 1.45k

cw/tags: gn!reader but dabi calls them pretty, swearing, brief reference to blood and injury, pet names (doll, baby, pretty), dialogue driven, emotionally constipated touya todoroki

note: this is very shamelessly written because of hozier lol. hope you like it :)

likes, reblogs, and replies are appreciated <3

You were irritating, excessively irritating. 

You woke up too early to watch the sunrise and stayed out too late to see constellations. You lingered in flower shops to touch the prettiest blooms and gave the last of your coins to street musicians. You were the first to suggest the tastiest food around and always volunteered to pay for everyone’s meals, no matter how large the group. You were thoughtful, selfless, and frustratingly kind. He wouldn’t have as much of a problem with it if you weren’t the deadliest killer-for-hire in Musutafu’s criminal underground. 

“You’re too nice,” Dabi says one night after a period of calm silence following the chaos of him crashing through your window and bleeding all over your floor. You glance at him from your spot on the windowsill, peering carefully over the construction blueprints for the following day’s assignment. He sits up with a groan, his hand grabbing the the spot on his abdomen you’d stitched up a few hours prior. “It’s infuriating.”

“A simple ‘thank you’ would suffice, you know,” you deadpan and he scoffs, wincing when pain shoots across his side. “Had it been anyone else who broke into my apartment, I’d have to deal with a fully dead body instead of a semi-dead one.” 

“That’s exactly my point,” he argues, straining his arm to grab the cup of water on the side table. Before he can get a good grip on it, you stand and snatch it from his fingers, holding it enticingly with a hand propped on your hip. “C’mon, doll. Now, you’re just being mean.”

“I’m being nicer than you are,” you counter with an iron grip around the cup. “Calling me infuriating after I just saved your barbecued ass from dying. Didn’t your mom ever teach you manners?”

“My mom didn’t teach me jack shit,” he reminds you, making another futile swipe for the water that you easily pull away. “What do you want me to do, take it back?” You shake your head with a tired sigh, finally handing him the cup. “I’m not taking it back,” he mumbles as you sit on the edge of the bed. Against his better judgment, he doesn’t immediately flinch away when you reach out to check his bandages, your fingers brushing delicately across his skin.  

“I know you aren’t,” you murmur absentmindedly. 

“Aren’t you gonna ask why?”

“Why should I? It’s not like you’re going to tell me why you hate me,” you concede and a muscle in his jaw tenses. 

“Stop being a brat and just ask.” You resist the urge to jab your pointer finger straight into his stab wound but settle for pulling back your hand from his body, leaving him craving your touch no matter how his logic told him to resist. He has half the mind to reach out and grab your hand, part of him ready to beg you to just stay with him. But, when his palm covers the top of your hand, it sits there awkwardly until he clenches it into a fist and pulls away. He tries another tactic. “Look, all I’m saying is you shouldn’t open your window for every stranger that crawls up your fire escape.” 

“But you’re not a stranger, as much as I wish you were one.” You return to your papers at the windowsill and he’s alone in the bed again. 

“You don’t mean that,” he says, his voice barely a whisper. “Tell me you’re lying.” His voice is almost too quiet for you to hear it break. Almost. 

“No,” you admit. “Of course, I don’t mean it.” You were looking at him too softly, too tenderly. Taking him in, stitching him up, and letting him rest while you kept watch was infintely more than what he deserved, especially after banging on your window and immediately passing out when you opened it. “Tell me you don’t mean what you said.”

“I do, though.” You nod and he watches your walls go up in real-time, closing yourself up so his words, good or bad, can’t get through. A million thoughts of panic race through every nerve in his body and only one command makes its way through: Fix it. 

“I understand.”

“No, you don’t.” Your blank expression becomes a frown and you look ready to kick him out onto the streets, or at least reopen his wound. “Let me explain first before you beat the shit out of me.”

“You have thirty seconds.”

“I think you’re too good for me,” he declares simply. He can’t see his truth make your heart stutter. “I think you’re too good for this life in general, and I think you should get out of it.” You scoff humorlessly, rolling your eyes to the side. 

“Because you hate me?”

“Because I don’t,” he corrects. You dare to meet his eye and feel your breath catch in your throat. His eyes are shining bluer than you’d ever seen them before, the scarce moonlight leaking through your window catching in his eyes just right. They’re scorching, hotter and more intense than anything his Quirk could create. “I should, but by some cruel twist of Fate, there are no words for how desperate I feel when I’m not with you, however much I despise that feeling.” In any other circumstance, you wouldn’t be able to waterboard this information out of him; yet here he was, bitterly lovesick and scowling as he told you that he’d rather burn alive than hate you. You fail to stifle a laugh and his scowl deepens. “You laughing at me?”

“A little bit, yeah,” you confess, standing to check his temperature with a hand on his forehead. It’s scathing hot and you suddenly notice the shivers he was trying to conceal. “You must be delirious if you’re admitting this all out loud, and you’re probably going to start burning up if you continue talking.” 

“I’m not delirious,” he grumbles. “And it’s normal for me to get like this when I… overdo it on missions.” Your mouth opens in understanding and he lets you touch his forehead once more to confirm the fever. “I figured you’d know this by now after all the times you’ve had to fix me.”

“Forgive me for thinking that you were becoming ill because you were forced to say one nice thing about me,” you say with a smirk, grabbing a small towel and heading to the bathroom. His voice calls after you while you turn on the cold water. 

“There you go again with your stupid sweet-talking sarcasm. You can at least acknowledge what I just confessed to you.” You chuckle again and re-approach him at the bed, draping the wet towel over his forehead and gently pushing him back onto the pillow. “You’re doing it again.” You make a split-second decision to mess with him, just for the hell of it. 

“Doing what, baby?” The petname disarms him and he blinks at you once, then twice before regaining consciousness. 

“Being too sweet for me,” he manages to force out and you let yourself smile at his obvious blush. You flip over the cloth to the cooler side and he sighs, closing his eyes in contentment. “You don’t do this with everyone, do you?”

“No, Touya,” you answer patiently and something in his chest tightens at the use of his true name. He’d forgotten he told you his true identity, most likely a result of a circumstance similar to the one you were in where he was too tired and weak to think clearly. “You are the only one I will take care of and allow to barge through my window at three in the morning. Not because I’m ‘too sweet,’ like you say, but because I care about you. Got it?”

“Mmm. Yeah,” he rasps. “Thanks, doll. You mind getting in here with me? I’ll sleep better if–”

“You don’t even need to ask,” you finish, slipping under the covers and settling against his chest. “Just stop being an asshole for a second.”

“Hey, careful on the–” 

“I’m aware of your wound, stupid,” you interject. “I’m the one who fixed it, remember?” 

“Right. Yeah, sorry,” he mutters, his lips brushing the top of your forehead. The tension in his body gradually dissipates the longer your skin is against his. “Can we sleep now?”

“If you shut up for long enough, yeah,” you joke and he lightly pinches your side. 

“I finally get in bed with you and you’re not so sweet anymore.” You snort against his chest. “What happened?” 

“I think we both have a lot to learn about each other. For now, please shut up and sleep.” 

“As you wish, pretty.”

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the brie

buttercup, chapter two

a/n: i was originally gonna go into more detail and dive into and actually write the traumatic moments, but i decided to go a little bit more easy on myself, just focus mostly on the healing part and regaining the good.

summary: “well, we’re going out to our usual watering hole, or it’s not just us, Karen, who works with us, is also tagging along. Would you wanna join? Might be fun… might tear the city up, dance all night and watch the sunrise or whatever kids do these days.”

warnings: matt murdock x baker!reader, neighbours to lovers, rape recovery, ptsd, wingman foggy, reference to croissant theft, alcohol consumption, drunk munching on cheese, kissing, crying, retelling of trauma (if it gets too much for you, then please feel free to just skip the last part of this chapter)

word count: 4978

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

previous chapter | series masterlist | next chapter

masterlist | join my taglist

Scooping one divided lump of dough closer with the bench scraper in your grasp, you put it down before first folding the bottom of the blob over itself, then the sides and then stretched the top down as well before you rolled it all up to create that much more tension in the loaf. As you plopped the soft mass into one of the nearby dusted bannetons, nippily pinching the seam and giving it a few stitches, the ingrained dance only kept on as your fingers moved on to shape the next loaf of sourdough. 

To your left, not at the central table where you worked, stood your uncle Howard, a piping bag of vanilla-flaked cream in his grasp as his rotund frame bent over rows and rows of delicate, flaky little pastries, filling the sunken centre up before he could top them off with little chunks of crimson berries. 

“Are you alright, cupcake?” you glanced up to see Walter leaning against the doorframe that led directly behind the counter, “you look like you’re about to nosedive into the dough and use it as a pillow.”

“I’m alright, just didn’t sleep much last night,” you blinked back down at your work, noting how your weary eyes stung slightly from the lack of rest, “I had a nightmare that was really, really not fun, and immediately when I woke up I started crying and shaking, like instant panic attack, so I couldn’t really fall asleep again after that,” you glanced back up at him and offered a tight-lipped smile. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“I just don’t get why it has to feel so real,” you let your hands halt their waltz as you shared, Howard too glancing over in your direction, “why my body needs to remember it so vividly when I fall asleep. It hasn’t forgotten it while I’m awake, so I don’t feel like I need the reminders… sorry…”

“Don’t apologise, it’s–…” instead of uttering the painful truth, Walter instead let a heavy sigh flow and offered, “…do you want me to make you a cup of coffee? Maybe that could be nice, just a little bit?”

“Yeah,” you exhaled, “thanks,” before clapping the worst of the flour off your hands, briefly wiping them against the chocolate brown apron that partially covered your t-shirt and jeans, and wandered around the table, shadowing Walter as he fiddled with the espresso machine, making it hum and puff, till he handed you a steaming mug that had a little heart in the frothy foam floating on the top. 

“Here you go.”

Bringing it up to your lips, you offered him a genuine smile, “thank you, Walt.”

Staying behind the counter as Walter disappeared into the back, the chime of the small bell above the door brought your attention to the pair that then strolled in. Setting down your latte and expecting it to be just any other customer, your eyes instead went wide as you saw who it was.  

“Heya, neighbour!” 

“Y/n, hi,” Matthew smiled as both he and the floppy-haired man beside him came to a stop on the other side of the stocked display case, “uh, Y/n, this is my friend Foggy Nelson,” he gestured to the friendly looking fellow, “Foggy, this is my new neighbour Y/n.”

“The pastry goddess!” Foggy exclaimed excitedly, “I bow to the.”

“Goddess?” you giggled, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks as you glanced over at Matt, secretly in hopes that he’d gotten that nickname from him, “oh, I don’t know about that. My uncle’s the one who oversees most of the pastries. He studied in Paris back in the 70’s, so in other words he’s a bit of a control freak. But, he is getting better! Slowly letting me take care of more things that I’m more than capable of doing… I’m talking a lot, aren’t I?” you sucked in a sharp breath as you noticed 

your rambling, “I’ll shut up. The point was just that he is the one who makes most of the pastries here, not me. He’s the goddess.”

“Well, I tasted one of your croissants the other day–”

“Actually,” Matt raised a hand and interrupted his friend, “you stole it.”

“I did not–”

“You came over and I turned away for two seconds and the next thing I knew you’d obliterated the entire bag.”

“That sounds more like your problem,” Foggy joked, managing to keep a straight face as Matt chuckled, “you’ve known me how many years now? You should know not to trust me with baked goods unless you mean for me to enjoy them,” turning his attention back to you, he leaned his folded arms against the tall section of the counter, “anyways, Y/n, that croissant was properly one of the best things I’ve ever tasted.”

“Really?” your face lit up with a bright grin. 

“Yes, it was so buttery and flaky and urgh!”

“Well, if you liked that, you might like today’s special…” your feet began to carry you further to the left to the very far side of the counter. 

“Oh, please do tell me,” he followed along like a magnet.

Pointing down to the pastry row on the other side of the glass, you explained, “it is this rhubarb danish that also has a little base of pastry cream at the bottom to balance out the tart compote.”

“Oh… my… god…” Foggy nearly salivated, his hypnotised gaze never straying from the treat, “you gotta be some angel sent from above.” 

Busting out a laugh, you grabbed a brown paper bag, “should I take that as confirmation?”

“Yes, please,” he nodded as you plucked one up with a set of tongs. 

“Will that be all?”

“I don’t know if it ever can be all, but slowly but surely I’ll get through your spread, and that is a promise,” Foggy accepted the bag into his waiting fingers, “but for now, yeah.”

“Matt, do you want anything?” you asked, feeling the flutter of butterflies wake up within your stomach as you returned your attention to him, “do you want me to describe the options for you?”

“No, I’ll just have the same as Foggy, as well as–, do you sell coffee?”

“Oh,” the scent wafting off your half-empty mug probably caught his attention, “yes, we do.”

“Then I’ll have a cup as well.”

“Oh, one for me too,” Foggy interjected. When you’d packed up another pastry and filled up two to-go cups, the shaggy-haired man pipped up as they were paying, “hey, what are you doing later tonight?”

“Uh, I don’t know. Properly just head home and rewatch some series for the billionth time,” you said, putting the cash they’d handed you away in the register, “why?”

“Well, we’re going out to our usual watering hole, or it’s not just us, Karen, who works with us, is also tagging along. Would you wanna join? Might be fun… might tear the city up, dance all night and watch the sunrise or whatever kids do these days.”

