#men's health issues

[creelarke]

Feminism is never and has never been about hating men by the way.

Don’t call yourself a feminist if you dismiss victims of SA or abuse just because they’re men whose abusers are women.

[finemealprompt]

DP x DC Prompt #19

When Danny's team member asked him for a favor, Danny agreed before hearing him out. "What else are Titans for?" he had said, but really it's because none of the bats ever asked for favors. He was nosey, sue him.

However, he wasn't expecting to meet crime lord Red Hood and be asked to help with his "Pit Madness" or whatever.

Danny's sigh and hanging of his head seemingly worried the bats. He doesn't think the answer to their problems they were looking for was, "Go to therapy."

[fala-alfredo-pasta]

idk i kinda like Luka

[cherry-pop-elf]

Chronic Tonic

Wolverine x Reader x Deadpool

Authors note: I’m taking advantage of all this hype to bring awareness to chronic pain, because we know this bitches have it. ((Written by someone who suffers from it

Warnings: Canon typical violence (so it’s gonna get gorey), disabilities, domestic fluff, pain, blood, gore, Logan and Wade loving each other in their own way, Blind Al being iconic and a worried mom, DogPool being a angel, and heavy talk about disabilities and disability awareness

“Honey, mind coming to help me with the dishes?” You would hear Al call for you. You swore you were the only person she treated you with that Black Mama Magic with. As if you could complain. Suppose having company helps soften you up.

You had recently properly moved into the apartment. A bit cramped now, but given how often Wade and Logan went off to do super hero work it didn’t really matter. You knew deep down Al was happy to have you move in. Even if she doesn’t show it. Same for Mary Puppins, who loved to show she loved your attention.

“Sure thing Miss Althea!” You called back, as you would return Mary to her little dog bed. She gave a whine of protest, only to hush up when you tucked her in with one of Wade’s hoodies. Smelled like her daddy’s, so she was contented to nap time.

“You don’t have to keep calling me Althea-“ She would laugh, as you would enter the kitchen. Quick to already start drying them off, or working on the plates Althea didn’t quick get clean enough. She had a dish washer, but being able to do normal things can be soothing. You knew she was a little worried about her boys. She had her ways of showing it.

“Well I wanna, so-“ That had her laugh at your smart off tone. Was like Wade was in the apartment still. Had her sigh, as you two held your routine perfectly. You often helped her, but in the ways that soothed her. Such as not immediately dropping everything whenever she called for you, or babied her when she was struggling with something. Actually treated her as what she was. A person, who needed different types of help. Simple as that.

“I don’t know if it’s the damn arthritis’s, or just that mama sense I got, but I feel it in my bones. That nerve ache that something bass gonna happen. Maybe we should get the towels out of the laundry-“ Althea would tell you, as you frowned. Wade and Logan were practically immortal. They had to be fine, right?

That’s when the stench of blood smacked you in the face.

It hit you long before they reached the door. Nearly dropped the bowl in your hand, as it just filled your lungs. That intense iron. Althea gave a ‘I knew it-!’ Huff, as she was already walking to grab the needed towels. While you yourself were wondering how she didn’t even so much twitch a nose at it. Maybe the cocaine finally wore it down.

“Get the door for them! And a mop!” Althea called to you, as you brought your shirt to cover your mouth. It was just a suffocating stench. Was like walking into a morgue, where all the war time soldiers came to rot. Wonder how bad it must be for Logan with his heighten sense. Then again, he’s probs used to it by now.

When you opened the door you nearly threw up. The smell was so bad, had you gagging. Now you understood why Althea always left febreez and a face mask next to the door. You strapped that shit on like it was a gun to your belt. You were gonna need it, especially with how banged up they were.

Wade wasn’t even in one piece. His upper torso was tossed over Logan’s shoulder, as he would drag the lower half by the ankle with him. The sight of dangling organs made you feel faint. The internal parts being on the outside was rather distracting from the fact Logan was literally missing half his face. Was like some terminator shit.

“We’re back~!” Wade would sing, as Logan would toss the broken bundle of body parts onto the couch. He himself just sat in an arm chair. That was sweet, you had to admit. Letting Wade have the couch. Least that’s what would cross your mind when you weren’t trying to keep from vomiting.

“Don’t go puking on me. I don’t need eyes to know they be fucked up. Come on, let Mama show you how it’s done. Come on-“ Al would grab your arm, as she would use the side of the couch to help find her way around. Logan tried to be sneaky, and used his foot to push the coffee table away for her. So she didn’t trip. You noticed that. That didn’t sneak by you.

“Yeah, this is why I hate Magicians. Like come on man. Not even a cool spell like Sectumsempra. Just a damn ax. Lame to the L TO THE A TO THE M E-!” Wade you whine, as Al would try and figure out what needed to be done today. As if she wanted to deal with baby legs again.

“Not your PotterHead bullshit again, you fucking nerd-“ Logan would complain, before DogPool would jump into his lap. With a rag in her mouth. Wanting to help him out. The gesture was appreciated, as he rewarded her a ruffle to her fluffy head.

“Alright, here’s how you put a body together. If I can do it you can do it. Not like you can fuck up. Just gotta get it good enough, and that damn healing factor does the rest. Don’t faint on me, baby.” Al would comfort you, before she would guide your hands to the torso.

Was quite the adventure, but it was going to be a needed skill after all. It’s important to make sure they heal up as fast as possible. You never know when you’ll be ambushed, or some other wild plot point that makes you stressed. Not to mention that being a throuple meant getting used to this.

With taking a breather at the butchered surgery, you would stand up to look at Logan. Most of his face had actually healed over already. Well, the muscle anyway. He may not have been as bad off as Wade but you wanted to make sure he was doing ok all the same.

