#HOW MUCH OF THAT WAS JUST BECAUSE HE LIKED ME 😭 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

spencessocks · 23 hours ago

Note

bucky AND spencer??!!! are you my brain? my brain has a tumblr? but seriously im so happy you exist.

i was originally coming to say how in ‘through the silence’ the theme and the conversation could be the same (okay maybe just similar) with post prison spencer x reader and how he is trying to get back to reality and leave prison behind

love you xx

a/n: omfg what... im literally going to eat ur face... this sort of got a little longer than i intended and it took me a while because i was busy with work so im sorry!😭😭 but thank u so much omg i was reeling from this ask, ur so sweet and ilysm!!!

what remains

summary: after spencer returns from prison, the trauma he endured drives a wedge between him and the one person who loves him most.

pairing: postprison!spencer reid x reader

wordcount: 6.8k

warnings: sad spencer, sad reader, everyones sad, reader drinks like a sip of wine

the apartment is quiet when spencer walks in. it’s late—again. you don’t know where he goes, but he never offers, and you’ve stopped asking.

he drops his keys onto the counter with a dull clink, his shoulders heavy with exhaustion, and you watch from your place on the couch, heart aching at the sight of him. he looks different now. he's been home for months, but the man who walked through your door after prison isn’t the same one who left.

“hey,” you say gently, closing your book and setting it aside.

he glances at you but doesn’t hold your gaze for long. “hey.”

you swallow down the lump in your throat. “did you eat?”

“i'm not hungry.” his answer is clipped, automatic, the same response he’s given you almost every night since he’s been back.

you knew it wouldn’t be easy. that things would be different and he wouldn’t be the same. you had told yourself that over and over in the days leading up to his return, had braced yourself for the changes.

but you'd had hope—hope that, with time, things would settle. that he would come back to you—not just physically, but in the ways that mattered. that he would find his way back to the man he used to be, the man who used to curl up beside you on the couch, rambling about his latest case or a book he was reading. the man who used to laugh, used to smile, used to pull you into his arms like you were the safest place in the world.

but you had underestimated the impression this whole ordeal would leave on him.

it wasn't just in the way he carried himself, the way exhaustion clung to his frame or how the light in his eyes had dimmed. it was deeper than that. it was in the way he recoiled from touch when he used to seek it, in the way his voice lacked the excitement and curiosity it once held. in the distance that stretched between you, widening a little more each day, despite your best efforts to close it.

prison had carved something out of him, something you weren’t sure could ever be replaced. he had been home for months, but a harsh reality was starting to settle in you—that some wounds don’t heal the way you expect them to. some stay raw, lingering beneath the surface, invisible until they make themselves known in quiet moments—in the silence at the dinner table, in the way he avoids your gaze, in the way he flinches at your touch, in the walls he keeps building no matter how hard you try to tear them down.

he didn’t talk about what happened in there, and you didn’t press—even if sometimes curiosity clawed at you. but every laconic response, every empty stare, every night he disappeared without explanation told you more than words ever could. he was still there, trapped in a place you couldn’t seem to reach, and no matter how badly you wanted to, you weren’t sure you ever would.

you exhale slowly, measuring your words before speaking. "spencer, you know what i'm going to say." your voice is soft, careful, but it still makes him flinch, just barely.

"i'm fine," he mutters, turning away from you.

you hesitate, just for a moment, before the words slip out. a quiet, almost embarrassed whisper in the stillness of the room.

"will you at least sit with me for a little while?"

you regret the question the second it leaves your mouth, second-guessing yourself as soon as the vulnerability hits you. it sounds so small, so simple—sit with me, like it’s not asking for much, but in a way, it feels like you’re begging. you feel humiliation crawl up your neck.

"we don't have to talk," you add quickly, trying to soften the weight of your words. "we can just—"

"i'm tired," he interrupts, voice hollow. he’s already moving toward the bedroom, like he can't get away fast enough.

you stare blanky at him, his back already turned to you. you don't say anything. you can't. the words get stuck somewhere in your throat, tangled up with the shock and the sting of his dismissal. you just sit there, still as stone, the weight of his words settling over you like a thick, suffocating fog.

it shouldn't surprise you—this response, this distance, the way he shuts you out without a second thought. it’s been happening for weeks now, a slow unraveling of something that once felt unbreakable. and yet, it does surprise you.

because you still hoped—that he would just sit with you. that it couldn't possibly be that bad that your own husband couldn't sit on the the same goddamn couch as you.