A laugh then rumbled within Matt’s chest, “we’re not gonna go dancing, Foggy.”

“You never know,” Foggy sang, “I’ve got moves like you wouldn’t believe!” he snuck a small sip of his steaming coffee before meeting your eye, “so, Y/n! Please tell me you’re coming?”

“…and then Karen was like what’s that? Turns out a giant piece of glass had stabbed my side,” Foggy clutched onto his drink as he told his dramatic tale, “I nearly died.”

Cutting her sip of beer short, the golden-haired woman sitting beside him at the round bar table objected, “you did not nearly die.”

“Oh yeah?” Foggy squinted light-heartedly back at Karen, “says the person who barely got a scratch. I single handily rescued both you and Mrs. C from that building and got a sick ass scar to prove it.”

Their voices faded away like grown-ups in a Saturday morning cartoon as you glanced back down at your drink and let the radiating heat of the man next to you seep into your bones. As your fingers brushed down the sides of the glass and played with the condensation, Matt suddenly reached out for his own, though in his search for the stout glass that stood ever so close to your own, his touch briefly grazed against your skin. But if that wasn’t enough to spike your heart rate, when his long fingers enveloped his short glass, the back of his hand pressed up against yours at the proximity.

You weren’t sure how long it persisted before he raised his dark drink up to his lips, but it didn’t seem like he was in a rush to let the contact fade. Your breath managed to grow ragged in the chunk of time you got to stare down at his hand, it looking so massive up against yours. Though the light in the dingy bar was low, you could still manage to make out the dizzying pattern of prominent veins that cascaded off the back of his hand like a calm rainfall rolling down a windowpane. 

For a moment there, assisted by the few drinks in your system, you let yourself dream, just for a little while, just until Foggy’s voice cut through your haze and stirred you from your fantasy. 

“… I mean, am I right? I’m right. Come on, Y/n, back me up here!”

“Huh? I’m sorry, uhm…” you blinked, in some ways feeling more drunk than you had a minute ago, “wha–what did you say?”

As Foggy then began to explain what you’d missed, Matt leaned down close to your ear and whispered, his hot breath tickling your skin and causing goosebumps to erupt. 

“You okay?”

“Mhm,” you hummed fuzzily. 

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” you glanced down and noticed how rapidly your chest was rising and falling. 

“Do you wanna go home? I can walk with you if you want,” he offered quietly. 

“Uhm…” you blinked up at him before uttering, “sure, but I don’t wanna end your night before you want to.”

“No, you’re not,” he reassured you, “I’m ready to go home myself.”

“Alright then,” you nodded before Matt turned to the others. 

“Guys, we’re gonna head home.”

“No!” Foggy boomed, “really?”

Throwing her hands up, Karen added, “but we haven’t even gone dancing yet!”

“Sorry,” Matt got up from his tall stool, “another night.”

“Thanks for inviting me,” you tugged your jacket back on, “I had a lot of fun.”

To your surprise, they both got up and hugged you in return.

“Thank you for coming!” Karen gave you a tight squeeze before Foggy took over. 

“And we’ll be seeing you for the next one, right?”

“Uh, sure,” you gave his back a light pat, “if I have time and stuff the day that it happens, then I’d love to tag along.”

Casting his glance upon the other lawyer, “bye, Matt,” Foggy then yanked him into an embrace, “I love you, you know that?”

“Yeah,” Matt chuckled, clapping his friend’s spine, “I know, buddy.”

“You love me too, right?” Foggy pulled back, though still kept his hands fast on Matt’s broad shoulders, “don’t leave me hanging, it’s bad for a man’s health.”

“Foggy, I started a firm with you. Of course, I love you,” Matt smiled back at his sloshed pal, “good night.”

“Night, night,” Foggy patted his scruffy cheek before letting him out of his gasp, though adding as you turned to exit the bar, “night, Y/n! I love you too! I just met you today, but I love you!”

Soft giggles bubbled out of you as the door slammed shut behind you. 

“So, those are your friends...” you smiled into the night, “I like them. They’re nice.”

“Yeah,” the corners of Matt’s lips turned further up till dimples bloomed, “they’re good eggs.”

As the two of you began to move along, the silence didn’t last very long at all. 

“This is really nice of you, walking me home like this,” you uttered, “I know it’s just because we’re neighbours and headed in the same direction, but–”

“It’s not.”

“What?” your eyes found him.

“It’s not because we’re neighbours. It’s just, you know, the decent thing to do.”

“Right,” you exhaled, casting your glance back down onto the sidewalk as you momentarily got your hopes up. 

“And you know how this city can be,” Matt went on, “it’s not smart for anyone to walk alone at night.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, trying to keep your tone nonchalant, “of course.”

When a street then appeared before you, slicing the path you journeyed on, and even though there wasn’t any traffic in sight, your hand still instinctively shot down to grasp Matt’s forearm before the two of you could cross.

Realising what you’d done, you quietly muttered, “sorry,” though couldn’t find the strength to withdraw your touch just yet. 

“It’s okay,” his low voice slid from his lips like silk. 

“I just didn’t want you to walk straight out into ongoing traffic...” you tore your gaze away from him and forced yourself to look at the road before you, “but there aren’t any right now, so we can cross the street…”

Guiding his palm up to the curve of your elbow, he accepted the gentle aid as you began to cross the lane. 

Once you’d reached the other side and his grasp slowly began to drift back down. When his palm reached the height of your own, you softly caught it before timidly testing, “…do you mind if we–…”

“Hold hands?” with a gentle smile, he filled in before you might wonder if he could even sense your shy touch at all.

“Yeah…”

“No,” you felt him weave his fingers with your own, “not at all.” 

His touch somehow felt even better than you’d imagined. Though surprisingly gruff, with harsh calluses all throughout, he cradled your palm with such care, like he’d held it a thousand times before, occasionally swiping his broad thumb over your knuckles, presumably just a subconscious gesture from his end that still caused shivers to trickle down your spine every time he did so. 

You wanted the latter part of your walk home to last forever, engulfed in the comfortable silence of endless possibilities. But alas, when you did reach your building’s front door and then climbed the steps all the way up to your respective apartments, you couldn’t get yourself to let go just yet. 

“Are you hungry? Because I kinda am,” you weren’t really, but anything to just stretch the night a little longer, “or maybe it’s just my subconscious taking care of me and lessening my hangover by giving me a sudden craving for cheese.”

“I don’t think I have any cheese.”

“I do,” you said maybe a bit too fast, “do you want some?”

Exhaling lowly, a soft smile twitched at his lips as he then uttered, “sure.”

As you unlocked your door, you finally let go of his hand, “make yourself at home!” you placed your keys down on the slender entry table before kicking your shoes off and peeling off your coat, hanging it up on the row of hooks, “oh, do you want me to, uh, describe the layout for you? Or just plant your down on the couch?”

“Just tell me the direction and I think I’ll be fine.”

Facing him, you haphazardly explained, “alright, the hallway goes on for a few steps and then it’s to your right–, no, wait, my right, that’s your left. It’s to your left.”

Whirling around, you delved deeper into your home till you reached the kitchen. Ripping open the fridge, you snatched up a block of half-eaten cheese before seizing a clean butter knife from the dishrack and a roll of seedy crackers from a cupboard. 

Matt was already comfortable on your sage couch as you laid the humble spread out on the coffee table and joined him. 

“I hope you like brie because that’s what I got. Unless you want a single slice of american cheese, then this is all the cheese I have to offer.”

“Brie it is then,” he relaxed into the cushions as you unwrapped the snack. 

“Here, let me make you a bite,” slicing off bits of soft cheese, you spread it both on a cracker for him and one for you. Gently picking up his hand to place his snack in his palm, you then popped your own in your mouth and nearly melted into the couch next to him, “yep… that’s the spot…” you grinned hazily out the tall windows at the night sky as you chewed, “there’s just something about eating cheese when the moon is out that’s just so right in a way I can’t describe…” 

Your murmuring conjured a light chuckle to rumble within Matt, one that swayed your gaze to train on him. Resting your head against the back of the couch, you watched as the moonlight reflected in his tinted glasses. 

When the silence stretched on, Matt eventually cocked his head, “…what?”

Not tearing your eyes off of him, you breathed, “nothing…”

“You’re quiet,” his dark brows furrowed gently, “what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” you repeated, feeling almost like you were floating in a calm sea. 

“You tired? Do you want me to go so that you can go to bed?”

“No, please don’t, I–…” you reached out and grazed his arm, “could–… do you want to go?”

Letting his body relax once more, he breathed, “not particularly…”

Gazing up at him, your bottom lip snuck its way in between your teeth, “Matt…”

“Yeah?”

“You–… you’re–… I–…” your pulse pounded in your ears. 

“Mhm?”

“I really, really wanna kiss you right now…” you uttered thickly before you had the chance to chicken out. Like a wave crashing a shore, you didn’t even think as you let yourself dive in and press your lips to his. The kiss however didn’t last too long as you swiftly drew back as soon as your brain turned back on and you realised what you’d done, an apology hastily rushing out of your lungs, “Oh my god… I am so sorry.”

“Y/n,” hearing your name on his silky tongue did not help matters. 

“I didn’t mean to just–”

“Y/n,” he repeated, trying to cut through your fog. 

“We can just forget any of that ever happened, I totally get it if you don’t–”

As he brought his hands up to cradle the sides of your face, your nervous ramble fell short. When he ghosted his thumb across your cheekbone, you swore that you stopped breathing entirely. 

“…can I kiss you?” he slowly asked, leaving you utterly dazed. 

“W-what?”

Drawing in a breath, he repeated for you, “can I kiss you, Y/n?”

Blinking back at him, you hazily hummed, “mhm,” before he leaned in and brushed his lips against your own. The kiss was soft, just as your shoddy attempt had been, but it made your limbs feel like they morphed into jelly. When the pecks soon departed, you filled your lungs with a shaky breath as you gazed back at him in total awe, “holy shit…” only staying there a moment before you had to have another taste. 

Slowly growing more confident, the intoxicating kiss gradually grew more hungry. When his fingers then weaved into your hair, you realised that up till now he’d been holding himself back, gatekeeping a kiss that caused your frame to crawl into his lap, starving for more. Your little whimpers vibrated against his tongue as he danced it against yours, growing dizzy as you melted into the heart-stopping sensation. 

But suddenly a tormenting flash stabbed your being, and you abruptly tilted your lips away from his, breathlessly uttering, “wait, wait, there’s-, there’s-, uh…”

“What,” he breathed thickly, nose grazing yours before you retracted further, “are you okay?” 

“I’m…” carefully crawling off his lap, you kept going till you were a safe distance away on your own side of the couch, “Matt, there’s something I need to–, uhm, tell you…”

Staying silent, he patiently waited as you gathered up the courage needed to jump off the cliff and tell him.

Casting your gaze up to the tall and dark ceilings above, you felt your limbs begin to tremble, “okay, alright… I have no idea how to, uh, say this, so I’m just gonna do it,” and like a band-aid, you uttered, “I-, I was raped,” your eyes squeezed shut, not daring to risk glancing at his reaction, “a little over a year ago… and I haven’t–, uhm, done or tried anything with anyone since… so yeah, I just thought that was a good thing for you to know since even though I hope for there not to be any problems, I just don’t know, I don’t know what it will be like for me, if my body will suddenly freak out, but I just wanted to tell you so that in case something does happens, that you know not to automatically take it personally...” drawing in a shaky breath, you fluttered your gaze open and waited for his response, “Matt?”

“Yeah?” he answered carefully. 

“Please don’t say that I’m scaring you away right now…” you shifted your position, turning to face him once more.  

“You’re not, you’re not,” his head softly shook from side to side, “I just–… I really, really sorry.”

“Yeah…” you exhaled slowly, feeling tears sting the corners of your eyes, “me too…” staring at him a moment, you then bared your all and uttered, “I really like you, Matt,” a faint smile accompanied the declaration, “I think you might be the only guy in all of New York that I’m not scared of,” every other man you could think of had all had at least a second, a little flicker, of something that over the past year had terrified you, “and I don’t want you to think that I’m made of glass, that’s not what I want, that’s not why I’m telling you this. Please trust me when I say that I want to, I wanna do–…” a weighty exhale flowed from your lungs as your lips remembered his taste, “I wanna do everything with you… if–, if that’s something you’d like as well… but if we do, even though I really, really want to, I think it’s probably smartest to go slow, no pressure, you know, just in case, so that my body doesn’t freak out. Also, I’d really appreciate it if I at any point indicate for you to stop or even just pause a moment, that you’ll do that, that you’ll listen to me,” you briefly glanced down at your fiddling fingers, “and you know, I’m not saying let’s only do PG things, there are so, so many wonderful steps on the way that we can have fun with… I just–, I wanted to let you know now, before, so that we wouldn’t potentially have this conversation when something did happen.”

Only parting his lips when he was sure you were done, he uttered, “thank you for telling me. Are you–… are you okay? Was what happened before too much?”

“No…” you shook your head gently, “no, it wasn’t,” taking his hand in yours, you shared, “and I’m okay, I think… I mean, some days it still feels like it just happened, and others I notice something, something small, that I’ve gotten back, that I’ve regained…” absentmindedly tracing the lines of his palm with your thumb, you asked, “do you–… do you have any questions? Is there anything you wanna know?”