“Don’t give me those doe eyes. I’ll be fine, kid. Nothing we can’t handle. We’re gonna be fine. You did your job. Go wash up. Don’t want to know what the hell you’ll catch.” He tried to act like this wasn’t something painful, but you knew. You knew he’s hurting badly. It’s just easier to pretend than to just make everyone uncomfortable.

You would give a little huff, but toon the advice. A shower was certainly needed. Was a well earned reward. Helped take a lot of pressure off of Al’s shoulders. She could focus on cleaning around the home now, since you did the hardest part. Now was just time to clean, and hopefully help the boys clean up to.

Looks like it wasn’t needed, as you returned. There to see that Logan had come to help clean Wade up on his own. Despite the aches, he was doing his best to help clean up Wade. Taking away all the ruined clothes, and using the cloth that DogPool gave him. Just making sure the stitch work was taken care of.

“Careful with the claws, peanut. Daddy’s sore.” Wade would laugh, but you could hear the dryness. A dryness of exhaustion. You may not understand what it’s like to be in pain twenty four seven but it’s not that hard to understand it’s taxing.

“There’s still a needle and thread here, bub. I’ll finish off your lips next.” He would warn him, but that tired tone was also shared. There wasn’t really that normal bite to it. It was like the two of them were on autopilot. That it was easier to let a routine speak over an isolating silence. It’s easier to pretend everything’s normal than to let the pain sink in. To be deep in your bones, make you spasm, and remind you that sometimes being alive isn’t the best gift humanity can have.

“Come on, you to buddy.” You would soon grab a damp cloth from the kitchen. You took your turn on the couch. Just gentle dabs at Logan’s cheek, in some kind of means to help Logan. You can’t take away the pain, but maybe showing you cared could help? That you’ll never be exhausted of them complaining. Being in pain twenty four seven would wear anyone down. It’s not fair to let them pretend it isn’t.

“Daw, kitties getting pampered.” Wade would lazily say. As if he was in so much pain it was triggering a high. Was that something possible? To reach a pain level you get a buzz and can’t really comprehend your surroundings? Yeah. Yeah you can.

“Ignore him. Wades being Wade.” Logan grumbled, but didn’t fight your attempts to help. Even if the cold cloth did nothing, the fact you were willing to try can be enough sometimes. Not everything can be cured. Doesn’t mean people can’t try and help dull it.

That seemed to be the last anyone said, for a while. Never thought the Merc With The Mouth would ever be quiet. Guess sometimes your body just can’t process things. That so much goes on all at once that your brain just can’t keep up. Sometimes you just gotta autopilot. To feel your body throb, beg, cry, spasm, ache, bones crack, muscles tear, brain buzz, nerves burn, just feel every fiber of your being set a blaze. Sometimes you just have to ride it out, until you can come back from autopilot.

You didn’t pressure them at all. You let them do their autopilot. Didn’t interrupt them at all. Just let them do what helped them best. You just made sure to help in your own way. Such as reducing their need to move more than they should. Grabbing them new clothes, washing their bodies by hand, getting them something to drink, just whatever they needed to got it. You were able bodied, and knew they already felt shit enough not being able to get up to do it themselves. You didn’t hold it over their heads. They had enough of a rough day.

“Thanks peanut.” Wade would smile at you, as you would plant a kiss to the top of his head. A gruff was given from Logan, his own means of thank you, so you kissed his head as well. He deserved to get affection all the same. Just because Wade was more open to his emotions didn’t mean Logan gets left out from the smooches.

“They ain’t gonna leave the couch for a while. I know that feeling-“ Al would say, as she had blankets for them. So you took them from her, and helped them get as comfortable as their aches allowed them to. So much ache that even Logan couldn’t complain at Wade’s overly touchy affection. He was just to damn tired.

“Better get used to this. Happens once a month I swear.” Al huffed, as you gave a sound of agreement. Given she wouldn’t be able to see you nod your head. Just hurt your heart to see it all, but that’s just how the cookie crumbles. Sometimes people are born with it, like Logan, some just get it from Mother Nature saying you had to be special like Wade. Couldn’t imagine the mental barrier they had. Then again, not like they had a choice.

Least DogPool was there to help. Having jumped up on the couch, and snuggling between them. Doing her little pat to the blanket, and curling up between her daddies. Doing her best to help them. Warmed your heart. You made sure she had a plushie while she was there. She wouldn’t leave their side easy after all.

“Not bad for your first run around. Didn’t say that bullshit of ‘wow you are so strong-‘ and that useless crap everyone says-“ Al would ramble to you, as she returned to the dishes. Back to her routine. Like nothing had even happened.

“I mean, why would I? It’s a given, and it’s not like it’s doing much.” You muttered, as you tried to do the routine as well. To try and wash, and clean, like nothing weird had happened. That wasn’t your normal, though. But you’ll learn to have that normal.

They deserved to feel normal.

[burn-before-reading]

Love in the Time of Socialism

joost klein x artist!reader

art, mush, and ramblings about life

warnings: depression (ish), burnout, reader character in some vague mental health funk

word count: 2k

a/n: slight prequel to blue is the colour of your eyes but can be read as stand alone. just same artist reader. vaguely romantic but just ramblings and getting feelings out haha. started this when I was in more of a bad mental state (lol) but im fine now so it got kinda tame by the end of it. still not proofreading anything

title from the song Love in the Time of Socialism by Yellow House

Rpf below the cut—

Normally Joost has to call you because its the only way you will actually look at your phone. Its more often that not you find yourself fixated on planning out your next project, and your friends have to force you back into reality. There was that one time no one had heard from you in over a week and thought you were dead, when you were just working. You hadn’t realized how many texts you missed and apologized for scaring your friends half to death. Especially Joost.

So now you leave your ringer on, and now they call.