you don’t know if your lack of response matters. maybe it does. maybe that’s why he hesitates in the doorway, fingers gripping the frame as if he's weighing his options. for a second, you think he might turn around, might give you something—anything. but then, just as quickly, he lets go and disappears into the darkness of the bedroom.

you sit there, motionless, as the door to the bedroom clicks shut behind him. the sound feels final, sharp.

the interaction plays in your head. "i'm tired."

the look on his face—or the lack of one. there’s nothing there. no fight, no frustration, not even the faintest trace of a desire to make things right.

you blink, once, twice, trying to shake the fog from your brain, but the shock is still there, thick in your chest. it’s like a pulse, steady and unrelenting, buzzing through your veins. you don’t know what to do with it. how to process it.

at this point, you can hardly recognize yourself. the person you used to be—before all this. you would have never let spencer walk away from that. you would’ve confronted him, spoken your truth, demanded that he listen. you were an opinionated person, it wasn't like you to let someone walk over you—spencer liked that about you. you would’ve never felt embarrassed by something so simple, so vulnerable, said to the man you loved.

the anger bubbles up, creeping through the shock like a slow poison, and suddenly, your skin feels tight. it feels wrong. how dare he? how can he just walk away, leave you in this empty room, in this awful, suffocating silence, after everything you’ve been through together?

surely, you wouldn't do this to him. that thought had crossed your mind before, only to be quickly pushed away by the reminder that you couldn't possibly know what he was going through—what he felt in that place.

but now, the thought clung to you, insistent, refusing to be ignored and with it came another. maybe he didn’t know how to let go of you—maybe he was too afraid to say the words, so instead, he kept hurting you without even realizing it. maybe he thought pulling away was easier than facing the truth. if the roles were reversed, you'd seek him out, wanting his comfort, his presence. so why wasn't he doing the same for you? why was he so unwilling to lean on you—when he had done it a million times before?

the pulse in your neck quickens, blood rushing, and you grip the edge of the couch, knuckles white. you don't even realize you're standing now, the instinct to do something, anything, pushing you forward. your breath comes quick and shallow as frustration and disbelief twist inside you like a knot that you can't untangle.

what are you supposed to do with this? what are you supposed to do when your own husband looks at you like you’re nothing—like you’re some kind of inconvenience he just can’t deal with tonight?

your body moves on its own, your legs carrying you to the door as if they have a will of their own—pyjamas and slippers be damned—the front door slams shut behind you with an almost violent finality. the apartment feels suffocating now, the weight of his absence, of his rejection, too much to bear. you need to leave.

you don’t bother to grab your phone. what would be the point? there’s nothing to say to him anymore—if he would even call. not when you’re standing on the edge of something you can’t even explain to yourself, a frustration and sadness mixing into something unrecognizable.

you walk fast, too fast, the cold air biting at your skin, and it helps. the briskness of the night, the sting of it, gives you a sense of purpose, something to focus on other than the gnawing emptiness inside you. you don’t want to sit in that silence any longer, don’t want to stew in your thoughts, trapped in that apartment where the echoes of your broken attempts at connection are suffocating.

jj’s place isn’t far—just a few blocks—but it might as well be a world away. the walk feels like an eternity, but it’s the only thing you can control right now. you don't have to think about spencer. you don’t have to think about him.

you find yourself at jj’s door, your breath coming out in white clouds, and for the first time tonight, you feel a brief flicker of something approaching relief. you knock twice, hard, before pulling back and pressing your forehead against the doorframe, closing your eyes, letting the coolness of it ground you. what the hell am i doing?

when she opens the door, her eyes widen at the sight of you, but she doesn’t ask. she doesn’t need to. she just steps aside, pulling you in with a soft, understanding smile.

“you okay?” she asks gently, though you know she already knows the answer.

you nod, but only because you don't trust your voice not to break if you speak. she doesn’t push, just closes the door behind you and leads you to the couch. you sit without a word, leaning back against the cushions, closing your eyes, and for the first time in what feels like months, you let yourself breathe.

jj moves toward the kitchen without a word, and you hear the familiar sound of glasses clinking, followed by the admittedly soothing pour of wine. she returns with a glass in each hand, her expression knowing. she hands you one and sits down beside you, settling into the cushions with the kind of ease that makes you wish you could do the same.

"talk to me,” she says, her voice quiet, but firm enough to break the silence that’s settled between you. it’s not a question, really—more like a gentle command, the kind that only someone who knows you can give.

you let out a breath, leaning back into the couch, staring at the ceiling for a moment, unsure where to even begin. everything feels like a mess. but her presence, her calm, makes you feel like you might find the strength to sort it out.