“No, I–… I just want you to tell me however much or little you feel comfortable with sharing.”

“…can I tell you? About it?” you asked slowly and he swiftly offered you a soft nod. Drawing in a deep breath, you began, “It, um, it was a Saturday night… I’d just gotten back from the bakery super late, maybe close to midnight… and when I was getting ready for bed, my roommate came home, he’d been out drinking as he usually spent his weekends. I remember we stayed up a while, just talking about the mundane stuff we always did. It was like any other Saturday, really. That was until I got too tired and went to go to bed, but he didn’t wanna stop talking, so he followed along into my room while I got ready and stuff,” averting your gaze, your bottom lip began to tremble, “we were just talking, it wasn’t anything special and then the next thing I knew, he was kissing me. It just–… it happened so fast… his hands were all over me… I remember he pushed me up against my closet so hard that my back was bruised the next day, and I don’t bruise that easily. He was just so wasted that I don’t think he realised or maybe even cared what he was doing. I tried to say something, tried to make him stop, but he didn’t listen to me. If he heard me, then I don’t think he understood what it was that I was saying… I would have pushed him away, slapped and hit him, but I couldn’t, I couldn’t move my body, not even a little, I just froze…” 

“I can still feel what he felt like… like my skin won’t let go of the memory…” tears rolled down your cheeks as you squeezed your eyes shut and tried to ignore how your palm tingled with recollection, “how he forced me to touch him and held his hand over mine, making it move as if he just thought I didn’t know what to do… he was my friend, you know? He wasn’t just some stranger who dragged me into an alley and held a knife to my throat. He was my friend. He would always make offhand jokes about seeing me as just a little sister and how he wasn’t attracted to you at all. Made such a big deal of it that I never thought he’d try anything… I have no idea how long it actually went on… I don’t even remember when it was that I landed on the bed, if it was before or after he–… after he–… did stuff, t-touched me… I just remember I was laying there when it happened. The masked man, the devil of hell’s kitchen, he ripped him off of me…”

“He’d somehow heard… I think maybe if I hadn’t opened the window that night to air out the room, he wouldn’t have saved me… he beat him up... knocked him out… he told me to call the police, but I couldn’t, so I instead asked my uncle to come get me… my body’s never shaked the way it did that night… I remember I was so confused because I wasn’t cold, didn’t get it till the masked man said I was in shock… it didn’t stop till the next night… when he was about to leave, I asked what if Mi–,” you couldn’t get yourself to utter Michael’s name out loud without feeling as if your whole world would crumble around you, “what if he woke up before Howard arrived, and so he just stayed there with me, right till he somehow heard my uncle walking up the stairs and then he slipped out the way he came in, right before I heard the front door unlock.” 

Letting out a long and unsteady breath, you raised a trembling palm up to wipe your cheeks. 

For a while, the silence got to encompass the space completely, your left hand still shaking in Matt’s as you eventually heard him ask. 

“Did you ever go to the police?”

“No. In the small window that I had to do one of those kits, I was just way too overwhelmed and confused and I just couldn’t think straight, I couldn’t do anything but relive that moment over and over again, so I didn’t do anything in time. But the longer time that passes and the more it sinks in what he did and the ways that I’m still paying for it, the things he ruined inside of me that I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to get back, the more I wish that I had gone to the police. But it’s too late now.”

“No, it’s not,” his fingers squeezed slightly around yours, “I could help you, I’m a lawyer after all.”

“No, Matt,” you said firmly, “it is. I don’t wanna sit there and hear them go oh, it’s your word against his, sorry, and have them think that not enough happened technically for them to take it seriously. Enough happened, trust me. I’m eternally grateful that Daredevil saved me from whatever else he could have done to me that night, but enough happened. Just because he didn’t stick it in me doesn’t mean nothing happened. That is the kind of belief that only belongs to people who think that the only sexual act that counts as sex is when a penis is in a vagina, and that is just so incredibly wrong,” an enraged laugh tumbled out of you as you fumed, “they are the kind of people who think that someone queer, disabled or just someone who isn’t into that sexual act isn’t actually having sex when they are. Sex is about connection, it’s about pleasure and there are endless amounts of things that can give a person pleasure,” clenching your jaw, you let out a heavy sigh, “I wish it could be different, I wish many things, I wish it hadn’t had happened at all, but it did, and I hope that at the very least he learned something from it, that he changed, that he wouldn’t do it again to someone else.”

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[dragonrider9905]

Before TBB Ends...Regardless of HOW it Ends...I've Got to Say Something...

In 2021, TBB was released, and over the last few years, it's grown to mean a lot to me. Not just the stories, the storytelling, the characters whom we've fallen in love with and hope to see more of someday, whose stories we've learned important lessons from, but how it profoundly affected my life.

And it is something I am incredibly grateful for.

Regardless of how the show ends, if it's something I'm going to love or be totally heartbroken over and hate, I'm so glad it happened and went on this journey.

For one, it gave me the plug to start writing. Writing was always a dream of mine but it wasn't until I discovered fanfiction, because of TBB, that I actually realized it. I had this idea of writing and thought I'd never really be able to accomplish that. The show enabled me to move past that and I've been able to be enflamed by my love for writing. It brings me so much happiness. No other show pushed me to write like this one.

Secondly, my writing has allowed me to touch and interact with people. I can't tell you how much it means to me and how thrilled I am to hear and learn my work has touched you in some way. I'm humbled by your words and taking the time to actually read and appreciate what I've written.

Thirdly, I've gone on so many adventures, crazy amazing adventures because of what other brilliant minds I met through the show have written. There are SO many great stories that just hit me so.....I was touched by your stories that you wouldn't have written if you hadn't watched the show!

Lastly, but CERTAINLY not the least, I have made SO many friends and writing buddies because of this show. It has connected me to so many cool people that I otherwise may never have found. I've grown really close with some of you, while others, though we may not be friends per say, I hope we can someday. In the meantime, I will admire your work from here. You guys mean so much to me and I can't even begin to express how wonderful it's been getting to know you over the past few years. The fun experiences we've shared, the theories, the stories, all of it. I am not putting this as well as it was in my head so please forgive that.

This includes but isn't limited to: @eclec-tech @photogirl894 @apocalyp-tech-a @lizartgurl @jedipoodoo @arctrooper69 @carolinetano7567 @trapezequeen @ghostofskywalker @masterjedilenaaa @ladysongmaster @moonstrider9904 @klmwrites @techs-stitches @ovaa-bi-bia @frostycatblr-fandom-files @imabeautifulbutterfly @sverdgeir @oceansssblue @marvel-starwarsfangirl @jedi-hawkins

How about you? What are you guys grateful for? Reblog and share what TBB meant to you!

Copy and paste the red as your header and let's see how many people we can get so share their stories!

I will end with no other quote than this!

"With love comes loss; it's part of the deal. Sometimes it hurts, but in the end, it's all worth it. There's no greater gift than love."

[mydadleft471]

For The Love Of A Daughter: Chapter 2

Summary: After waking up from what you were sure was a dream, you receive an invitation from your Lord and host.

Spoilers for Elden Ring and SOTE (got tired of writing out the full name lmao). No warnings, just a soft morning and Sianet being the best.

It seemed like people really liked my first chapter, so boom, have another! Have some Sianet backstory! (Bonus points if you look up the meaning of her name). Have my clueless ass trying to describe clothing! Have some good feels! God I love this man. Next chapter breakfast date with snakes??? I think so!

As always, thank you for reading, liking, commenting, and reblogging! It means so much to me. I hope you enjoy!

When you woke up this morning, you were terrified to open your eyes and find that yesterday’s events were a pleasant dream. But your fears were put to rest once you realized it wasn’t a figment of your sleeping imagination. Jasmine was still next to you, her small body tucked into yours. Her face is peaceful. Smiling, you carefully shift your way out of bed so you don’t wake her by accident.

The marble floor is cold on your bare feet and it helps you wake up. You hadn’t noticed last night, but you had a balcony. Opening the beautiful glass door, you’re greeted by the sweet morning sunshine and fresh air. You look over the landscape before you, and it’s only now you realize its quiet beauty. The grass, tinted a delicate gold, sways in the breeze. Below, you can see a few animals grazing and some of Messmer’s soldiers patrolling. Even a place such as this can hold some semblance of serenity.

Your thoughts are torn towards the sound of your door opening. You pull your robe around you tighter and smile when you realize your visitor is Sianet.

“Good morning. I trust you slept well?” Her pleasant, motherly voice echoes around the room. Her hair is tied up today.

“I did, thank you. Jasmine’s still asleep.” You gesture towards the small bump in the sheets.

“Poor thing, she must have been exhausted.” You notice her eyes are a pale blue, almost white. They’re beautiful.

She has clothing draped over her arm and a small bag slung over her back, and when your gaze shifts to it, she smiles. She moves to the gold wardrobe to the left of your bed with light steps. You follow her.

“Lord Messmer had our seamstress make new clothing for you and Jasmine. Right now, you only have a few options, but in a few days, you should have a full wardrobe to choose from.” She carefully lays out your clothing on the large vanity table, a few elegant tunics with delicate embroidery, and a couple pairs of pants with gold stitching. She opens her bag and reveals a pair of leather boots for you and some sandals for Jasmine.

You hear a loud yawn behind you and you turn to see Jasmine stretching and slowly making her way out of bed. Once she notices that you and Sianet are awake, she toddles her way over to you both.

“Good morning, Jasmine.” You reach down to smooth out her horrible bedhead. 

“Hi. What are you guys doing?” She yawns again.

“I brought some clothes for you, little one. Would you like to see?” Sianet gestures to the remaining clothes on her arm.

Jasmine’s eyes light up and she bounces excitedly. She is no longer tired at the mention of gifts, it seems. “Please! I wanna see!”

Sianet laughs and begins to lay out the little dresses. All of them are beautiful and they all vary in color. Some are somber greens and reds, but there are a few colored lilac and cerulean. The seamstress did a wonderful job. Jasmine carefully touches each and every one, awe evident in her eyes. 

“These are all for me?” She speaks like she can barely believe her eyes.

“Yes, and you may wear whichever one you’d like.” Sianet lays a gentle hand on her back.

“Can I wear the purple one? I like purple.”

“You may. Let’s get you dressed up.” She smiles and looks back at you. She grabs a small envelope from her bag and hands it to you with a golden letter opener. There is a red wax seal on it with Messmer’s insignia.

“This is from Lord Messmer?”

“Yes,” she answers. “He instructed me to give it to you.”

“Thank you.” Sianet nods in response and begins to help Jasmine get dressed.

You walk back to the bed and sit, delicately dragging the letter opener across the top. With shaky hands, you unfold his letter and read his loopy writing.

Good morning. I hope thou hast found thy bed comfortable and sufficient for plentiful rest. I am writing to request thine presence at breakfast. Jasmine is welcome if it pleases thee. If thou art overwhelmed by my request, I shall not be offended if thou wisheth to spend this day in isolation. Give thine answer to Sianet, and she shall see to it that whatever thy choice, thee and thine child shall eat.

Lord Messmer

He was writing to invite you to breakfast? Your heart raced and you found yourself nervous. He is a Lord, and he wants to have breakfast with you and Jasmine? You’re not worried for your safety, he’s proven that he doesn’t want to hurt you or her, but you’re afraid that you will offend him. You have no clue on proper eating etiquette outside of the basic don’t chew with your mouth full. 

Jasmine bounds up to you, flaunting her new dress. The delicate lilac compliments her green eyes, and you smile. She looks so happy.

“What do you think?” She spins around so you can see the entire dress.

“You look like a princess, sweetie.” She beams at your praise and dances around the room, her skirt swishing and swaying with every movement.

Sianet approaches you, laughing at Jasmine. “What would you like to wear today?”

“I’m not sure, honestly. Lord Messmer asked if we’d like to join him for breakfast, but I’m not royalty. I don’t know proper etiquette and I’m terrified I’ll offend him.”

“Lord Messmer never requests anyone’s presence for breakfast. You would be a special exception, therefore I don’t think he’d be offended if you went.”

“I’m not worried about going. He’s very polite and he’s given us so much already. I’m worried I’ll do something or say something wrong.”

Sianet sits down beside you on the bed and grabs your hands in hers. She smiles softly at you. “I cannot make this decision for you, but I have known Lord Messmer for a very long time, and he is not like his enemies describe him. He is sweet and considerate, though you’ve seen this already. I ask you trust yourself and not give into these anxious thoughts.”

She had a point. Maybe you were just allowing yourself to spiral.

“How long have you known him?” You ask.

“Goodness, I’m not sure anymore. I was his nanny when he was around Jasmine’s age.”

Your brows almost launch off your face in shock. She looks good for her age.

“You took care of him when he was little?”

“Oh, yes. Marika-” she stops herself, huffing. “Queen Marika wasn’t around much during his childhood. She had responsibilities that took priority over her son, I suppose.” She trails off. You can almost taste her disgust in the air and the scowl on her lovely face looks unnatural for someone so sweet.

“What was he like as a child?” 

Her smile returns immediately. She squeezes your hands. “He was well-behaved, most of the time. He loved to read more than anything. Some children prefer to be social and play, but his favorite spot was the library, somewhere quiet and secluded. To this day, he enjoys reading above most things.”

“Hey, I like books too!” Jasmine climbs up onto the bed, eager to join the conversation.