Tonight, however, Joost calls and you aren’t in your studio. You are in your bed, where you have been for the entire day. and also most of yesterday. There isn’t a reason in your head specifically why this has happened. you MEANT to get up. Theres a list of chores and things to do just sitting on your desk, but you woke up late, so now nothing will get done. At some point it just became too stressful to even get up and look at it. You roll over and stare at the contact picture of him, smiling with some dumb fish eye lens he thought was funny. You debate not picking up at all.

But you can’t ignore him.

“Hi Joost.” your voice came through the phone more hoarse than intended when you answered, you don’t remember the last time you talked to someone. “Whats going on?”

“the others wanted to go out for drinks tonight, you hadn’t responded so I wanted to check you were joining us.” You could imagine him rocking back and forth on his heels in the middle of his living room while he talked, it was either that or pacing around.

“uhh..” Drinks at a bar was the last thing on your mind. In any other situation you would have loved to be around your friends, but right now you just needed to avoided as much as possible. “Not a good night, tonight. Sorry, I’ll have to join you guys next time.”

Joost felt like something was off, you sounded tired. “Is everything okay?”

“I’ll be fine I just… shit brain day. bad brain thats all. It happens.” You did your best to summarize how you felt without actually admitting anything, you weren’t sure how to explain anything anyway.

“ Oh Im sorry, would it be good, if I came over? I can keep you company, if thats okay?”

“you don’t have to, I’ll be fine tomorrow. I want you to have fun. ” you insisted, but he pressed on.

“I don’t mind, the group would understand. Have you eaten today?”

“Like… a meal? yes, or well, no. I had a soda..” You glance at the half drunk soda from the night before, now flat. “and uhhh..”

“I’ll pick something up.” You could hear him on the other end gathering things together, keys, wallet, probably his ipad.

“.. thank you. I’ll see you in a bit, I guess.”

-

Joost knocked on your door about an hour later. In that time you were able to get out of bed and make your way to the bathroom to change and make yourself somewhat presentable in front of a guest, and to the kitchen to make coffee despite it being 8pm.

You opened it to see Joost with a sheepish smile as he extends his arms out for a hug. “Hi.”

“Hi Joost.” you take the step to hug him, feeling his body heat contrast with the cold nighttime. “I’m glad you’re here.” the two of you head inside to your living room where he empties his bag of take out to reveal a couple different thai dishes and egg rolls. It was hard to not admit you weren’t at least a little bit hungry.

The two of you ate in mostly silence, making small talk about different projects you two have going on, or the fact that the two of you were in between projects. He done with touring for the time being and in the process of working on a new album. You loosely avoiding talking about any current work plans but mentioned one or two paintings you finished for a private gallery commission last month.

“ Just some paintings of animals and nature-ish symbolism. Honestly my heart wasn’t really in that one, but it payed the rent so.” you shrug and shove noodles into your mouth.

“Well now you have the time to work on your own stuff, right?” he commented, leaning back into your couch and looking down at you sitting on the floor instead of any of your own furniture. “Draw whatever your heart desires.”

“I mean I guess.. Im just glad to be done with the oil paints for now. I swear i think I was gonna die in my studio from all the chemicals. I dunno, I finished that whole project last month, I haven’t really been very productive since then.” you trail off and Joost gets a concerned expression on his face.

He sinks down from his spot of the couch to join you in the floor. The fluffy rug brushing against his legs as he adjusts his new sitting position.

“Its okay to take a break, you know.”

“I know I know, I just get frustrated. I never seem to have my energy directed towards the right thing. Whenever I have all those big projects from other contractors, I can brainstorm and think of all these interesting ideas I wanna work on, but I can’t because then I would get behind on the art Im being paid to do.”

“mhm.” he nods, to indicate he’s following along.

“ And then whenever Im done with those projects, I just get… tired. and my focus is gone. and Everything just feels…” you gesture the last bit with your hands, scrambling your fingers, to imply your thoughts. You aren’t looking at him, but you can still see him nodding in your peripherals. Joost always seemed to understand your thinking and explanations to things, even if you thought they were messy.

“Do you want to try painting right now?” he asks. you just shrug your shoulders.

“I don’t know what I would paint.”

“You can paint our dinner, or, or yourself, or your plants maybe?” he suggested and stands up. “Can I paint too?”

“Oh we’re actually doing this?” Not that you didn’t want to, but this self doubt had creeped into your mind again. That failing to produce something decent would prove that you’ve lost all your talent, your skill.

“yea we can have a little painting party!” he chimed, but he hesitated walking over to your studio to grab stuff, still giving you the space to reject his idea.

you looked away and started nervously tapping your fork against the table.

tap tap tap tap

“…sure. We can use my watercolors, Ive been wanting to use them more often anyway.”

the coffee table became a little more cluttered as you set up the paints for the two of you. Joost using an old set 24 pans and you using a newer set of watercolor tubes you were gifted last year and never opened. You watched as Joost immediately dipped his brush in water and started activating the blue paints, spreading it onto his paper in big random strokes.

“what are you painting?”

“not sure yet, maybe im painting you.” he looks up and smirks. you scrunch your nose up.

“why are you using so much blue. am I a smurf?” you joke and he just shrugs and points to your own paper.

“Just mess around, can’t be any worse than what im doing.”

tap tap tap tap tap tap

you fidget with your own brush for a few seconds lo get before grabbing a big mop brush and wetting your paper with clean water. Taking your smaller brush again, you pour out a small amount of yellow and mix it up with some more water. You hesitate for a moment longer before letting the brush lightly touch the surface, creating a burst of colour on the paper as the colour seeps onto the page. You make a few more random marks before switching to another warm colour and repeating the process, now watching the colours bleeds and mix into each other. You look at Joost paper and see that he is actually now trying to paint you, the blue fortunately was able to be mostly contained to the background.

“Do you ever think about what you would do if you weren’t a musician?” you ask.

“I dunno I think after this I could have a pretty successful art career.” he teases but sees in your face the question is more serious. “I don’t know. I started off with youtube, but if I wasn’t doing that… its hard to think about what my life would be like if I didn’t follow this path.”