“spencer—" you stop yourself, the words catching in your throat. you shake your head, a laugh escaping your lips at the disbelief of your situation. "i don’t even know what to say anymore. i don’t know how we got here. it’s like i don’t even know who he is anymore.”

jj listens, her eyes steady, her hands wrapped around her own glass, but her gaze never wavers. she’s waiting. you know she won’t interrupt.

“i thought... i thought he’d come back to me, you know?” the words slip out before you can stop them, and the sadness that follows hits you harder than anything before. “i thought, with time, things would get better. that i could get him back, the way he was. but... it’s like he’s not even here anymore. i don’t know how to reach him. and when i try, it feels like he just shuts me out more.”

you swallow hard, feeling a sharp sting behind your eyes. it feels pathetic, but you can’t stop it now. you can’t stop the flood of everything that’s been building up, everything you’ve been trying to ignore.

“he’s gone, jj. and i don’t know how to be with someone who’s... not really here,” you say, your voice breaking on the last word.

jj doesn’t say anything at first, just lets you breathe, lets you sit with it for a moment. “i know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but he’s not gone. he’s just... changed. and change is hard. for both of you.”

you scoff softly, shaking your head. “i feel like i'm going crazy."

jj watches you carefully, her gaze unwavering as she processes your words. you feel exhausted—physically, emotionally—like the weight of the past few months has finally settled on your shoulders all at once.

jj studies you for a long moment, her expression unreadable. then, she exhales, setting her wine glass down on the coffee table. “you’re not crazy,” she says simply. “you’re grieving.”

that catches you off guard. you blink at her. “grieving?”

she nods. “yeah. you’re grieving the life you had before. the spencer you had before.” she pauses. “and maybe... the version of yourself that existed before all this.”

you open your mouth, but no words come out. you want to argue, to tell her it’s not that simple, that you’re not mourning spencer like he’s some lost cause, but—god—doesn’t it feel like that sometimes? doesn’t it feel like the person you knew, the person you loved, is slipping further and further away?

jj sighs, leaning forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “i know what it’s like to watch someone you love disappear into themselves. to feel helpless while they struggle with something you can’t fix.” her voice is softer now, careful, like she’s walking a tightrope. “it’s terrifying.”

your fingers tighten around your wine glass. “so what do i do?” the question comes out more fragile than you want it to, barely above a whisper.

she’s quiet for a moment, thinking. “you—" her words are interrupted by an abrupt sound. jj’s phone is ringing, sharp and sudden in the quiet of the room. you flinch, your heart leaping into your throat before you even see the name on the screen. but you already know.

spencer.

panic grips you, fast and unrelenting, and before you can think, the words spill out. “don’t answer it.”

jj hesitates, glancing at the phone on the coffee table. the screen glows with his name, the sound vibrating between you like a living thing. “he’s your husband,” she says gently, but her fingers hover over the screen instead of answering.

“i don’t care,” you whisper, shaking your head. “please, jj. don’t.”

she studies you, eyes flicking over your face like she’s trying to gauge just how serious you are. if she picks up, you’ll have to hear him—his voice, his clipped tone, his inevitable question: where are you? and what then? you don’t have an answer.

jj sighs, silencing the call but not declining it. the ringing stops, but the silence that follows is almost worse.

“you know he’s worried,” she says carefully. “you left without your phone. you think he’s just going to let that go?”

you squeeze your eyes shut, gripping your glass like it’s the only thing tethering you to the moment. “i don’t know,” you admit. “i just—I can’t do this right now. fuck.”

jj shifts closer, her voice calm but firm. “running won’t fix this.”

you let out a short, bitter laugh. “staying hasn't."

she doesn’t have an answer for that.

jj watches you carefully, then sighs. “stay here as long as you need. but at some point, you have to decide—are you going home? or are you walking away?”

your arm is moving suddenly, the wine glass at your lips. her words settle over you like a weight. and for the first time, you realize—you don’t know.

jj's phone buzzes again, and you flinch at the sight of spencer’s name lighting up the screen. the call goes to voicemail, and for a few seconds, there’s nothing but silence.

the phone rings a second time. you can almost hear spencer’s voice in your head, the exact tone he always takes when he doesn’t know what to say.

“I’ll answer it,” jj says softly, but the words feel like a concession rather than a promise. she picks up the phone, and her thumb hovers over the screen.

you don’t stop her, but you wish you could. you wish you could shut everything down, turn it all off.