“Perhaps you can ask Lord Messmer to lend you some at breakfast.” Sianet quirks her brow at your words.

“You’ve decided then?” There’s a hopeful glimmer in her voice.

“It would be impolite to refuse after all he’s done for us.”

“We’re going to have breakfast with Lord Messmer?” Jasmine leans her head against your shoulder and you wrap an arm around her.

“Yes we are. Is that okay with you?”

“Mhmm! He’s nice. Very tall, but nice. Do you think he’d let me pet his snakes?”

“Maybe, but we have to be very polite, okay?”

“Okay.” She nods, then looks down at your robe. “You’re not going to go to breakfast like that, are you?”

You laugh and squeeze her arm lightly. “No, I am not.”

You rise to get dressed, leaving Sianet to brush and tame Jasmine’s hair. You look in the mirror and you realize you should probably do something with your hair, too. You comb it back and make it look presentable, then slip on a dark green tunic and black pants. The gold embroidery on it dances along the fabric, making you look almost regal. Your new clothes are quite comfortable, and you take one more look into the mirror. You’re pleased at the results.

You pull on some soft cotton socks and then your boots. They’re a perfect fit. Maybe the seamstress knows magic?

You return to Jasmine and you see Sianet carefully braiding her hair. She’s pulling the long brown hair into a braided bun, which looks beautiful. You’d have to have her teach you how to do that sometime. At the mention of her hair being done, Jasmine runs towards the vanity and climbs into the chair, shaking her head back and forth to try and see the bun. You chuckle and hand her a small mirror, turn her around, and when she sees her hair, she lets out an audible gasp and looks on, transfixed.

“You look wonderful.” Sianet compliments you.

“Thank you. Would you tell Lord Messmer that we’d love to join him for breakfast?”

She smiles and bows her head. “I’ll tell him right away.”

She exits quickly, steps light and hurried. The door shuts behind her and you try your best to keep anxiety at bay.

Jasmine tiptoes over to you and grabs your hand. You look down and smile at her.

“I think you look wonderful, too.”

“Thank you, sweetie. You always make me feel better.” 

She thunks her head against your hip. “So do you.”

[nebulousboundsfloof]

The primary alteration I did was insert a drawstring in most of the waistbands of my skirts step one is to unpick about 3-5in of the center (ish) of the front of the skirt (or wherever you're sticking your grommets and tails)

I used a pair of pins to mark the start and end of my section. There's two rows of stitching at the waistband you'll have to undo.

The next thing you'll need to do is poke your holes for your grommets (grommets are important to prevent wear on the waistband and unraveling)

Because the materials you are setting the grommets in are very stretchy you want to make that stretch work to your advantage and make the tiniest hole you can get away with (if your hole is too big the material will stretch away from the grommet and the grommet will fall out) I found that only cutting vertical threads in the elastic worked best (and not more than like 3) I used the tip of my seam ripper to gently move the threads over to the sides of the grommet.

The placement of your grommets is very important. You need to make sure there is roughly 1/2 in between the edge of the grommet and the end of your open section so you can fit your setting tool in and that the pair of grommets are not too close together (for me that is about 1-3 in apart, you do want to be able to bridge that gap with your lace)

Next you will thread your drawstring. I'm using 72in shoelaces, use whatever you like. I chose shoelaces because they come with nicely finished ends, are fairly durable and come standard in several sizes. Whatever you use you'll want it to be about 16in longer than your body's widest point (roughly 8in per end to tie with at the most relaxed)

Now while you can feed it without a tool (so long as it has a hard end you can feel and move from outside the waistband a safety pin works ok in a pinch) I strongly recommend using a tool of some kind. The ideal tool for the job is a bodkin (a clamping lacing tool specifically designed for this sort of thing) of course I have consistently failed to aquire one for the last decade or so so I'm using a pair of clamping tweezers (not ideal but workable)

You'll also want to secure the other end (not the feeding end, I usually feed it through the eyelet and tie a decent knot in it and that'll handle it. You will want to start feeding into the waistband on the same side as the eyelet you used as an anchor and away from the other eyelet

Some tips for feeding drawstrings (particularly those paired with elastic)

-Feed your drawstring a few inches then grip the waistband and string in one hand while shoving the gathered material away towards the other end of the channel

-The seams and pockets are the fiddliest bit but a bit of careful wiggling will get you past them (it is an open channel all the way around!!) DO NOT force it gentle wiggling is your friend

-Your hand will probably get tired after a bit don't hurt yourself and feed the next one the opposite way.

-Because of the construction of these skirts I ended up feeding my drawstring along the outside of the elastic inside the outer portion of the waistband feeding from the same side as your drawstring is much easier (even though your grommets are in the inside of the skirt)

Once your drawstring is fed through you are on to the next tricky bit. Sewing.

You probably can hand sew it. I didn't. I'd guess that an invisible hem stitch and a running stitch might be the best way to do that but ymmv. I did mine on a machine, which had it's struggles but also was easier for me.

Sewing directions wil be continued in the reblog because I seem to have hit the image limit.

[silvysartfulness]

Chapter 61 - A Grand And Breathtaking Sight of Heaven Has A Road But No One Walks It is up! :D

“The water smells different,” Xiao Xingchen said, cocking his head to smell the breeze. The river was so wide here it looked more like a huge lake, the far shore so distant it was hard to make out in the haze of the late summer sun.

Curious, Xue Yang leaned over the edge of the boat to trail his hand in the water – Song Lan had made a fuss last morning and insisted on more pressure treatments, rubbing most of the ache out of the bones again, but that was alright because he had retaliated by poking said grubby hand all over the stitches of the once-wound to make sure the fierce corpse was holding himself together properly. Which he was, so they were even.

He brought his wet fingers up to his lips to lick at them, then grinned with excitement.

“It’s salty!”

Xiao Xingchen leaned in close, every bit as excited.

“Really?”

“Here,” Xue Yang told him, holding his wet fingers to his lips. Xiao Xingchen started, then opened his mouth almost on reflex to let him touch his tongue, a bright, surprised smile bursting onto his face.

“It really is! Salty. Like a river of tears.”

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

The beach episode! Surely the three disaster-boys have earned a nice, relaxing vacation completely free of angst. 🥰

I'm telling you guys, I'm going through it wrapping this beast up - the end is both so near, and SO SO far. I appreciate your encouragement, reblogs, tags and comments more than ever! Or maybe come yell at me in my discord server?

We can do it together! 😭🙏💚

[sluttylittlewaistenthusiast]

╰┈➤ 18+ none of these stories belong to me! this is a masterlist of all the fanfics i’ve read and reblogged! just thought it would be nice to have them all in one spot! (if your fic is on here and you wish not to be, please let me know!) some will have summaries if provided <3

ᡣ𐭩 how you can help palestine . fic recs m.list

@moralesispunk

⭒ Simon is a tummy man

@guttednights

⭒ olderboyfriend!simon

@youronlydarlin

⭒ loser!simon

Just loser!Simon who's unknowingly a sex god

⭒ sucking Simon's dick like crazy

Suckin Simon's dick so good he starts beggin'

⭒ loser!simon who's unaware of just how big he is

⭒ jus suckin simon's dick til hes overstimulated

@undercoverpena

⭒ Keep You Close

he's pretty sure he's in love with you. not that he'll admit it, acknowledge it.

⭒ I'm With You

he knows how he feels, he knows how she feels. yet he fucks it up all the same.

⭒ About Someone, That Isn't You

memories that cloud reality, forcing him to blink them away—finding less glimmer, less shine greeting him as your eyes try to go dull. 

@bingoboingobongo

⭒ In His Eyes

Gaz swears that there’s something going on between you and Ghost. Soap refuses to believe it until he sees it for himself.

@ohmygraves

⭒ After your leave you came back with a ring

memories that cloud reality, forcing him to blink them away—finding less glimmer, less shine greeting him as your eyes try to go dull. 

@peppermint-toads

⭒ The night Simon retires

@oceantornadoo

⭒ Simon in love

simon riley being in love but he actually just doesn’t know it.

@shoukiko

⭒ Ghost vs. Simon

@konigsblog

⭒ hickeys w Simon

@suguann

⭒ Husband!Simon

@slvtforsimon

⭒ bouncing on Simon's cock

@tacticaldiary

⭒ Capture in Tandem | Recovery in Tandem

"I'll give you a choice." He says, cocking the gun. "Shall I put a bullet through you, or her?"

⭒ A Fighting Chance | Frayed Stitches Don't Hold

"When was the last time you kissed me and meant it?" Her voice drops into something akin to defeat.

⭒ It All Comes Crashing Down

She presses the metal radio against her lipa and mumbles her final words, hoping that although he has not spoken, he would hear.

@halcyone-of-the-sea

⭒ Til It Hurts | part 2

You thought that it would be easy - moving on and blazing your own trail, but at every step, memories seem to come back and haunt you. And the biggest memory takes the shape of a man with a skull mask. Can you still deny what you had always felt when he stands at your side once more?

⭒ Harvest Storms

In the process of trying to keep you happy and separate from him, he was leading you down the exact path he had tried to steer you from.

⭒ Another Word for Protection

Simon Riley x Niece!reader (platonic series)

⭒ Black Metal Bourbon

⭒ Between Dreams and Sugars

Your screams will haunt his dreams until the day he dies.

@lovelyghst

⭒ soft tummy simon riley

@a-small-writer-in-a-big-world

⭒ The Roomate Series

Three years ago you decided to go to college after being out of high school for so long but the only problem was that you needed a place to stay. You found an ad about someone needing a roommate for their apartment and ended up becoming roommates with a man named Simon Riley.

[onestepbackwards]

Love That Bites Pt. 12

Hiii! It’s been a while! Sorry for such a long wait, my life has been chaos non-stop with one bad thing after another, but I was determined to finish this chapter! φ(・ω・｀ ) Forgive me if the pacing and formatting is a little off, but I finally got it done, even if I didn’t get to stuff everything I wanted into this chapter. But that just leaves more for the next one. I do hope you all Enjoy!

Summary: You begin to seriously dwell on your situation, but it seems even as much as you would like to stay, home comes calling. With home on the other line, it seems your fantasy must eventually come to an end. Though it seems Dracula may want a few words…

CW: Anxiety, budding feelings, dark thoughts, brief thoughts of murder, mentions of toxic family

Word Count: 5367 Words!

Like my work? Please consider checking me out and supporting me here: Link

Likes and reblogs appreciated!

Tag List: @tilldeathripsusapart @thedeadlynights, @pumpkinvampie @bethleeham @mshope16 @sixsixtwenty @haleypearce @rvautomatic @tinystarfishgalaxy @marshmelloe @maorizon @ursamajor17 @sapphicsfordracula @dame-sunflowers @sleepyendymion @starrlo0ver @onewiththebeanbag (i’m sorry, sometimes the @ doesn’t work?? ;~; )

First: Here

Last: Here

Next: Here

—

If you were being honest, you were beginning to wonder if staying in Dracula’s castle was driving you mad.

It had only been about three days, give or take, and yet…

How else would one rationally explain why you were actually enjoying your stay here at his castle? Or enjoying his visits with how tenderly the Dracula treated you?

Answer was, you didn’t.

At the moment, you were pressing your face into one of the soft pillows on the bed of your room. Outside of the castle, you could faintly hear the sounds of rolling thunder, and raindrops hitting the window.

Somehow, what normally would have been an eerie atmosphere had also become a comfort for you.

You weren’t as tense here. Despite being in Dracula’s castle, and that someone had already tried to kill you, you didn’t feel like you were in survival mode 24/7.

Not like how you were at your old home.

Clutching the pillow closer, you inhaled the pillow’s scent, before letting out a muffled groan.

There was also something you didn’t want to admit. The fact you were beginning to feel really weird about Dracula himself.

And it wasn’t even a bad weird.

It’s something you had been wanting to just shove into the back of your mind and never think of again, but it was beginning to be really hard to do that with how gentle and careful the Vampire Lord was with you.

Especially with the way he oh so gently held parts of your body when overseeing your healing injuries.

Your mind wandered to when he first picked you up, how he held you so effortlessly, holding you against his large frame as he carried you across the castle to this guest room.

Or how his large hands carefully cradled your midsection as he looked over your stitches that you had accidentally messed up. How his cool hands sent electric tingles across your skin-

Heat rushed to your face.

His voice had been so low, and those gorgeous ruby eyes looking at you with genuine concern.

And then his smirk.

How he smirked at you as he teased you, no malice to be seen on his face.

“I’m such a fucking goner, holy shit.” you mumbled into your pillow as heat flushed through your body.

You didn’t dare admit it out loud, but deep down, you knew what this meant.

Heart thudding in your chest, you gripped the pillow tighter.

You had a crush on Dracula.

It wasn’t something you could keep denying, not when your heart fluttered when he gave you such tender looks, or when his lips curled into an amused smirk when he teased you.

The urge to yell was strong.

“I must have really hit my head.”

Of course, that was an excuse you could only use so much until it was just a convenient lie. With the potion Dracula had made for you, the injury to your head had mostly healed.

With the injury to your skull no longer an issue, you knew deep down these feelings you had were unfortunately very natural.

Lifting your head from the pillow, you looked over to the window, idly watching a few flashes of lightning followed by thunder.

Swallowing thickly, you thought back to how he was just so… kind to you.