“I always have this feeling deep down, that I made a wrong choice somewhere along the line. I was thinking about going to school for psychology, I also wanted to work with animals at one point, be a vet. I enjoy art, don’t get me wrong, but I just worry that in making it my job Ive just drained all the passion I had for it.”

You let the paper dry before staining the page with lines of dark burgundy, creating hands and a human heart. he hums as he listens, not adding anything, but simply letting you vent. beginning to piece together your mood from earlier. “I don’t have any jobs lined up right now, which is what Ive been waiting for, to work on my own stuff, yknow? I haven’t had the time ive wanted to make something for myself for a while. But now I just feel, I feel like ive been frozen.”

“things seem to be okay right now. I like what youve made. ” you look down and see the scribbles youve made with your paint. hands clasped over a broken heart. you shrug and smile softly, signing the bottom.

“Just a scribble, you can have it if you want.” You hand the paper over to him. “thank you for coming by, its… its nice being around you. Helps a bit.”

Joost takes the paper and studies it for a second. “I really like it, maybe I should come by more often.”

“If you bring the food we can have art nights whenever you want.” he holds up his paper. The blue bleeding into your skintone and hair since he didn’t wait for anything to properly dry. “I might stick to my ipad though, I don’t know why you like this paint.” he scrunches his nose at it. you laugh and it makes him smile.

You notice for the first time how bright his eyes look when he smiles, but you brush the thought away.

-

“Feeling a bit better?” he asks as he lingers by the door on his way out.

“a bit. like I said It was just a mood, I was gonna be fine tomorrow most likely… I still appreciate you coming over.”

“Don’t ever be afraid to call or text okay? Im always here to talk if you need. or just to listen.”

“definitely. Ive been meaning to uh, talk to someone about all this stuff anyway, you’re not a professional but ill keep it in mind.”

he grins and goes in for one last hug. you feel him slightly squeeze you and linger a little longer than usual before letting go. With one last glance he waves and head off. You see him pull out a cigarette for the walk back. It takes you a second to close the door. standing there watching him walk off until he turns a corner and disappears. Closing the door you sigh and go the clean up your living room.

You notice he left the portrait he drew of you. signed at the bottom with a smiley face next to his name.

It gets hung up in your studio above your desk.

[kacievvbbbb]

Look I like Roger enough, I understand what he represents and I generally don’t think he was a bad dude. I do however think he was shit at interpersonal relationships because, what the fuck. Whitebeards crew is infinitely more well adjusted and I’d say he arguably had the more traumatic death.

Like what even, what kind of planning leads a 53 year old man to sire a child knowing he is dying of an incurable illness and is about to turn himself in to be excuted by the marines where he will cause so much chaos it is literally still turning the world on its head 22 years later. He knew he was going to cause so much of a stir that he literally disbanded his crew and told them to spread far and wide to keep them safe. Because he knew the marines would hunt them far and wide But yet he still brought a baby into the world. Babe. What the fuck? What even is that? What was the thought process. I sincerely hope it was an accident and not a deliberate attempt to bring about a new era.

Because if so babe I need to see the recipe or I’m afraid we can never let you cook again

[writingthroughmyass]

Service Animal (Part Three)

Logan Howlett X Reader (afab)

Part One here

Part Two here

CONTENT/WARNINGS: Get ready for smushing ya'll. Nothing especially kinky, just your average pp 2 pp sex as a result of all that foreplay in the first two parts lol. This fic doesn't really follow the logic of the movies, just warning you, cos let's be real there is no logic in the movies so I kinda combined it with the OG comics.

Enjoy!

You're pushing Logan backwards to your bed, kissing, licking and biting at his lips the whole way. The back of his legs come in contact with the mattress and you push him so he's sitting on the edge. 

You climb on top of him, your knees are on either side of his thighs, never breaking contact from his mouth. You grind your hips down into his erection and moan into his mouth from the exquisite friction. 

Your mouth moves to his neck, sucking and biting as your hands roam his broad chest, moving under the hem of his tight, white t-shirt to feel his firm flesh. 

He's panting heavily, chest heaving with each breath, hands fisted tight into the fabric at your waist. You can't help but smile at his moans as you nibble the skin under his ear. 

“Fuck, darling, where is this coming from? You could hardly even look me in the eye before,” he says breathlessly.

“I've been wanting this for a long time,” you murmur into the thick hair on his cheek. 

“Well fuck, wish you'd told me. I've been dreaming about this from day one.” 

You pull his t-shirt up his torso and he removes his arms from the sleeves so you can pull it over his head. 

You sit back so you can look at him in all his glory. His hair is a mess from your wandering hands, pretty mouth hanging open so you can see his perfect, white teeth and pink tongue. His skin is flushed and you can see the marks you've made on him healing before your very eyes- which is a bit disappointing as all you want to do is brand him as yours. 

He's looking up at you through half lidded eyes, the desire he feels is on full display, as evidenced by his mountain of an erection. Even through his jeans you feel how big he is, causing your mouth to salivate in excitement. 

He's helping you to pull your own top off, throwing it carelessly across the room. Your breasts are at his eye level. He eyes them in awe despite still being covered with your bra. He leans forward and kisses them, starting at the middle of your sternum to your right breast then your left. His hands are so tight on your waist you're sure your skin will bruise. 

He looks up at you as his hands move to your back, his eyes asking for permission before expertly unclipping your bra from your body. His eyes rove over the image of your bare breasts. He sits for a few moments, just looking. 

Suddenly you feel a bit of shyness creep up on you at how he's staring so intently. 

His right hand moves from your hip to gently trace the curve of your breast, running his fingers across the swell of it. You watch as he cups it, as if to test the weight of it before he grips your breast roughly in his palm. His other hand moves to your free breast, taking your nipple between thumb and forefinger and giving it a firm twist. Your back is arching, pushing your chest towards him as he watches his hands explore you. 