“spencer?” jj says, her voice calm, controlled.

you close your eyes, hearing his voice crackle through the speaker.

“jj... is she there?” spencer’s voice sounds worn, tight with something just beneath the surface. you can hear the familiar threads of guilt and concern tangled in his words. “i—i don’t know where she went. she just… she left without saying anything.”

jj looks at you, her expression unreadable. you can feel the heat of her stare on you.

“yeah, she's here.” jj finally responds, her words careful. “but she's not ready to talk to you right now, spencer.”

a long pause follows. you can hear spencer’s breath, shallow, like he’s holding something back.

“i just... i just need to know she's okay,” he says, the frustration and desperation clear in his voice. “please.”

you wince at the pleading in his words. it cuts through you in a way you hadn’t expected.

jj looks at you, her expression unreadable, before she glances down at the phone again. you can feel the heat of her stare on you.

“she’s fine,” jj says, with a note of finality. “but I think you need to give her some time. she’s been through a lot, spencer. you both have.”

“time?” Spencer’s voice cracks. “jj, i don’t—“

but she cuts him off. “i’m not getting in the middle of this. just... take care of yourself for now, okay? you’ll talk when she’s ready. she’ll come back when she’s ready.”

the phone goes silent for a moment, and then the faint click of the line disconnecting. jj pulls the phone away from her ear and sets it down on the coffee table with a soft sigh.

jj sits back, her gaze still trained on you, like she’s waiting for something.

the silence in the room feels heavier now. It presses against your chest, and the weight of it makes your thoughts swirl faster than they should. spencer’s voice still echoes in your mind—i just need to know she's okay. you don’t want to admit it, but the desperation in his words cuts deeper than you anticipated. you don’t want to feel guilty. but it settles over you, thick and unavoidable, as you sit on jj’s couch, the comfort of her presence fading into the background.

“he sounded worried,” you murmur, more to yourself than to jj.

she nods, watching you carefully. “of course he’s worried.”

you press your lips together, exhaling slowly. “i didn’t think he’d care that much.” the words taste bitter on your tongue, because the truth is, you had wanted him to care. you had wanted him to call, to ask where you were, to prove—at least to himself—that there was still something left between you worth saving.

and he did.

he did.

but now, sitting here, away from him, away from that apartment, the weight of your actions starts creeping in, cold and insidious.

you left.

you walked out without a word.

you knew what it was like to feel abandoned, to reach for someone and find nothing but empty space. and now you’ve done the same to him.

the realization makes your chest tighten, and suddenly, the fight, the frustration, the resentment—it all feels distant, overshadowed by something heavier. something closer to shame.

jj shifts beside you, her voice quiet but knowing. “you’re thinking about going back.”

you shake your head quickly. “i don’t know.” but it’s a lie. you do know.

you inhale sharply, pressing your palm to your forehead, trying to ground yourself. “god, what am I doing, jj?”

“you’re allowed to feel this, you know,” she says simply. “you’re allowed to be angry. to be hurt. to need space.”

you swallow hard, blinking down at your hands. they feel foreign to you, like they belong to someone else. “i just—” you hesitate, voice cracking slightly. “i just got so mad. he was so dismissive of me, and i couldn't be there anymore.”

“i know.”

you stare down at your lap, your fingers tightening around the fabric of your sweater.

you shake your head, guilt curling in your chest. “but that’s not me, jj. that’s not who I am. i don’t just… walk away. i got angry and i overreacted.”

she sighs. “one moment doesn't define you. things are different now. you've never been in a situation like this before,” she pauses. “sometimes you have to walk away, to get your thoughts in order."

"it would've been worse if you blew up at him." she added.

"i think i still might." you said with a dry laugh.

jj smiled slightly, her gaze softening as she leaned back, “you’ve always been the one to hold things together,” she said, her voice gentle but firm, as if trying to remind you that it was okay to break sometimes. “but you can’t hold it all in forever. and sometimes… sometimes you need space to breathe, to think. you don’t always have to be the strong one.”

you let out a breath, unsure of what to say next. jj was always good at cutting through the noise, but the guilt still sat heavily in your chest. you couldn’t escape the feeling that walking away—no matter how much you needed to—had been the wrong choice.

jj watches you for a moment, then leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “listen, i know it feels like you did something wrong by leaving, but you didn’t. you needed space. that’s not the same as giving up.”

you nod slowly, staring down at your hands, but you don’t respond.