Even when he was being truthful, it was kind. Dracula didn’t have to tell you that the first batch of potions had been tampered with, but he wanted to be honest with you. It was clear he was putting his cards on the table so you could make your own decisions.

When had someone last been so… open with you? Willingly?

Just the thought had your heart pounding.

Was it really that simple? Someone just had to show you basic kindness for your heart to grow fond of them?

Another flash of lightning struck outside the castle, and you rolled onto your side.

Your mind idly wandered to something Dracula had told you while trying to make conversation. Something about how even the weather was connected to him, to a degree.

Despite the lightning and thunder, it wasn’t angry, like a beast lashing out. Not like it had been earlier.

Another part of you wondered if that heavy storm had been when Dracula found out the potions meant for you had been poisoned.

An even smaller part almost wanted to believe it, imagining how angry he could have possibly been on your behalf. Just like he had been when he broke free, how he wanted to know who had hurt you.

In truth, it was the storm earlier that had caused you to trip and tear some of your stitches.

A loud crack of lightning had shaken the castle earlier, all while you were getting up to use the restroom connected to the room you stayed in. It startled you enough to make you trip over your own feet, and collapse on the floor.

If it had been Dracula’s doing, you didn’t blame him. You doubted he was aware you had been up walking when he had been so angry.

…And because of it, you got to feel his hands on your body, even if it was brief.

A moment passed.

“Am I really that down bad?” you asked yourself, eyes drifting to the ceiling.

You wanted to scream.

This was not fair. Not fair at all.

Why Dracula of all people? The very man you were ‘destined’ to fight?

Deep down, it wasn’t hard to figure out the answer.

You were lonely.

Lonely, and a bit broken.

To have someone, even your biggest ‘enemy’ treat you with respect and kindness… Looking at it from an outside perspective? It wasn’t particularly surprising your heart was trying to latch onto him.

It didn’t make things any easier, though.

Especially when he gave you such fond looks. Looks you could almost imagine a good friend or lover giving you.

“Yup, I’m losing it.” You spoke, your eyes narrowing.

If anything, this made things way more complicated.

What on earth were you going to do now?

You’ve toyed with the idea of maybe politely asking Dracula to, you know, not destroy all of humanity in a attempt of mass genocide.

But would it be that easy?

Just because he seemed to respect you, did not mean he would give the same pardon to the rest of your kind. Especially how he didn’t seem too pleased when you mentioned you got your injuries from personal business.

It wasn’t a lot of info, but you had a feeling Dracula suspected it was humans that had done this to you. No doubt that wouldn’t help you with pleading your case.

Still… You also found your mind wandering over possibly trying to talk Dracula out of killing all humans, despite the odds.

It was something you had wanted the moment you found his statue, though you never really thought you’d get this far.

Could you really do it? Convince the Lord of the Night to leave humanity be?

Perhaps you could make a compromise? You knew he had to drink blood to live, perhaps he’d be interested in the few supernatural blood drives that existed?

…Or even your own blood?

You quickly shook your head, trying to get the image of Dracula intimately biting into your neck out of your mind.

That image pleased you a lot more than you’d like to admit…

With a huff, you brought a hand to your face, and rubbed your eyes.

“What was I thinking about again? Right! Compromise…”

It wasn’t like you could just stop hunting, either. Even if Dracula agreed not to kill humans, that didn’t mean other people who lived independently of him would follow such a lifestyle. If a beast or something of paranormal nature was out causing harm to innocent people, you’d have to put a stop to it.

But, perhaps… Perhaps you could convince Dracula at least to leave humanity be, unless someone personally spites him?

In that case, you could hardly feel the desire to stop him. Fuck around and find out and all that.

You would no doubt though have to give something up in return, no?

Not hunting Dracula wouldn’t be enough, you were sure. The King of the Night had sworn to destroy humanity for killing his wife. You doubted he would simply just stop in his crusade because you asked nicely and swore not to kill him for it.

“Perhaps if I added his castle and the covens that follow him…”

So long as his underlings weren’t out hunting innocent people, you generally had no reason to hunt them. The life of someone from the paranormal was tough, that you knew from the few supernatural acquaintances you had.

Not every dark being wanted to kill, they simply had to for survival. More often than not, it was humans that didn’t give them any options, hunting them down for being a dark being, or not helping them control their hunger.

On one hand, you understood the human perspective, to a degree. Why help something that needs to feed on your lifeblood to survive?

But on the other hand… If humanity helped them instead of scorned them, they would have no reason to hunt humans in the first place. Such as the blood banks to help feed vampires, so they were fed and didn’t have to give into their instincts.

Unfortunately, those weren’t incredibly popular as you’d like them to be. At least some of humanity was giving it a shot though…

Blowing a tuft of hair out of your face, you scowled. It really was an unending battle.

Didn’t help humans and many of the supernatural thought themselves above the other. No doubt if Dracula miraculously agreed not to kill humans, others would just find that stupid and do it anyway.

And you also figured others would come to hunt Dracula themselves. Even if the man agreed to leave humans alone, you doubted humans, let alone the church would take kindly to him just existing.

Hell, was his son even still alive? Alucard, you think his name was?

You had read about him from different journals of different Belmonts. It was clear the man was immortal, despite the human blood running through his veins

How the man was Dracula’s son, who had sworn to kill his father any time he should rise.

Swallowing thickly, you suddenly felt a bit sick.

Would you… Would you have to fight Alucard? The same man your ancestors thought so fondly of?

Somehow, that thought made your stomach churn.

You didn’t even know if the man was still alive. Could he be? Could Alucard really have hidden himself, even in modern times?

Or perhaps he had put himself to eternal rest until Dracula had awakened once more? You read something about him doing that in one of Richter’s journals. Something about how Alucard awoke to the call of Castlevania after Richter had risen the castle.

You felt your heart tick up a beat. Did that mean Alucard might come here and fight Dracula himself?

Turning onto your other side, you reached out and gently gripped your whip. Its old presence brought you a small comfort.

Chances were, you don’t think you’d have it in you to fight Alucard yourself.

Just like how you didn’t want to fight Dracula, just a little different in reasoning.

Would Alucard even listen if you tried to tell him Dracula didn’t want to kill humans? That is, if you even got Dracula to agree?

No, you doubted it would be that simple or easy.

Perhaps you could just stay out of it? Or at least try talking to him?

“Hah, am I really debating this?” You whispered to yourself, thumb running over some of the grooves of the whip.

You hadn’t even talked to Dracula yet about him leaving humanity alone, and here you were, thinking ahead as if you already accomplished such a feat.

Heaving a sigh, you slid the pillow out from under your head, and placed it on your face with a groan.

The weight of the world was still very much on your shoulders. Even if you didn’t have to fight Dracula now, you still had a job to do.

Protect humanity.

But…

Was it really that bad you were hoping you didn’t have to fight Dracula to do that?

Not just because of your complicated feelings, but would it not be better just to have him be neutral again?

If you did end up fighting and killing him, he would simply come back within a hundred years! It didn’t matter what you would do, fate would no doubt put your family through the ringer once more to defeat him.

Or at least have someone step up to the challenge if not your own family. Perhaps someone from the Morris clan?

Though, if you could make him no longer a threat because he wants to stay out of it, would that not be better for everyone involved?

Of course, you could only hope it would be that easy. Your life had never been simple, and it loved to screw you over time and time again.

However, you found some of your mother’s words echoing in your head.

‘Expect the worst, but hope for the best.’

Moving the pillow on your face to the side, you sighed.

“I can do that. I guess.”

You sat in silence for a few moments, idly listening to the thunder rolling overhead. You still couldn’t get over how this castle seemed to have a peaceful ambience your own home seemed to lack.

A buzz brought you out of your thoughts, and your eyes narrowed.

Hand flinging to the side of the bed, you patted the sheets until you felt the familiar shape of your phone. Picking it up, you felt your heart drop into your stomach.

‘When are u coming home? Dad’s not happy.’

Your mouth went dry, and you felt your body beginning to shake.

That’s right. You have been gone for several days now. It was only a matter of time before someone at home contacted you, asking where you were.

“Figures I couldn’t even have a week…” you mumbled, staring at your screen with badly veiled disdain.

Putting your phone down, you ignored the urge to puke your guts up. Just thinking of heading back to your family home made you nauseous.

Especially if Jason was growing upset you were gone.

“Upset if I’m there. Pissed if I’m away. Bah.”

It wasn’t incredibly surprising. Anytime you had injuries or were sick, you were always expected to ‘pick up the slack’, as they’d say.

Maybe they’d leave you be for a day or two at best if it was noticeably bad. However, you never got your hopes up, especially when it came to injuries.

In their eyes, if you could walk, you could work. If not doing the dirty jobs, then you could at least clean the house while they did the ‘real’ work.

A flare of irritation and anger rose in you.

Sure, you were always annoyed with them, but especially now after everything you have been through over the past few days.

Nearly dying because of your step family, having a manic episode and accidentally reviving your nemesis, said nemesis then caring for you better than anyone has before since your mother passed…

And… you had admittedly enjoyed the past few days, even if you were in enemy territory.

Dracula kept a slight distance with you, that much was obvious. It was clear, however, he was doing so for your comfort.

Even then, he still regularly checked up on you every few hours. You could technically even leave if you wanted, he said he would not stop you or hurt you for doing so.

Just yesterday, he had offered to bring you some books if you needed them, which you had declined.

It had shocked you more than anything that he was willing to offer entertainment, though you suppose you shouldn’t have been too surprised either. Declining had been a gut reaction from surprise, but you made sure to let him know you appreciated the offer.

You weren’t sure you could really even read anything he gave you, given you didn’t know what books he had. You would have had to see for yourself, and you didn’t want to bother him about it.

Though… It wasn’t like you could have gotten too much reading done with how much you had been sleeping and thinking. The few times you did need a distraction, you still had your phone too, which miraculously still somehow had a data connection.

Given how you were healing though… You wouldn’t mind a book now. A bit too late to ask for it though, you supposed.

Letting out a shaky breath, you looked at your phone once more.

The text almost seemed to taunt you.

They wanted you back, after hurting you, nearly killing you. All over ‘training’. As if nothing had happened.

Granted, you did tell them as you left to pretend it never happened. You think. Your memory of that fight was a bit hazier than you would like to admit.

Probably bloodloss.

Still…

Did they think they could just make demands? Just like that?

A part of you wanted to call Seth, the one who had texted you, and chew him out. Tell him about the hell you endured because of them, and how you almost died because they didn’t give a single shit about you.

How you wanted to rip into them, unload every single thing they have done to piss you off and ruin your life.

How a part of you wanted to go home and cut them to pieces slowly and-

You froze.

The grip on your phone was tight, and you felt your breathing grow heavy.

Carefully, you put your phone down on the bed, and took a deep breath.

You were angry, but you hated when those thoughts began to show. It never led to a good place mentally when you thought about killing them.

It wouldn’t be worth it.

Even if you did feel a sick satisfaction from it, which you know you would have, you would still suffer.

Being a Belmont only protected you from the law so much. The city you lived in didn’t know what went on behind closed doors. To the city, your little step family did everyone a favor by keeping the ‘beasts’ away.

If you killed them, you would be arrested. You would lose everything you worked hard for.

Your home, your heirlooms, your whip.

Sure, you could survive on the run for a while… But it wouldn’t be worth it.

The whole reason you put up with those jackasses was because you wanted to keep your home safe. You couldn’t exactly do that if you couldn’t go home.

Life really sucked right now.

But at least… you found temporary peace.

Idly, you clutched your phone again, wondering if you should answer Seth, or ignore him like you wanted to.

Given just looking at your screen and seeing the message made pricks of anxiety and frustration bloom in your chest, you decided to ignore it for now.

You couldn’t ignore it forever. Things would get worse if you did, and you already dreaded what the house must look like since you’ve been gone.

No doubt Jason’s attitude has been foul, you wouldn’t be surprised if he took it out on your home, just for you to clean up.

Scowling, you let out a small noise of annoyance.

After another moment, you decided to sit up. The soft sheets slid to your hips, and you winced as some weight shifted to a wound.

Hand twitching, you resisted the urge to open your bandages to look at your injuries.

Most were beginning to heal rather nicely since Dracula had brought you a potion. However, you still had a long way to go before you were fully recovered.

At the very least, maybe it wouldn’t be that long if Dracula truly intended to keep having potions made for you.

Yet another concept that floated around in your head that still managed to surprise you.

It’s almost funny. If you had been any other Belmont, you were certain you probably would have been mocked and tortured for having injuries. You doubted he would have extended the same kindness as he had you.

This didn’t help the fuzzy feeling in your chest when you thought about him, in an odd way.

You were special to Dracula, at least right now you were.

He wanted you alive for now. Alive and well.

Wringing your hands close to your chest, you tried not to sigh again.

What were you going to do?

As you tried once again to think over your options, your eyes caught your figure in one of the mirrors in the room. One near a dresser meant to look over outfits, you presumed.

Though you couldn’t help but scrunch up your face when you noticed your reflection.

You looked awful. Felt it too, even if your injuries were doing better.

Despite this, Dracula still treated you so gently, and with respect.

As you were deep in your musings, you ended up jumping a bit when you heard the familiar brisk knock at your door.

You knew right away who it was, having memorized just how particular Dracula had been knocking on your door.

Perhaps it was on purpose? A knock you would grow to recognize in case someone else knocked on your door?

Regardless, you didn’t keep him waiting, telling him to come in.