“Perfect,” he whispers under his breath. “So fucking perfect, so pretty.” 

“I could say the same,” you murmur. 

Your hands are wondering over his stomach now, feeling how firm and broad it is under your comparatively small palms. Your fingers trace the shape of his abs, running through his lovely happy trail, letting the curls catch at your fingers. You make a sound at the back of your throat in ecstasy, delirious with excitement that you're finally able to touch him, to kiss him, to make him yours. 

You moan when you feel the wet heat of his mouth over one of your nipples, his teeth grazing the tip. 

Your fingernails run along the lines on his hips that lead down to his throbbing cock, which is hopelessly straining upwards to reach you. 

His hands move to the middle of your back as he flips you over so your back is on the bed. You whimper in disappointment.

“What's wrong, darlin’?” he asks with a furrowed brow.

You distractedly think that you could get used to him calling you darling  in that gravelly voice of his. 

“I wanna play with your cock,” you whine. “Wanna touch you.”

“We'll get to it eventually, okay? I need to taste your pretty pussy. Please, let me.” 

Logan? Begging during sex? Oh… your mind reels at how delicious it is. 

“Well, what are you waiting for then?” you quip with a smile, your body almost vibrating with excitement. 

Without further ado, he's unbuttoned your jeans and has his fingers hooked into the waistband, lifting your hips as he yanks it from your pelvis then your legs. He's hovering above you now, hands on either side of you. He dips his head so he can kiss you deeply. You feel yourself melt into him. 

Fuck, he hasn't even touched you where you most need him, yet you feel your entire body coiling, preparing for what he's about to give you. 

He mouths sloppily along your neck, down your chest and stomach. He spends a few extra moments enjoying the skin of your hip on his mouth before continuing his journey downwards until he arrives at your clothed pussy. He kneels on the floor and pulls your body closer to him by the thighs. 

You realise he's playing with your body, teasing you, as a single finger gently prods at your soaking underwear. 

“Fuck, darling's so wet already,” he murmurs. 

You feel a little jump behind your ribs that travels to your core when his face moves to your pussy. His nose is flush with your entrance as he inhales deeply. You feel yourself squirm, his touches only causing your carnal itch to worsen instead of giving relief. 

“This scent has been driving me crazy for too long,” he says, voice muffled from your pussy. 

“W-what do you mean?” you ask, your head spinning.

His eyes rise to meet yours as his hands readjust your thighs, spreading them further and pushing forward so your knees are pointing to your shoulders. 

“Remember when I told you I could smell if you're about to have an episode?”

“Yeah…” you say hesitantly, feeling your stomach drop.

“Well… I can also smell it when you're aroused,” he murmurs into your entrance, nose nudging against your clit in the most perfect way.  “And wouldn't you know it… you're always aroused when you're around me.” 

Your hands come up to cover your face. 

“Well, fuck, that's so embarrassing,” you whine. 

You already feel so exposed, spread out like this before him, his face full frontal with your pussy. Then he has to go and say that. There's something so wonderfully humiliating about it that has you clenching on nothing. 

You feel his broad hands on your wrists, gently moving your hands away from your face.

“Don't hide. I wanna watch you,” he says in a low voice. 

His eyes return to your pussy, moving forward so his lips are pressed to it, mouthing at you through your underwear. 

It's so unfair. He's just playing with you, drawing this out. You need him to take you, ravish you, use you. But instead he's so slow and methodical about it, such a stark contrast to his everyday behaviour. 

When you'd allow your mind to wander and fantasize about what he'd be like in bed, you'd always imagined him as feral, wild, selfish and unyielding. But you have to admit… this is so much better, even if it is frustrating and borderline painful as you feel the heat licking fervently in your belly. 

You feel his hands pulling at the waistband of your underwear at your hips, two fingers tapping on one side. You take the hint and lift your pelvis so he can pull the fabric over your legs and feet, planting kisses sporadically from your hip to your ankle. 

It occurs to you that he's practically worshipping your body, savouring each touch so completely that you're turning into mush beneath him. Again, it's incredibly frustrating, but you're enjoying the slow build.

His hands push your thighs forwards again, making you small. 

His plush lips are running along one thigh, hands massaging your flesh as he takes his sweet time. 

You begin to whimper impatiently but the sound only makes him chuckle darkly. He pulls back a little and blows gently onto your pussy. Your entire body gives an involuntary spasm at the sensation, a pathetic mewl sounding from the back of your throat. 

“Fuck, you're a rat bastard, y’know that?” you grind out, not even trying to hide how you're panting desperately. 

“Am I now?” he almost purrs. 

You feel your body spasm again as his tongue finds your clit, lightly tracing it before pulling it into his mouth. The wet heat of it is so startling that your body is vibrating. You feel the slight graze of his teeth as he sucks and you feel your eyes go cross with pleasure. 

You whimper as he pulls away, only for his hand to gather some of the juices from between your legs to swipe it over your clit. Then his index and middle fingers are pinching at it and rolling it, causing your hips to thrust towards him in desperation.

“Such a pretty pussy,” he breathes, staring at you. “Does darling like this?” 

His fingers begin to get more rough with you as he listens to the sounds you're making. You lift your head to look at him and his eyes are glazed over as if he's drunk on your pleasure. You feel the coil in you tighten once again at the sight of his lips and chin, slick with your wetness. 

“Fuck yeah, darling likes this,” you manage to squeak out. Your voice is higher than usual, trembling and fragile. “Now, get back to work, puppy,” you demand, pushing his head into your pussy. 

You can feel that you're getting close, a slow impending tidal wave, still gathering speed. His hot mouth on you has you begging him, don't stop, please keep going, you're so fucking good at this, puppy. 