jj sighs, then reaches over and squeezes your arm. "look, if there’s anyone who understands why you did what you did, it’s spencer. he has spent his life studying human behavior—figuring out how they think and why they do what they do. spencer knows exactly why you walked out, even if he won't admit it. he knows it was about needing space, about trying to make sense of everything that’s been building up between you.”

she pauses, giving you a reassuring look. “this isn’t the end. this is just a bump in the road—you'll go back when you're ready, and you'll start working through it all."

spencer knows why you left.

the thought lingers, easing the guilt that’s been clawing at you since you walked out. maybe that’s why he didn’t come after you. maybe, in his own way, he understood that you needed this moment to step back, to breathe, to process.

you hope—no, you need—to believe that he’s coming to his own realization. that in the quiet of your absence, in the stillness of an apartment that no longer holds your presence, he’s starting to understand. that maybe, just maybe, he’s replaying every word, every moment, and seeing where it all went wrong.

you want him to recognize that pushing you away was a mistake. that shutting you out, closing himself off instead of letting you in, only built more distance between you. and most of all, you hope he understands now—truly understands—that love isn’t about shutting doors, but about keeping them open, even when it’s hard.

the irony of the situation dawns on you. sitting here, hoping he comes to the right conclusion on his own, won’t change anything. no matter how hurt or frustrated you are, you know one thing for certain—you aren’t going to push him away the way he did to you.

you glance at jj, her eyes soft with understanding, and suddenly, you don’t feel as lost as you did before.

“i have to go back,” you murmur, the words feeling right the moment they leave your lips.

jj studies you for a moment before nodding. “yeah, i figured.” there’s no judgment in her voice, only quiet support.

you stand, but before you can say anything, jj speaks again. “i’m driving you.”

you blink at her. “jj, i can—”

"it’s late, and it’s cold,” she interrupts, crossing her arms. “and i know you. you’ll spend the entire walk overthinking, or worse, you’ll turn around and come right back here.”

you open your mouth to argue, but she raises an eyebrow, daring you to fight her on this. you sigh, giving in. “fine. i'll still overthink in the car though.”

jj smirks as she grabs her keys. "yeah, but at least this way, you’ll be overthinking with heated seats and no risk of getting hit by a rogue cyclist."

you roll your eyes, but there's a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. "alright, alright. guess I’ll overthink in comfort then." you step outside, the weight of everything that’s about to unfold on your back.

the ride back is quiet, the streets nearly empty as jj navigates the familiar roads. you stare out the window, your finger spinning your wedding band, mind racing with all the possibilities of what comes next.

you wonder how it will be when you walk through that door. will he be surprised to see you? will he be angry? will he apologize? the questions swirl in your mind, but you push them aside—you'll find out in a few minutes either way.

jj pulls up in front of the apartment building and turns to you, her expression gentle. “you don’t have to fix everything tonight,” she reminds you. “just… put all your cards on the table. don't sugarcoat anything.”

you nod, feeling a mix of gratitude and nervous anticipation. "thank you, jj," you say softly, giving her a small smile. "i don’t know what i would’ve done without you tonight."

she smiles back, her eyes warm with understanding. "you’ll be fine. just be honest, that’s all you can do."

with a final nod, you push the door open, the cold air immediately hitting you as you step out onto the sidewalk. your heart is pounding in your chest, each step towards the apartment feeling heavier than the last.

you twist the handle, it's unlocked, but you hesitate before pushing the door open, gathering your courage in the silent hallway. when you finally step inside, the apartment is quiet—but not empty. a single lamp illuminates the living room, casting long shadows across the walls.

and there's spencer, sitting on the couch hunched over with his elbows on his knees, head in his hands.

he looks up at the sound of the door, and for a brief moment, his face is completely unguarded. relief washes over his features, followed quickly by something that looks almost like fear. he stands immediately, his movements stiff and uncertain.

"you came back," he says, his voice hoarse.

you close the door behind you, still standing near the threshold. "i started feeling guilty." you sighed, jj's voice in the back of your head—just be honest.

spencer swallows, his gaze flickering to the floor for a moment before meeting yours again. "guilty?" he repeats, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

spencer exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “you shouldn't feel guilty," he murmurs, then shakes his head. "i mean, it makes sense,” he says quickly, his words picking up speed.