You would admit though, you never got over the slight surprise you had as he entered your room each time.

His presence alone was intimidating, even as he made a point to try and not be as such. How he seemingly called for attention as he entered a room, even if he didn’t utter a word.

It was both impressive, and you weren’t entirely sure how to feel about it.

Nervous? Sure. Into it? You had to mentally smack your brain a little to avoid your thoughts going in that direction as he was in the same room as you-

“Good afternoon.” He spoke as he closed the door behind him, his voice deep and quiet. You know for a fact he had a voice that could lead an entire army, or gently put you to sleep.

A dangerous voice, one you liked a bit too much.

-Nodding to him, you gave him a small smile. It was strange, how relaxed you were becoming around him with each visit.

A part of you still yearned for it to never end.

But your phone weighed heavy in your hand, a solid reminder you couldn’t stay. Unspoken consequences idly rolled around in your head, which was beginning to make you grow queasy.

Dracula’s eyes seemed to see through you, and you wondered if he could read your mind with how his gaze seemed to look at your very soul.

You certainly hoped he couldn’t read your mind, otherwise things would be pretty awkward with all the suggestive thoughts you have been mentally fighting off with a bat that floated through your head.

Thankfully, Dracula didn’t say a thing about that, simply sitting down in the chair you decided to keep next to your bed.

“Are you feeling well? Has the potion helped?”

He asked, bringing you out of your thoughts.

Heart pounding slightly, you smiled a bit wider.

“Yes! It has helped tremendously. My head no longer feels as if someone hit it with a hammer, and I’m mostly just sore at this point.”

Granted, that didn’t mean you were out of the woods yet. Your pain tolerance was higher than most. Just because you felt better, didn’t mean you were greenlit to go do any serious activities or hunting.

Despite your inner musings, Dracula seemed pleased.

“Good, good…”

He then reached into his cloak, and pulled out what you assumed to be another bottle filled with potion.

It had been a little while since he gave you that first dose, so it should be safe to consume more..

Potions could be taken in large quantities, but it wasn’t exactly recommended.

The concoctions filled a person’s stomach, but didn’t offer any nutritional value other than healing wounds. It could even make a person sick if consumed too much without a break or food in between major doses.

Not that it stopped you before. You didn’t exactly have the luxury of being picky at home when constantly fighting illness and injury. Growing sick from too much potion was a risk you often had to take.

You decided to keep that thought to yourself as you took the bottle from Dracula’s hands.

“If your healing continues to progress, you should be completely healed in less than a week. Maybe even sooner once those other potions are finished.” Dracula spoke, drawing your attention back to him.

A week? You didn’t think you had that kind of time. You’d probably need to be home at most, three days from now.

Dracula gave you an odd look.

“Is that not satisfactory?”

You blinked, eyes widening slightly.

“Oh, no! That… that isn’t the issue at all. It’s… It’s just…” you stumbled over your words, running a hand through your hair as you tried to figure out how to explain without seeming unthankful.

Dracula remained patient, letting you figure out what to say. His gaze was cool, yet curious.

A part of you also swore you saw amusement as you fumbled your sentences together.

Nervously, you began to wring your hands together, and fiddle with your shirt.

“…I just… I’m uh, I’m expected to be home soon…”

Dracula raised a brow at your small explanation.

Immediately, you also felt the temperature of the room drop. Enough to make the hair on your neck stand on end, and send a shudder down your spine.

You hoped you hadn’t pissed him off by saying that…

The gaze on Dracula’s face shifted, going from barely concealed amusement, to something… darker.

Old instincts began to wake, and you seriously hoped this wouldn’t be the end of the small little bit of peace you have had up until now.

The last thing you wanted was a fight.

An intimidating silence took hold of the room, and you forced yourself not to reach for your whip out of nerves. After a few moments, Dracula then broke said silence.

“This home of yours…”

He leaned close to you, his eyes bearing into your own.

“…Is it the same place where you received these injuries?”

For a moment, it felt as if the wind had been taken out of your sails.

“…Huh?”

You were confused. Was he… not upset with you?

Dracula tilted his head, those same ruby eyes flickering over where you were still injured.

“Forgive me for being presumptuous, but is that not where you were attacked? Was it within your own home?”

The question had your eyes wide.

“I uh-“

Dracula leaned back, though the odd feeling in the room didn’t settle.

“Of course, you don’t have to answer. But if I am right, is it that pressing to return before you are fully healed to handle whoever, or whatever dealt such blows?”

His questions had you pausing, and you felt your mouth run dry.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d say Dracula seemed apprehensive about you returning home where you were hurt.

Almost as if he cared.

The very thought had your mind whirring in overdrive. If someone had told you months ago that Dracula himself seemed to care about you, you would have laughed in their face.

But with everything he has done for you… was it really that far fetched?

If anything, you could at least argue he’d hate to see all the hard work done in healing you go to waste, but you were certain it was more than that.

Again, not good for your conflicted feelings on Mr. Lord of the Night himself.

Rubbing the back of your head with a sigh, you felt yourself droop a little.

“It’s… complicated, but yes. I have to return home soon, or things might get messy.”

The very thought of what might happen if you disappeared too long left a sour feeling in your stomach.

Your eyes flickered up to meet his, and he held your gaze for a few moments.

“…I assume you can’t put this off then? That it must be urgent?” He asked, his voice low.

Nodding, you tried to keep holding his gaze, not wanting to seem weak about it.

“Unfortunately. I… I risk a lot if I wait too long.”

Dracula’s eyes narrowed on you, before he closed them with a sigh.

“Like I have mentioned before, you are my guest here. You are free to leave at any point you wish, nor are you to be attacked as you do so. However…”

Your head tilted slightly, heart picking up at the end of his sentence. However…?

“Are you… certain this is wise? That there is nothing else that can be done?”

Shaking your head, you finally looked away.

“…Will you be hurt again?”

You stayed silent, telling Dracula all he needed to know, even if you refused to elaborate.

Why bother making an empty promise? Even if you don’t get hurt this time when you head home, what about the next? You knew all too well it was practically a waiting game until you were sick or injured again.

With your silence, the room somehow became increasingly colder.

Daring to look up, you were surprised to see the red of his eyes glowing slightly, much like how he had found you.

He really didn’t seem to like the implications you left him with.

But what could you say?

‘Yeah, my step family might try to beat the shit out of me or leave me the rotten leftovers to eat, or even make me do the yucky missions. No doubt I’ll be injured or sick again by the end of the month!’

Yeah… that probably sounded a bit pathetic. Some Belmont you were, allowing your own ‘family’ to use you as a punching bag.

Dracula eventually let out a sigh, and reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He looked frustrated. Or worried? You couldn’t be too sure.

A moment passed. Then another. You weren’t entirely sure what to say.

Another sigh left his lips, and when he moved his hand to look at you, his eyes briefly glowed once again, before returning to their same ruby red they were before.

The room remained cold, though the look in his face wasn’t quite as scathing or irritated.

“Very well then. It seems this is personal and important to you. Whenever you wish to leave, I will personally escort you out of the castle.”

A part of you grew warm and fuzzy at that. And they say chivalry is dead.

However, before you could bask in that warm, fuzzy feeling, his voice rang out once more.

“Before you leave however, we have much to discuss.”

You blinked.

“Huh?”

As if a switch had been flipped, his entire posture seemed to shift.

His back was up straighter, and he crossed his legs. He then rested his elbow on the arm of the chair, resting his head on his fist.

His eyes seemed to sharpen as his gaze then zeroed in on you.

Your mouth went dry.

It was as if his entire demeanor changed.

Hair on your neck stood on end, and out of nowhere, it was as if a stone settled uncomfortably in your stomach.

“You had mentioned wishing to talk back when I was… imprisoned. If you are going to leave, I imagine you would wish to discuss this before you do so.”

You felt your blood run cold.

Ah. That.

Now you understood why his demeanor had changed so much in a matter of seconds.

No longer were you just talking to Dracula, your polite host.

You were now discussing terms with Dracula, King of the Night.

[hey-august]

Saw the cuteness aggression post you reblogged and would feel blessed if you ever wrote whump fic with Buggy because I would ALSO love to try and comfort a man who just staggered into the room bloody, beaten and bruised, clearly just thumbling over the threshold of “show no weakness” to “in so much pain he doesn’t even care anymore that he’s hiccuping and sobbing like a child while clinging to you” hurt comfort with heavy emphasis on the hurt? Yes pls

Anon, I'm so so sorry for how long it took me to get to this. I love me some angst and whump, and while I had ideas, the motivation to write was not working with me.

I don't want to keep holding onto this and leave you hanging for even longer, so I wrote out my idea in bullet point format.

I hope this still hits the spot!

WC: ~550 Warnings: buggy x gn!reader, mentions of blood and burn wounds

You and Buggy have an unspoken thing. A mutual pining. There's respect and some affection. A closeness, but still distance and a barrier that neither of you acknowledge.

You're the ship's doctor and the crew was in a rough fight. Lots of injuries, ranging from minor scuffs, to teeth knocked out, stitches, broken noses and broken bones, blood and tears - it's a lot in a short period of time.

You're doing what you can, and those who are less injured are helping where they can.

Once you get through those involved, the captain is the last one left needing your attention.

Maybe he's been sitting nearby the whole time, waving away anyone coming to triage or check on him, snapping that he's fine. Get the hell away from him.

But when the room empties, Buggy crumbles. It starts small, bit by bit as you assess him.

His busted lip is split and bleeding, the color mixing with his smeared lipstick. His right eye is swelling. His beautiful hair is singed. The affected tips are stuck in terrified curls from trying to run from the heat. The smell is clinging everywhere.

But the worst are the burns. You're not sure what happened - some of the other crewmembers had burns and scorch marks, but not like this.

Your captain has some rough wounds on his arms and torso, where the heat ate away at the fabric before feeding on his skin and flesh.

He's wet and sticky. Swaths of skin are weeping. Buggy's feeling exposed, tender, and hurt. Pain is radiating out while regret and fear are falling inwards.

All it takes is one soft comment from you. "You must be in so much pain." You were talking to yourself, but it's the acknowledgement that Buggy must have needed.

The eyes that had been avoiding yours, stopped holding back tears. His clenched jaw and tight lips quiver. He nods.

You can't fathom how much it hurts to move, but Buggy has his arms wrapped tightly around your midsection. His hands are clutching your clothes, pulling them taut. It's like he's a cracked vessel, losing liquid and life, but maybe you can keep him together. Maybe you could fix him. And if not, he wouldn't be alone as he breaks.

Hurting more is often part of getting better. You know this, and you let it happen.

You let Buggy cry against you. You let his tears, snot, spittle, and worries seep into your clothes. You hold the back of his head and put a hand on his back, and rub. You let your own stinging tears fall.

Noises get caught in his throat and Buggy fixes his hold, as if he's trying to wrap himself around you even more. As if he's trying to squeeze every drop of comfort and care from you.

His hands are detached, fingers stretched and probably barely connected, all so he can hold more of you. Even his feet are shuffling, seeking contact against yours. His knees knocking against your legs.

Buggy continues until he's hiccupping and coughing. Until he has a headache and his eyes are bleary.

You should have stopped him sooner. Some of the oozing wounds started to crust and are clinging to the fabric of your clothes.

Buggy whines and grunts as he literally peels himself away.

You still need to clean and dress the wounds, so another round of pain. One could argue that you should have gone ahead and done that right away, but no.

Despite the visible injuries, there's invisible damage that needed to be soothed.

You can almost see Buggy picking up his broken pieces and putting them back together. Recreating a wall, a mask, a barrier.

You know what's on the other side, though. And you will be there whenever he needs you.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Know Your Place 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, power dynamic, age gap, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Walter Marshall, destroyer!Chris [for the purposes of this AU, I will give him the last name Jackson] (Professor AU)

Summary: after a life time of home schooling, you finally get to experience the real world in college. (petite reader)

Part of the Bad Professors AU

Note: Please leave some feedback and reblog <3 As always, I love to chat with you all. 

The noise all around has you reeling. You’re not used to so many people. So many voices and smells and sights. The frantic action of it all reminds you of a mid-00s movie about a high school. The coeds are like animals milling about in groups with the odd single body rushing between with a mission stitched between their brows. 

You sit with your thermos of tea and try to focus on your schedule. You have a campus map from the Student Support Centre next to it, trying to map out your route for each day. Momma said you should try to get ahead, figure out where you’re going. She’s always right. 

You have two classes that day. As you find the buildings on the map, planting a finger on each, you find that they are on completely different ends of the campus. Of course. Well, momma didn’t know that where they would be, did she? She said you have to balance your load; if you’re going to be an English major, make sure you take some math and science for your electives. 

You circle the two buildings and put lets beside them denoting which day you need to be there, numbering them in the order the classes occur. A burst of laughter breaks your concentration and you look around, trying to find the source. You almost miss the calm isolation of your childhood living room. 

No, you’re grown now and you begged Momma to let you go to college. Not online, but in person. You even worked all summer at the deli so you could live in a dorm. She was proud but worried. She’s never been good at letting go. She’s already called three times today and it’s not even noon. 

As the crowd blurs around you, a sudden gust blows over the table as someone sits across from you. You stare back at them with a gasp. They must’ve mistaken you for someone else. You blink as the man tugs on the front of his letterman jacket and smiles. He doesn’t seem mistaken. 