You feel him hum into you as a single digit enters you, working its way inside you, giving you the delicious stretch you were craving so badly. But it’s still not enough.

His hazel eyes are still fixed on you, paying attention to your reactions, gauging how to make you feel as good as humanly possible. As you look at him, you're suddenly struck with the realisation that this is your friend with his head between your legs, eating you out desperately like a man starving. Your service animal, serving you as well as he could. 

You feel the beast in you continuing to compress. You're so, so fucking close, but he's got you on the edge, keeping you there, wringing the pleasure out of you without giving you the release you're chasing.

His thick digit crooks inside you in the direction of your belly, exploring, searching for your sweet spot. You cry out a quiet sob when he finds it. 

“Close,” you strangle out. So close. 

Your moans spur him on to move his mouth more vigorously against you, his mutton chops scratching so good against your thighs. 

Then suddenly your body is floating, the wind is knocked out of you as your entire being seems to be suspended in mid air. You don't breathe, you don't think, you don't make a sound. Then all at once the wave crashes into you hard. You're trying to move away from Logan's mouth but at the same time seeking it out, feeling the overstimulation wreak havoc on your body as his hands hold you down as you ride out your high. 

“Fu-uck,” you moan. 

It fucking hurts but it hurts good. 

He continues to lap at your pussy even after you've come back down, tongue gathering up the slick around your thighs. The sensation is soothing as you settle back into the bed, feeling your body turn boneless.

You hear him chuckle quietly and the sound makes you frown at him.

“What's so funny?” you slur, still in the process of coming back down to earth. 

“You're just so hot. I love it. Your moans are driving me crazy over here,” he groans, and you feel pity for his poor jeans, doing their best to restrain his cock. 

“Where'd you learn how to do that anyway?” you ask, incredulously.

“I just do what your body is asking me for,” he explains simply, planting a wet kiss on your thigh.

You jolt when he slowly pulls his finger out from inside you. You almost whimper at the loss.

“Logan,” your lips and tongue fit around his name, like a prayer. 

“Yeah, what is it, sweetheart?” 

“I need to fuck you,” you state simply. 

You watch as that familiar line forms between his brows. You get the urge to press your lips to it to kiss it away. 

“You're sure about this?” he asks you seriously. You try not to get distracted by his heaving chest as it rises and falls with his breaths. 

“More than anything,” you assure him. “If anything I'm wondering if you are sure about this.” 

“Why wouldn't I be?” 

You sit up and take one of his hands in yours, fingers running across his knuckles where his claws come out.

“Your heart belongs to Jean, doesn't it?” you say, trying to ignore the dull ache behind your ribcage. 

He's silent in thought for a few moments, gaze averted.

“With Jean… it's… complicated,” he says slowly. “I've loved other women before her and after as well. It doesn't mean I don't care about you. But… it seems to be a trend where the people I care about get hurt.” 

“I'm alright though, I can look after myse-”

“But the day will come where you won't be,” he interupts. “I've been around for a very long time, remember? But Jean… the Phoenix… I don't have to be afraid of losing her. I know it's fucked up, but that's how it is. And, she knows me like no one else does. When she enters my mind…” he trails off. 

“I get it,” you say softly, laying a kiss over his knuckles. “You've spent a lot of your life not knowing who you are. It's important for you to have someone who knows you fully. “ 

His hazel gaze looks deep into you, that wrinkle still marring the space between his brows.

“Yeah… that's exactly it. M’sorry, but I can't control how I feel.” 

“Logan, please don't apologize. I'll have you any way I can. It means a lot that you're talking about this at all. You're so emotionally constipated it scares me sometimes.” 

That makes him laugh. He gets up from his kneeling position and removes his jeans, keeping his briefs on. Your eyes stray to his groin, relieved to see he's still hard despite the tough topic you were discussing. 

You grab his hand again and pull him so he's sitting on the bed with you, pulling him into a deep kiss. You can taste yourself on his tongue and you note that your flavours combined are quite complimentary, if you do say so yourself. 

He pulls away slightly and looks at you. 

“Are you really sure?” he asks quietly. “I'm… I'm fucked up. Plus the whole thing with Jean- I just want to make sure you really understand what you're getting into. Because I feel like if you knew, you wouldn't want me.” 

“Hey, I know you're like a thousand years old, but I'm not a kid. I know what I'm doing and I know what I want. And I want you,” you smile at him. 

“I'm going to ignore your jab at my age.” 

“And I’m going to fuck you now,” you say, pushing his chest so his back falls into the bed. 

“Wait, do we need a rubber? I mean, I’ve had a bisalp but-”

“Oh, you’ve had a bisalp, have you? I missed it the first couple hundred times you danced down the hall singing about it,” he teases. 

“But,” you continue, as if he never spoke, “I mean, there’s still STDs.”

“I’m invulnerable to diseases,” he frowns at you. “You don’t know me all that well, do you?”

“Huh? Since when?”

“Since always. It’s part of my healing factor.”

“But, that’s not healing, that’s curing a fucking disease,” you say incredulously. 

“Are you going to fuck me or what?” he grunts impatiently. 

“Oh, right, right,” you say quickly, not wanting him to change his mind. “We’ll explore that later, I guess.”

You straddle his waist, hands still on his chest. You bend to kiss his neck and work down his chest, nails lightly scratching his nipples, causing him to groan in pleasure. 

The sound is music to your ears. You want to hear him more. 

Your mouth trails down his firm stomach, your fingers tracing every line, every curve. His torso twitches with your touches, craving more. 

You arrive at the lip of his underwear and absentmindedly take note of the wet patch on the fabric there. 

You wish you could make him suffer like you did, but you don't have the patience for it. Not when you can see how his curls adorn his chest and stomach, leading down to where he needs you the most. 

Gently, you touch your lips to where his cock is leaking through the fabric, hands massaging his muscular thighs. 

Your gaze meets his and the expression on his face gives you pause.  