“studies show that guilt is often a response to perceived moral transgressions rather than actual wrongdoing. it’s the brain’s way of enforcing social cohesion—an evolutionary mechanism designed to maintain interpersonal relationships by making us feel responsible for potential harm, even when no actual harm has been inflicted.”

you couldn’t help but feel a strange mix of disbelief and amusement as he rambled on. it was as if, in the middle of all this, the man you once knew had momentarily resurfaced. even if what he was saying wasn’t at all what you needed to hear right now, a part of you couldn't help but recognize the familiarity in it—the way he always got lost in his thoughts, trying to explain things when he didn’t quite know how to connect.

he shifts on his feet, his words picking up speed. “and in this case, your reaction makes perfect sense. you removed yourself from a heightened emotional situation in order to regulate your response, which, psychologically speaking, is a far healthier alternative to reactive conflict. but then, the cognitive dissonance sets in—the part where your brain tells you that leaving contradicts your usual patterns of behavior, and that discrepancy triggers guilt, even if logically—”

“spencer,” you interrupt gently.

his mouth snaps shut, and for a second, there’s just silence. a flicker of something vulnerable crosses his face, and you realize—he’s rambling because he doesn’t know what else to say. because this is easier for him than actually talking about what matters.

you step forward, closing a bit of the distance between you. “i don’t need an analysis,” you tell him gently. "i just want you to tell me what's going on."

spencer’s gaze flickers for a moment, like he’s trying to find the words, trying to make sense of the situation. "i never wanted you to feel like you needed to leave," he says, his voice quieter now, more vulnerable. “but i didn’t exactly make it easy for you to stay.”

you lean against the doorframe, arms crossed, the weight of everything you haven’t said pressing heavily on your chest. "no, you didn’t," you admit, your voice just above a whisper.

his expression tightens, a flash of something—guilt, maybe—crossing his face before he looks away.

"i've been trying," he says quietly. "i have."

"have you?" the question comes out sharper than you intended, but you don't soften it. "because from where i'm standing, it feels like you've been doing everything possible to push me away."

spencer's gaze snaps back to you, a hint of defensiveness in his eyes. "that's not fair."

"isn't it?" you take another step forward, emboldened by the surge of emotions you've held back for too long. "you won't talk to me. you won't look at me. you won't even sit next to me on the couch. what am i supposed to think, spencer?"

he runs a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every movement. "it's not that simple," he says, his voice strained. "i want to be the person you remember, but i don't know if i can be that man anymore."

the admission hits you like a physical blow. "i'm not asking you to be exactly who you were before," you say softly. "i know that's not possible. i just... i need you to be present. to talk to me. to not shut me out completely."

spencer is quiet for a long moment, his gaze fixed on some point beyond you. when he finally speaks, his voice is barely audible. "i don't know how to explain what it was like in there."

your breath catches. this is the closest he's come to talking about prison since he's been home. you don't know if you should say something. you hold your breath, afraid that if you move or speak, he'll retreat again.

his eyes are distant, far away, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s even aware of how much you’re hanging on his every word. finally, he exhales slowly, his gaze dropping to the floor as if the weight of it all is too much to bear.

“being in there… it broke something inside of me,” he says, voice low and strained. “i kept thinking about what it would be like to come back, to be here, with you. and then i just—" he paused for a moment. "i had to do something really bad. i had to do things in there that… things i never thought i would do."

"i hate myself for it. every second of it." his voice breaks on the last word, he shakes his head, hands shaking slightly as he runs them through his hair, frustration and guilt radiating from him.

"i wasn't just a victim in there—i became someone i don't even recognize anymore. i did things that went against everything i ever believed in, everything i told myself i would never do."

he looks at you now, and you can see the turmoil in his eyes—the deep-rooted shame and the self-loathing that’s consumed him. "and now i’m back here, with you, and i don’t even know who i am anymore. i’ve become this person who did unforgivable things. you don't deserve someone like me, someone who’s capable of—of that." he gestures vaguely, as if trying to encompass everything that’s happened to him.

"is that why you've been pushing me away?" you ask softly. "because you think i won't love who you are now?"

he doesn't answer, but the way he avoids your gaze tells you everything.

"baby," you whisper, shifting closer to him. "nothing could change how I see you."

you take a slow, unsteady breath, searching for the right words—any words—but everything feels inadequate. how do you explain something that goes beyond language?

"god, spencer," you exhale, shaking your head. "i wish i was better at this. i wish i had the right words, i wish i was some kind of poet, and that i could say the right things to make you understand, but i'm not."

you finally close the gap between you two and take his hands, gripping them tightly, pressing them against your chest as if somehow, if he just feels the way your heart beats for him, he’ll finally understand.

"it’s frustrating," you continue, voice thick with emotion. "because what i feel for you—it’s bigger than me. it’s bigger than words. i can’t explain it, and i hate that, because i need you to know. i need you to understand that this isn’t something breakable, something you can ruin, something you can chase away just because you think you should."

he swallows hard, his fingers curling around yours, but he doesn’t speak. maybe he can’t.