“Hey,” he leans forward on an elbow, “you waitin’ for someone? Got some cute girlfriends on their way?” 

He’s so forward, he has your brows as high as they can go and your cheeks are on fire. It’s not much of an introduction. 

“Excuse me?” You eke out. 

“Ah, I’m sorry, hon, I’m getting ahead of myself,” he smirks as he crosses both his arms on the table. “I’m Colin. You looked lonely.” 

“Oh, uh, I’m just... figuring out my schedule,” you utter dumbly. Yor brain isn’t clicking. Why is he talking to you? 

Your ears tweak and you notice a group in similar jackets, sitting just across the dining area, gabbing loudly, snickering. You wonder why he isn’t over there with them. You wiggle your pen anxiously. 

“Ah, you’re not gonna give me a name for that pretty face?” He says. 

“Huh?” Your brows drop, “what?” 

Your momma’s voice echoes in your head. ‘Be careful of those college boys. They only want one thing.’ You didn’t believe her. They don’t want that from you. You were sure once you saw the other girls in their tight leggings and short tops. 

“Your name, baby? Gotta be something sweet, huh?” 

Your face ripples as you wade through surprise, confusion, then something else. You’re almost giddy. This man, with his mussed blond hair and bright blue eyes, and his chiseled features, is asking you your name. It’s flattering. 

“Mauve,” you can’t help but smile as you answer. 

“Oh, yeah? That’s pretty, well, Mauve,” he takes out his phone, “me and my buddies are having a party tonight and we’re supposed to find a hottie to bring with us. I’m having no luck but if I show up alone, well... I might not get to stay in the frat. You get it?” 

You stare at him. You're confused. You don’t really understand frats and whatnot. They just seem like clubs people join so they can drink. 

“You wanna do me a favour? Come with me?” He asks. 

He’s bold. Bolder than any one you’ve ever met. You sputter but can’t come up with any words. 

“Please,” he pouts, “promise, I won’t try anything, I just gotta get these guys off my back.” 

He looks over his shoulder at the table of rowdy guys. You squirm in your seat, uncertain. You’ve never been to a party. Wow. 

“Here, I’ll get your number,” he taps on his phone screen, “I’ll send you the details--” 

“Leave her alone,” a grizzly voice undercuts the frat across from you. 

A thick man stands behind him. He has a cardboard cup in his hand as he glares down at the coed. His burly figure is swathed in a dark green sweater and grey slacks. He’s older and his dark curls are threaded with subtle twinkles of silver. 

“Huh? Who the hell are you?” 

“Why don’t you show her those pictures you were snapping of her? The ones you and your pals were laughing about?” The other man growls.  

You frown. What? You don’t understand what’s going on. You look from one to the other. The younger man sat across from your sighs and rolls his eyes. 

“Fuck it. Whatever. Lots of pigs to go around,” he shakes his head and stands, facing the other man. “You know, bro, just cause you’re too old to get with any ass around here, doesn’t mean you gotta ruin it for others.” 

“Get out of here,” the thicker man snarls. The other winces just slightly before puffing up his chest and stomping away. 

You remain as you are, aghast and lost. The man with the dark curls looks at you. You shrug at him. 

“I’m sorry, sir, did I do something wrong?” You ask. 

The harsh angles of his scowl ease and he lets out a long breath, “uh, no, not you. That boy, you know, any one that wears one of those jackets, they’re no good. Just some advice.” 

“Oh, right,” you look over at that guy, Colin, “sorry, I didn’t know. He just started talking to me. I was being polite.” 

“Seem like a nice girl. Just tryna look out for you.” 

“Yeah, thanks,” you chew your lip and sniff. “Are you... are you teacher?” 

“I’m a professor,” he confirms as he holds his cup close to his chest. He's one of the biggest men you’ve ever seen. And his eyes are as blue as the ocean. “Professor Marshall but unless you’re a psych student, you can call me Walter.” 

“Walter? My neighbour is Walter. At home. He’s eighty-one and he collects baseball cards,” you let yourself smile. You always felt more comfortable around older people. You never had many friends your own age. 

“Don’t mind some baseball myself,” he dips his chin. “Well, you look out for yourself and avoid the Greeks.” 

“Greeks?” You make a face. 

“Fraternities,” he says. “And sororities, if you can help it.” 

“Oh, okay. Thank you, sir,” you feel a little better. You think he’s right and he is a professor. He would know. “I’ll do that.” 

“Sir? It’s Walter,” he corrects you. 

“Oh, sorry, Walter,” you smile. “I’m Mauve.” 

He nods and shifts his cup, “Mauve,” he repeats, “well, nice to meet you.” 

“You too, sir, er, Walter. Thank you,” you say. 

He hesitates then steps back on his heel, “yeah, no problem.” 

He slowly retreats and you watch him, your heart playing like a drum. You did it. You spoke to strangers and you didn’t melt. Things are getting easier. If you could get through that, you’re sure you’ll make lots of friends in your classes. 

[f10werfae]

Pregnancy On The Brain

pairing: Lumberjack!Henry x Short!Shy!Wife!Reader

summary: Now that Henry’s successfully knocked up his precious darling wife, he has to keep an extra eye on her and their little miracle (Dom!Henry) (Emotional loving 🥹)

likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated🫶

Disclaimer: 18+ / Lumberjack!Henry Masterlist / Henry Masterlist / Full Masterlist

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

“Whas wrong sugar? What’s got my woman all teary” Henry frowned seeing his wife all upset in front of the mirror, her lips pouted and her face flustered. “I-I don’t f-fit into my d-dress anymore” Y/n whined seeing how the lemon printed dress barely made its way up her hips, stitches being ripped the harder she pulled on it. “Oi stop it, there’s nothin’ wrong, especially when there’s more of my bunbun to love on” Henry smirked groping the bits of skin Y/n was complaining about.

“B-but- well maybe I-I should e-exercise with you more?” She pondered looking up at him still visibly upset, in fact her chin was starting to wrinkle up from shaking so much, the new changes in her body clearly causing her distress. Henry could tell by the way her stutter started to make itself more visible. “No way. Precious things like you don’t belong on the heavy equipment sweetpea, you want exercise? Let me fuck your pretty pussy till ya sweat” He smirked bending down to nuzzle his nose with hers, his cock hardening once he saw her giggle n latch onto his bicep with both hands.

“T-That’s so naughty” She whispered cuddling the side of her face into his bicep, his other hand pulling back down the dress till it hit the floor, allowing him to play with her ass easily. “Listen while i’m out collecting log wood today, wan’ you to put on another pretty little dress that I bought ya last week, preferably the lilac one, n’ I want you to make somethin’ nice for us to eat when I get home. Can ya do that for me sugar bun?” He whispered running a finger up and down her cheek, his eyes having a dark glaze over them as he looked down at her.

“Mhm mhm! I can!” Y/n smiled happily, the ingredients for her cherry pie already listed out in her head, her cravings for it suddenly growing ten times in a mere few seconds. “Good n’ when I come home, i’ll have a surprise for ya” He grinned kissing her lips softly, before pulling away and grabbing his baseball cap, blowing kisses at her every two seconds as he walked towards his truck. Leaving his wife to her own special mission, the cherry pie.

“Oh I gotta get the cherries!” Y/n giggled slipping on her shoes, grabbing the wooden basket Henry had gotten her especially for her daily walks. Her face vibrant as she skipped down the secluded lane of their back yard, full of luscious fields, heading towards their cherry trees at the edge of the field. Her lilac dress flowing in the slightly cool breeze, her arms swinging the basket back and forth as she hummed a silly little tune she made up. Her eyes widening as she saw the amount of cherries on the tree, there were so many!

“Wow, y-you guys have all grown! Thank y-you so much” She said adorably picking a handful of sweet cherries from one branch, carefully grabbing her glass jar from the basket and plopping them in until it was full. “Well, I suppose it won’t hurt to taste one of ya” She whispered pulling out her blue blanket she always kept in her basket for emergency picnics, her several glass jars of cherries sitting snug inside the basket, while she lay down munching on her home grown fruits.

She still remembers the day she had complained to Henry about his poor eating habits and demanded he bought her seeds for her own plants; now here she was basically nurturing her own garden of babies, ranging from apples all the way to carrots.

‘That one looks like bonnie the rabbit’ Y/n thought looking up at the scarce white clouds flying overhead, her stuffed animal back home looking like one of them, then another looked like Henry’s axe and then one looked like a cherry. “Oh my phone, m-musta left it at home” She giggled realising, her hand reaching for the missing phone to try and take a picture to send to Henry. The warm sun gracing her face, distant sounds of birds providing a sweet lullaby, one which she slowly fell asleep to.

Meanwhile… Henry on the other hand was just about ready to head home, like clockwork he checked his babygirl’s location on life 360, smirking to himself to see that she had stayed at home like she said she would. Heading off back through the country in his pickup truck, he stopped off at a pharmacy by the gas station, picking up his surprise gift for his bunbun; one he knew would solidify their relationship forever. His body sweaty and hot, even though he was wearing baggy jeans a vest, his body painted with a light golden tan.

“Home sweet home” He whispered to himself, dusting off before going inside, remembering how much his precious wife despises their home being messy; Henry still smiles at the memory of her showing her domestic side, how she wouldn’t let him leave without breakfast and would always pack him lunches. Henry on the other hand wouldn’t let her go anywhere unless it was him driving her, after all what else was his purpose other than to look after his naive lover.

“Sugar pie, where are ya?” He shouted throwing his vest off to the side, his boots thundering against the creaky wooden floorboards, his steps leading him into the kitchen; the ingredients for her famous cherry pie laid out on the counter. But no Y/n. His nostrils flared seeing her iphone left beside the ingredients, who knows how long she’s been gone?

‘Did she really fuckin’ leave?’ Was Henry’s first thought, the veins on his neck popping out purely just from the thought, no wonder her tracker hadn’t moved once. Although the thought of her leaving dissipated once he saw Marly the cat coming inside from the fields, their backdoor was left wide open, the sunshine peeking in gratefully. “Ah the fields, the fuckin’ fields” Henry chuckled shaking his head, course she was out there, he knew how much his wife loved exploring the great outdoors; bringing him different coloured rocks and pebbles, watching giddily as he’d place them on the mantle as if they were to be treasured. And they were, because she got them for Him.

Walking out the backdoor he started off walking down the lane, the meadows further away shining green and healthily, but nothing deterred Henry from finding his little love.

Stopping at the start of the line of trees, he saw her, clearly snoring away on her soft picnic blanket; her basket full of jars of cherries beside her. Henry scoffed and smirked seeing just how silly she was, but he couldn’t blame her, not with her current condition. Looming over her figure, she whined and whimpered before opening her eyes fully, a sleepy smile gracing her lips when she realised it was none other than her husband.

“You fuckin’ scared me baby, didn’t know what ta do without ya, ya left your phone n’ everythin’” Henry whispered hunkering down onto his knees, watching as she slowly sat up, her face all puffy and sun-kissed from her nap. “m-m’ sorry I-I forgot it n’ I was too b-busy lookin’ at the clouds a-and”

“s’okay baby, your man knows, can’t blame ya for a little forgetfulness” He chuckled darkly, seeing how sleepy she still was, guiding her to hop onto his back while he gathered up her blanket and basket. “Missed you s-so much” She whispered kissing his back softly as he whistled a tune, “Ah was only gone for around three hours sugar” He chuckled walking down the smooth path, their large luxurious cabin coming into sight. “I-I know that, but I missed you a-anyway” She sighed rubbing her head against his warm back, her eyes threatening to close over once again.

“n’ I missed your pretty pussy-“

“My What!” Y/n’s eyes shot open at her husband’s vulgar words, his back vibrating from his chuckles travelling through, “n’ your tits and your-“

“Stop i-it that’s embarrassing and t-they ain’t pretty mister” She whined kicking her legs which were in his hands, his footsteps stopping abruptly with a deep sigh, “What do I gotta do to prove to you, that I think you’re fuckin’ sexy as hell, n’ I have to stop myself from whipping my cock out everytime I see ya smile” He grunted lifting her up a bit higher before continuing on down the trail, “W-whippin’ your wha out?!” She giggled loudly, her chin resting on his shoulder as she looked at his face from the side.

Henry smirked turning his head to the side, capturing her lips with his, his tongue reaching out for hers but quickly retracting once she wanted more. The tease. “You’re such a m-meanie, no more kissies for you” She grunted moving back to rest against his back, his hand leaving her leg to reach back and spank her ass with a pop; her body jerking up with an excited squeal.

“Try that again sweetheart n’ we’ll see what happens” He growled finally stepping into the cooler cabin, setting her down on top of their counters, beside his plastic bag from the pharmacy which had her small present. “I-is my present in here?!” She said excitedly picking up the bag, only to pout when Henry pulled it away from her grumpily.

“I dunno if you deserve it honey, ya worried me today, had me thinkin’ ya left your man up ‘ere in the mountains” He ‘tsk’ed and caged her in with an arm on each side of her, his nose rubbing up and down her cheek sensually, her hands fisting his shirt desperately as she pouted. “I-I dunno what happened H-hen, I swear! M-m jus’ forgetful nowadays” She whimpered nuzzling into his chest like a kitten, her legs caged around his waist, her face dipping down to place kisses onto his neck and up his chin.