He almost looks like he's in pain…

You can't help the feeling of awe that comes over you. Awe that you're the one doing this to him. Turning him into putty in your hands. And you'd barely even touched him yet. 

Your hand slips past the waistband of his briefs to grip his cock. A hiss escapes his lips as your fingers brush against his tender head. 

“Fuck, you're killing me here,” he grunts. You watch as his pecs flex with the sheer effort of withstanding your teasing. 

Slowly, you peel his underwear back so you can get a peek at his cock. 

You stare at it, slack-jawed.

He's not only girthy but long. With little dark curls climbing up the base, the skin a few shades darker than his own bronzed skin, the head, so full of his arousal, a lovely rouge colour. 

He's packing a beautiful dick. 

Your hand can barely encircle his full girth and it feels heavy in your fingers. You note the thick veins running up his length and feel your mouth watering just looking at it. 

“Dude, your dick is gorgeous,” you state matter-of-factly. 

He rolls his eyes.

“How romanti-” his words are cut off with a gasp as you take his head into your mouth, tongue dipping into the slit to collect the moisture building there. 

He tastes strangely good, considering how much he smokes and drinks. Like salt and a tinge of sweetness. 

There's no way you can take all of him in your mouth, so you pull back to spit on his cock. 

“Fuck, you are a nasty girl,” he smirks at you. 

With his cock lubed up with your saliva, your hand begins to stroke him and you sit up to kiss him on his mouth, wanting to shut him the fuck up. 

You concentrate on his head, fist squeezing to overstimulate him and you get the reaction you wanted. 

“Mmh-h-hey, wai-ait,” he's moaning into your mouth, body squirming beneath you. “Fu-uck, th-that’s… sen-”

You put your mouth over him again, your fist moving up and down, wrist twisting expertly. Your other hand dips down to cup his balls. 

His hands are in your hair, both simultaneously pulling you close and pushing you away. 

You feel pride at how speechless he is. 

Your cheeks are hollowed as you stroke up and down his length with your tongue. One of his hands comes to rest on your jaw, feeling his own cock through your cheek.

You feel his cock twitch on your tongue and then he's spilling his cum into your mouth. 

Oops.

You do your best to swallow it all but there's so much. 

When he's finally spent, you release him from your mouth, some of his cum dripping from the corner of your lips. 

“It's been a while, huh?” you chuckle, your cheek resting on his hip as you continue to cradle his cock in your hand. 

He doesn't say anything. Just grabs your head in both hands, eyes half-lidded, as he pulls you up to kiss your mouth clean of himself. 

You can't help the moan that escapes you at just how dirty it is. 

Finally you pull back for air and he's shuffling underneath you, removing his briefs completely. 

You look down and notice with shock that he's still as rigid and tall as the pyramid of Giza. 

“Regenerating factor,” he explains simply, reading the look on your face. 

“I'm learning so much about you today.” 

You climb up his body so you're hovering over his cock, feeling a bit of apprehension due to his size. 

“Just take it slow. And you've already come once so you should be ready,” he says gently. Again, he's reading the look on your face. 

You nod and look into his face, wanting to see his expression as you sink down on him. There's an unmistakable heat in your belly, an excitement to have him inside of you. 

Slowly, you bear down so his tip is at your entrance, stretching you open. Your pussy is still sensitive from the mind blowing orgasm you had before, so even just the very tip has you rolling your eyes back.

A moan escapes you. You can't even seem to keep looking at him, everything is blurring together as you lose yourself in the bliss of his cock pushing inside of you. 

“Fu-uck, Logan,” you whine. 

“What is it, darling?” he pants.

“You feel… so good,” 

“You… Ah… you haven't even-even taken all of me yet,” he says, struggling to string a sentence together.

His hands are on your hips, not guiding your movements but just holding on. As though he needs to ground himself.

You feel his own hips move up into you impatiently, his cock spearing into you and you hiss. It's painful, but it's a strangely good pain. 

You feel that familiar tightening in your lower stomach and marvel at how quickly you're coming undone again. 

You roll your hips as your cunt hugs and squeezes him, trying desperately to swallow all of him. Finally, you feel him bottom out and the both of you moan at the same time with the relief of it, feeling his head fitting snugly and wonderfully so deep inside of you. 

You lean your upper body over him so you can kiss and bite at his neck, needing to keep your mouth busy so you don't say anything stupid. Your hands are at his shoulders, nails digging in. 

Vaguely, you can hear him grunting with the pain of it but he doesn't ask you to stop. 

“Sit up for me, darling, so I can see you,” he says breathlessly. 

You don't want to, so you ignore him. 

“Sit up,” he demands again. 

When you ignore him the second time, his broad hands move from your hips to your shoulders, forcefully pressing so you have to sit up. 

Your hands move to his thighs and your back straightens, continuing to roll your hips, chasing your high. 

You're almost there, you can almost taste it.

“‘M close,” you manage to get out. “Fuck, I-”

His eyes are following your breasts as they bounce with your movements. His hand moves to connect with your clit, pinching and rolling the bud, causing your moans to turn desperate because you are so close. It's gathering and picking up speed and it's about to steamroll you over. 

“Logan,” you moan, feeling the heat build and build. You need it. You need it. 

“S-so-good-Logan- you… ah… I-” you’re jabbering, but you can’t stop yourself. “I love-I love- y-your cock- I-”

I love you.

Then he's pulsing inside of you, his own moans joining yours. You feel him spill himself inside of you, the twitching of his cock is so intense it's giving you extra pleasure. You watch as he punches his fists into the bed and you hear a tearing sound. 

Then he's flipped you over so you're on your back and he's above you. He grabs at your legs clumsily, delirious with his orgasm, and he lifts them up over his shoulders, sloppily pressing kisses to your calf muscle. 