"i swear, spencer, if there was a way to pull this feeling out of me and give it to you, i would. if i could make you see yourself the way i see you, make you understand that what you did—what you had to do—doesn’t make you unworthy of love, i would do it in a heartbeat." your voice breaks slightly, tears now lining your eyes. "because i don’t just love you. it’s not that simple. it’s not just some feeling, some thing i could ever put into words. it’s more. it doesn’t begin or end with what you’ve done, or what’s happened to you, or who you think you’ve become. it just is."

he lets out a shaky breath, his eye are now wet, shining under the dim apartment light, his lips parted slightly like he wants to argue but can’t find the strength to. because maybe, just maybe, for the first time—he’s starting to believe you.

"i just wish—i wish you could feel it," you murmur, voice breaking. "i wish you could step into my skin, into my heart, and know how much i love you."

you don’t realize you’re crying until he reaches up, hesitantly, brushing his fingers against your cheek like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he touches you. his hand is shaking, but he doesn’t pull away.

spencer’s expression falters, something breaking inside of him, and when he finally—finally—pulls you into his arms, it’s not desperate or frantic. his arms wrap around you slowly, almost reverently, as though he's trying to let the feeling of your love wash over him, to understand it the way you do.

at first, it’s just the slightest tremble in his shoulders, so faint you almost miss it. but then you feel it—the shaky exhale against your neck, the way his fingers clutch at the fabric of your shirt like he’s afraid to let go. and then, slowly, silently, he starts to break.

his breath hitches, and before he can stop it, a quiet sob escapes him, muffled against your shoulder. his body shakes, all the pain and guilt unraveling all at once, and all you can do is hold him through it. his hands grasp at you like you’re the only thing tethering him to the present, like if he lets go, he’ll disappear into everything he’s been trying so hard to contain.

you don’t say anything. you don’t tell him it’s okay, because you know he wouldn’t believe it. or maybe because it isn't. but it will be. you'll make sure of that.

your fingers thread through his hair, your lips press against his temple, and you whisper the same words over and over, a promise and a lifeline: "i love you. i love you. i love you."

you stay like that for a while, wrapped in each other, the weight of everything that’s happened still lingering in the air between you. but it’s different now. lighter, somehow. not because everything is fixed—there are still conversations to have, wounds to tend to, pieces of him he hasn’t shown you yet.

but for the first time in a long while, you feel like you’re on the same side again. you’re not standing in separate corners, silently blaming each other for things you can’t control.

the weight in your chest, the anxiety that has gnawed at you since that day you got the call about him being detained, begins to fade. you don’t need to fix everything tonight. you don’t need to have all the answers.

his breathing begins to steady, the tears slowing, but he doesn’t pull away. instead, he rests his forehead against yours, his voice a raw whisper as he says the only thing he can in this moment. “i’m sorry.”

you close your eyes for a moment, exhaling softly. “i know,” you whisper.

there's a beat of silence. "i've been having nightmares," he says, his voice so low you have to strain to hear him. "almost every night. that's where i go sometimes—i walk before going to bed. i walk so that i'm exhausted enough that my mind shuts down."

the sudden admission breaks your heart—but there's also a part of you that feels relief. relief that he wasn't turning to something worse or someone else to numb the pain.

"spencer, you could have told me." you said, fingers rubbings patterns into his back.

"i didn't want to burden you more than i already have," he says, shaking his head. "you've already been through so much because of me."

"that's not how this works," you say, squeezing his hand. "just forget all of that, okay? things will be different now. you not talking to me hurts more than that ever could."

he leans into you, his eyes closing for a brief moment. "i'm sorry," he whispers. "for pushing you away. for making you feel like you weren't enough. you've always been enough."

you lift a hand to his face, your thumb brushing against his cheek as you take in the exhaustion lining his features—the weight he’s been carrying alone for too long. slowly, carefully, you lean in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. just a warm, quiet reassurance that you’re here, that you’re staying.

when you finally pull away, his forehead rests against yours, and he lets out a quiet sigh, his breath warm against your skin. he looks at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of hope and uncertainty. "do you want to go to bed?" he asks, voice low.

you pause for a moment, you hadn’t realized just how exhausted you were until his mention of sleep. your shoulders feel heavy, and your body aches from the emotional toll it’s taken.

a deep, almost instinctual sigh escapes your lips, and you nod softly, “yeah."