“Alright alright fine, since you wan’ it so badly” He smirked cupping her face and kissing her nose, his hands reached into the bag and pulled out the small box, a clearblue box. “Ya know what this is bunny don’t ya?” Taking out the small stick and twirling it in his hands, he passed it to his wife, who was visibly shocked and shaken at what he’d just given her. “A-a pregnancy test?” She whispered looking at the foreign object, was this the condition Henry was talking about?

“I wan’ you to take it for me babybun, see if we have our present in there already” He smirked nipping her lip playfully, his hand rubbing over the bottom of her stomach affectionately, her small gasps filling his ears. “I-is this why my dresses d-don’t fit?”

“Find out n’ see baby” He smiled taking her hand in his, and pulling her into their large bathroom, with a bathtub big enough to fit four people at the most. “W-will you stay with me? M-m scared” She whimpered pulling up the skirt of her dress, her face flustered at the thought of him watching her pee, but then again this wouldn’t be the first time. There’d been multiple times where he’d simply barge into the toilet while she was in there, just for his routine goodbye kiss before work.

“Don’t worry sugar pie, m’not leavin’, not now and not ever” He smiled, almost sickly, his hands holding onto hers, quite comical because his wife was simply peeing yet needed all the support possible. “Alright pass it over ‘ere” He said watching her finish up, the test still in her shaky hands. “N-no way it’s full of my pee” She gasped horrified putting it down onto the counter herself, turning to distract herself by washing her hands.

Those three minutes felt like utter hell for them both, with Y/n ultimately sitting on Henry’s lap whilst he was on the toilet cover, his voice softly shushing her small whimpers and nervous hiccups as she looked at the test left on the table. “S’okay pretty girl, daddy will look after ya both” Kissing her neck wetly he could already feel her pussy throbbing at his words, even during a nerve wracking situation like this, a life altering moment.

“Ya promise?” Holding his deep blue eyes, her own looked glossy and scared, her hands fiddling with his fingers erratically. “I pinky promise” Linking their fingers together he kissed her lips softly, her head pushing forward wanting to deepen it, she missed three hours worth of his kisses today; she was not having it!

Although their little kiss session was interrupted by the beep of the timer on Henry’s phone, Y/n jumping up to her feet and leaning her head over to look at the plastic stick, her breath hitching in her throat. “what does a cross mean?” Her voice came out dry and hoarse, and for once not a stutter was in sight, she knew what it meant. “My gorgeous little wife is pregnant, with my baby” He smiled to himself still sitting on the toilet cover, he already knew the result, months of vitamins and unprotected sex would eventually have lead to this; all it took was some time.

“I-i’m gonna be a mommy?” Her hand softly slid down to cup the slight pouch on her stomach, her fingers grazing over her fabric slowly, a small smile finding its way onto her cace. “I-i’m gonna be a mommy!”

“mhm, so prouda ya babygirl” Henry smirked feeling up her thigh, his hand going up to grope her bare ass, his new baby momma still coming to terms with the fact she was carrying their little life; yet all he wanted to do was to fuck her good, and if he could he would knock her up again. The idea of his wife all round and big, full of him, got him so hot and bothered, her tits all swollen along with her belly, safely housing their own miracle.

“H-how do we know when i-it’s comin?”

“I’ll sort all that out baby, ya don’t need to worry your pretty self, after-all ya got pregnancy on the brain. Don’t want ya forgettin’ anythin” He cooed standing up to kiss her forehead, his arms enveloping her against him, feeling her nod and relax in his arms. All according to his plan.

After he was finally able to get her to come to bed with him, he found her hands naturally gravitating towards her stomach, her protective maternal instincts already kicking in so early. “I-if we have a g-girl can we name it a-after a flower?” She asked innocently looking up at him, her hands on top of his, on her stomach. “N’ what if it’s a boy babybun?” He chuckled kissing the tip of her nose, “I dunno haven’t t-thought of it yet! Stop stressin’ me out!” She whined almost inaudibly as Henry murmured sweet soft apologies, his lips coating the side of her face in gentle kissies, her favourite.

“T-thought you said you was sleepy” She whispered wrapping her arms around his neck, caressing his nape as he continued to plant little love bites on his lover, his kisses leaving her all hot and bothered. “I am, wasn’t lyin’” Henry pulled back quirking his eyebrow, “T-then tell it to calm down, o-or else ya won’t be able to sleep” Y/n said shyly pointing at the tent starting to grow in Henry’s trousers, ignoring the fact that Henry had basically bunched her dress up to her breasts, his fingers rubbing over her slick wet folds.

“Why don’t you tell my pussy to calm down” He grumbled rubbing her own slickness all over her, acting as if it was lube, his fingers greedily pinching her swollen jutted out clit. “Y-you started it! baby, tell your d-daddy to stop bein silly” She whined looking down and rubbing her still stomach, even though there was still no dramatic visible growth, the potential of it made her emotional and excited.

Licking into her mouth Henry held the back of her neck gently, both of her hands still on her stomach, while his other hand was busy messing with her second set of lips. Tugging, rubbing and spanking at her sensitive button, causing her body to jolt and shiver into the kiss, her tongue actively sucking on his passionately. Her chin slowly growing wet and slick, both of them not caring at how much filth there was. Kissing her sensually one more time he pushed her fully onto her back, his knees straddling her.

“Oh baby I hope they got your eyes, gon’ have me wrapped round their lil finger jus’ like their momma” He groaned seeing her just batting her eyelashes at him, a mischievous smile on her face as she felt up his torso, “I-I wan’ them to look l-like their daddy, s-so handsome” She whispered looking away from his eyes shyly. His hands now pulling the dress up fully over her head, giving her tits a bounce and grope; his voice chuckling deeply in her ear as he licked up her neck, “You’re so g’damn sexy, can’t wait to see ya all full of me, walkin’ around so everyone knows I pumped ya full of my cum”

“mhm s-so dirty” Whimpering and writhing, she felt his fingers go back down to her slick centre, the tip of his cock slapping against her clit roughly, almost imitating the spank of a hand. “Aw baby, we both know you’re the dirty one here, weren’t ya the one beggin’ me to kiss your pretty little pussy the other day?”

“Y-you said if I needed help w-with the tingles ya would help” She whined feeling the head of his shaft slip through her sensitive folds, his nestle of curls at the base of his dick softly scratching against her button, his heavy balls sitting against her swollen lips. His length slowly slipping in through her puffy pussy, both of them sighing out in relief and pleasure as he bottomed out inside of her; Y/n’s hands cupping his face to keep his forehead on hers, nuzzling their noses together for comfort like they always did.

“Gah hav’ knocked ya up and you’re still so tight, almost like when ya were a virgin honey” Henry growled pecking her pouty lips, her voice whining at his choice of words, her legs securely wrapped around his waist. “You take me so well honey, could fuck your pregnant pussy all day n’ night if a could”

“W-well you can, y-you jus’ don’t” She snarked back, clearly regretting her decision straight after when Henry quirked his brow at her, making her shut up in a mere few seconds. “Say that again n’ i’ll tie ya to the bed, won’t be leavin’ since ya want me to play with my pussy so much” He teased thrusting in and out at a slow pace, his one hand cupping her face, while the other toyed with her nipples. “Can’t wait to see these pretty tits fill up with milk, I already know it’ll taste as sweet as you do sugar pie, you’ll let me have a taste won’t ya?”

Small mewls left her slightly opened lips, her eyes widen open and already glimmering with tears as Henry slowly moved their position, where he was now spooning her, their hips smacking together to create a lewd sound. “Mhmhm” She moaned pushing her tits together just for him, knowing how much he adored just simply looking at them, sometimes he’d even hide her bras just so she’d walk about their home, her pebbles nipples poking through the fabric.

“So gorgeous, my pretty wife” He smirked leaning over and spitting right onto the valley between her breasts, hearing her squeak as he watched her massage his spit onto her globes, she was so dirty for him; only him. Before she had met Henry, Y/n L/n would never have even stepped a foot out of line, and now she was the one making the line. Hugging onto her, he kissed her shoulders and back so affectionately, he wanted to make her cum. “I-I love you so much pretty girl, ya make me so happy, you n’ our lil’ miracle” He moaned feeling her clench around him, his hand reaching over to momentarily slap her breasts together, before reaching down and drawing figure eights on her button.

Hearing no reply he looked over to see tears filing down her face continuously, her lip hidden between her teeth as she bit down harshly, her hands fisting the sheets tightly to keep her from squealing at how deep he was going. “What’s wrong bunny? Am I hurtin’ ya?” He said slowing down, concern lacing his voice as his rough calloused hands felt up her sides. “N-no, a-am jus’ really happy, love you too hubby” She smiled blinking away a few stray tears as she turned her head to face him, her tongue outstretched already waiting to tangle around his, muffled squeals leaving her lips as she felt him return back to his rhythm.

“I’m close babybun, ya wanna cum with me?” He asked breaking away from their kiss with a peck, their lips still touching as he spoke, her eyes staring up at his softly but intensely, her head nodding; her lips wanting nothing more than to his his soft ones. Thank God she had forced him to start wearing lip balm.

Y/n found herself clawing onto his arm that was wrapped around her waist, her teeth clenched, sobs wrecking through her body purely just because she felt so loved and so intimate. Henry’s warm cum flooding her almost instantly as she herself felt his fingers rub her button at the same time, her hole clenching around him for the last time, giving out once she let out a raspy breath.

“Did so good for me sugar plum, don’t worry I gotcha, ya can rely on me” He whispered kissing the shell of his ear, feeling her clench around him a few more times before pulling out slowly to not make her uncomfortable. After a few silent seconds of Henry combing her hair back with his fingers, his soft voice shushing her quiet sobs as he rocked her back and forth against his body.

Henry couldn’t help but worry, he’d never seen his precious give such an emotional reaction, had he pushed her too far? She hadn’t used her safe-word ‘cherry’ so he had assumed she was still okay during their intense love-making session. The tiny tattoo of a ‘H’ on the back of her neck receiving wet kisses while he waited for her to calm down.

“Hold on pretty, m’jus’ gonna run us a bath alright?” Receiving nothing but a shake of a head and a ‘don’t leave me a-alone’ He smiled picking her up against his still nude body, sitting her on top of the counter as he filled up the tub with warm water, making sure to put in some of lavender bubbles she adored so much to relax in.

“c’mere sugar, don’t worry i’m here too” He whispered helping her step into the purple coloured water, letting her sit sideways on his lap, her head laying on his shoulder; that’s how big their bath tub is.

“M-m sorry for bein’ a crybaby, I didn’t mean it” She whispered lifting her head up to kiss his beard covered cheek, her energy clearly spent and gone.

“Don’t you ever apologise for bein’ you, what’d I tell ya? If you’re cryin’, i’m here, if you’re angry then i’m here, you’re happy then i’m here. This is for life sweets, nothin’ is gonna put me off ya I promise. Well except sometimes ya stink but-“

“Stop it!” She said smiling a little, Henry’s heart lightening a little seeing her vibe jolt up a bit in comparison to earlier. “Now that i’ve seen that beautiful smile a’ yours, care to share what’s buggin’ my wife so much?”

“I-it really was nothin’ bad. Was jus’ thinkin’ about how- how happy I am w-with you. W-When I think back to when I was 17, I-I was always so worried i’d end up un-unloved because of my problems; but y-you’ve never made me feel like a burden, n’ now w-we’re havin’ a baby together” She smiled finishing her explanation, looking up at Henry with a blissful smile on her face, her hands bringing his to her stomach, “O-our baby” She giggled wiggling excitedly on his lap,

“There’s no other woman on this Earth i’d rather have a baby with-“

“So i-if an alien”

“Shut it you. Let me continue my speech to you now that you’ve done yours” He chuckled sprinkling water in her face playfully, “You’re the one for me, n’ you’d never be a burden because I want to bother with you, I want everything with ya. Gah, you’re just fuckin’ irresistible n’ I don’t think I can live without ya. I don’t know what piece a shit has said things to ya but, you’re my precious sugar plum princess. In our little world, right up ‘ere where no one can get us, I promise to keep ya n’ our little miracle safe. Cause you’re both mine n’ i’m not afraid to show it” He finished, twirling the wedding band round her finger, his eyes staring at her; simply smiling she leant forward connecting their lips together, “N’ y-you’re mine”

———

PSA: I really am proud of this piece, and hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it 🫶

Library blog of works: @f10werfaes-cosy-collection

Taglist (not accepting please use library)

@thecdairies @pandaxnienke @thereisa8ella @kimhtoo17 @beck07990 @dumb-fawkin-bitch @madebylilly @kebabgirl67 @uwiuwi @marvelgurl @stormcloudss @girl-of-multi-fandoms @misshale21 @hallecarey1 @mischiefsemimanaged @nikkitc0703 @oliviah-25 @aerangi @bookfrog242 @alina02 @alexxavicry @lastwandastan @hp-hogwartsexpress @angelmather1 @acornacre @ggmimitf @helenaellie @thebaileybugle @p4st3lst4rs @kzhlvlysstuff @thoughtsofreid @cilliansangel @theekyliepage @cookielovesbook-akie @rosiesluv7 @yaminax @luvabellee @elenavampire21 @hoya122 @esposadomd @meyocoko @disaster-rose @severewobblerlightdragon @kemillyfreitas @adoreyouusugar @queensgirl718 @sweetybuzz25

Hope you all have a lovely week🫶

Can’t wait to write more dad!lumberjack!Henry xoxo Fae