Then he's moving. And the angle hits something especially heinous within you. You feel like you need to pee. You try desperately to hold it in, but everything within you is screaming to let go. 

“Relax, darling, let it come,” he's telling you. But he sounds so far away yet so near, as if he's speaking inside your mind. 

You don't want to allow it to happen, but your body betrays you and it hits you with an explosion that scares you. The dam has crumbled with a bang and you feel something gushing from you and it almost feels painful but oh so good. 

You have your eyes screwed shut as it wracks through you and you're almost sobbing. You could swear it's a religious experience. 

You slowly come to, only to realise that Logan is chanting your name. Not to get your attention, but just to have it on his lips. 

Your eyes open and the first thing you see is Logan, your legs still over his shoulders and his hands are gripping your thighs so hard you're sure it will bruise. 

He's staring at you with wonder. 

That's when you notice the liquid dripping down his chest and stomach. 

“Darlin’, that was so hot,” he gasps out with a tremble at the back of his throat. “You did so good. Oh my god, darling, you did so good, fuck.” 

“What… did I do exactly?” 

“You squirted all over me, was the hottest fuckin’ thing.” His eyes are ablaze with awe. 

You didn't know you could do that. 

“I… didn't know I could do that,” you say, your mind and mouth lagging behind each other. “Wow.”

You feel dumbstruck. You both laugh a little bit, basking in the afterglow. 

“Are you going to keep going or are you done? Because I am done,” you sigh dramatically. 

“Mmm… yeah I'm done,” he grunts. “Sorry about your bed by the way.” 

“Huh?” you say dreamily, still not completely present. 

“Nothing-never mind, just relax.” 

You feel Logan slowly slip himself out of you. You feel bruised inside so the movement is more jarring than you were expecting. Once he's fully pulled out of you, you feel the loss of him instantly and even though he's still in the room with you, you miss him. 

You feel a wet gushing between your legs.

“Jesus, Logan, how much did you come?” 

“Uh… a lot. I did tell you I was pent up. Now get up, you better go pee. No girl of mine is getting a UTI.” 

You groan and sink yourself further into the bed, only to feel a rough texture behind your shoulder. You turn slightly and that's when you notice the torn sheets. 

You bolt upright. 

There's three tears clean through the sheets and into the mattress. And on your other side are another three tears. 

“When… when did you even do that?” you ask hesitantly.

“When I came the second time,” he says sheepishly. 

Fuck.

“Next time, we're using your bed,” you grumble. 

“I'll get it fixed, promise.” 

After you pee and remove the torn, wet sheets to place a towel over the partially destroyed mattress, you both settle back into the bed together. You’re snuggled up against his  side as he lays on his back. 

“I can't believe you're such a freak,” Logan says in wonder. “Here I was, worried I'd done something perverted to you, but in reality it's you who's the pervert.” 

Silence. 

“You had a boner against my ass, Logan.”

A/N: I hope the Jean thing is okay, I know the fanbase isn't the biggest fan of her lol. I just feel like she plays a pretty big role in understanding Logan as a character and his traumas. I feel like another part of his attraction for her also has to do with the fact that she's unavailable. Hurt that you're expecting is better than hurt that you're not expecting, if that makes sense.

Plus, let's be for real, this fella is poly. Just kinda funny he keeps falling in love with so many women but he still has no bitches.

[a-room-of-my-own]

It's impossible to find a video about fashion history without an airhead who self-identifies as a fashion historian - because she LARPs on week-ends and owns a sewing machine - inserting a 5 minutes tirade in defense of corsets.

[vaspider]

Thankfully Tumblr seems to have eaten the ask so I can't post it, but I got an ask from @mewthoughtcrime asking me to reblog a post which is a repost of an essay called "The New Thoughtcrime."

@ohara-n-brown wrote a pretty good explanation of why I will not be touching that hot garbage with a ten foot pole.

@mewthoughtcrime (who I have since blocked) is tagging these posts with a bunch of trans-related tags, so if you don't want to see a bunch of "what you are is fake and your community is a cult" all up in those tags, might be easier just to block them. The post is disingenuous about its purpose as a "resource" post - the essay is a rehash of Irreversible Damage and nobody needs that nonsense.

[aeriondripflame]

elia martell & lyanna stark & the yellow wallpaper.

the yellow wallpaper, charlotte perkins gilman. snow white & the huntsman (2012). the outpost (2018-2021).

[hairtusk]

not sure there has ever been a worse time to be a woman or girl in the uk. random stabbing attacks, crimes on trains increased by 50% in the last few years, 50 women murdered by men since the start of the year ... and absolutely no urgency whatsoever. it's terrifying.

[creelarke]

I say this as a woman and a feminist btw, misandry is as ugly and wrong as misogyny

[dandylion-s]

By god nothing will make you feel more like a mountain goats fan than an evening with your father

[alwaysbewoke]

As fans and co-stars mourn the untimely death of actor Andre Braugher, there is a new emphasis on the pervasiveness of lung cancer among Black men and why they are more likely than other groups to die from the disease. The “Brooklyn Nine-Nine” star passed away last week, just months after his diagnosis, according to a statement from his publicist. According to the American Lung Association, one in 16 Black men will be diagnosed with lung cancer in their lifetime. But while research has shown that a diagnosis doesn’t necessarily have to be a death sentence, Black men still have the highest death rate of lung cancer in the country — a grim stat partially due to the fact that they’re often diagnosed at later stages than others. Only 12 percent of Black men receive their diagnosis at an early stage, compared to 16 percent of white men and 20 percent of white women.

damn

[icarusredwings]

Scent. The trilogy.

You ever have your hyper sensitive to smell partner scrub the makeup off your face while pinning you to the floor because he says you don't need it?

Yeah, me neither. I should fix that.

[merelygifted]

Gov. Gretchen Whitmer announced on Thursday that more than 300 locations across the state now have free contraception resources for Michigan families.