spencer squeezes your hand gently and leads you toward the bedroom. the moment the covers are pulled back, you slip under the soft sheets, the cool fabric against your skin offering the smallest comfort after everything you've been through. spencer follows you in, his body warm and reassuring as he settles beside you.

he moves closer, carefully wrapping his arms around you, pulling you into him with a tenderness that makes your chest tighten. you rest your head on his chest, the steady beat of his heart grounding you. his presence, steady and constant, washes over you like a balm, soothing the frantic, scattered thoughts in your mind.

his hand moves slowly up and down your back, the rhythm soothing, and you realize just how much you've missed this—missed him.

you close your eyes, letting the weight of everything melt away as you drift closer to sleep. spencer’s voice is soft, a comforting murmur as he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

"i love you."

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #matthew gray gubler #prison reid #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid angst #postprison!spencer

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damimami1994 · 10 hours ago

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GIRRRLL this is going to be a long one so get ready ✍🏼

First of all I want to kiss your beautiful brain because the way you write for Old Man Logan is just AHHHH!! (meaning oh so great lol)

The tension between these two from the moment it started is so exciting and electric. I absolutely loved how the reader pushed his buttons and never let down from what she wanted and knew what he wanted too. It was driving him crazy and I was EATING IT UUUPP!!

“Your touch and proximity ignites something primal in him, something he thought long extinguished. Logan can feel pure want, need, surge through his veins and lick flames along his skin.”

“He feels alive. Every cell in his body hums beneath your touch, the constant aches and pains temporarily erased. You're a balm to his very soul, smoothing the ever deepening cracks and making him feel whole.”

^COME ON!! This man needs this and craves it so bad, the way you describe his feelings is fabulous.

Lub the two quotes below make me absolutely feral!!!!

“ ”Last chance,” he husks, his breath fanning across your lips. “Last chance to stop before I ruin you.” ”

“A sinful smile spreads across your face. “Oh, Logan,” you coo, “who says I’m not going to ruin you?” “

When you teased this earlier I knew I was in for a ride and now that I know the whole thing I’m like YEESS because he was ruined the moment he stepped in to the house (well really when he decided to pull over)

The angst you created while they were apart but coming back together was divine because she always knew he would come back and as time passed it showed their love building even if they weren’t always together, they didn’t need to because they just knew. 🥹🥹

I loved too how he thought she was a mutant because of how intuitive she felt with him and I’m like hello Logan she loves you and accepts you!! I wanted to shake him so many times like man look with your eyes but he will always think he’s undeserving and she’s there to prove him wrong!! Speaking of undeserving when he tries to push her away again, I loved how fierce she was and didn’t let him get away with it

“You let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “God, for someone with heightened senses, you’re blind to what’s right in front of you.” “

^OoOo!!! Yes reader tell him what he needs to hear since he wants to run away and push you out (even though afterwards I’d love him forever because come on lol) Sassy Charles too was the best 🤣 it just kept going with the trash talk Logan needed to hear lol

The porch light being the guiding light through the relationship was such a beautiful way to show their love. It was simple yet had so much meaning. She was never going to quit on him and he was always going to come back even if he didn’t feel deserving of it 😭❤️ Was this your run on thing you talked about having?

*one more note is this was one of my favorite things she said to him explaining how she just feels him and she says

“ "This undeniable pull, an invisible string that connects me to you and it tug, tug, tugs, until...there you are." “

Ohhh to have that with someone especially Logan is a dream because no matter the angst, heart ache, they’d always end up together, in love 😭

Thank you for the happy ending too because I couldn’t not DEAL if they didn’t get it!! Amazing job Lub 👏🏼💐

Come A Long, Long Way

SYNOPSIS: His days are long and his nights are longer. He comes to you during those hours when the rest of the world stills, lured in by something almost like fate.

PAIRING: Old Man Logan x fem!reader

WC: 12.2k

WARNINGS: smut 18+, mdni; angst; swearing; non-explicit mentions of wounds, scars and healing; gratuitous sexual tension; mentions of alcohol/alcohol consumption; dirty talk; frottage; nipple play; surprise appearance by Charles; oral (f receiving); fingering; unprotected p in v; sex with feelings; cowgirl; mating press; creampie; brief mentions of Laura; happy ending because I said so

A/N: The idea for this story came to me through a song--My Fair Lady by Kaleo. I was struck by this verse: I'm weary from my travels // I've come a long, long way // I haven't felt a woman // Since last that I was here // Oh, won't you bring me whisky // And run your fingers through my hair? // Oh, won't you whisper sweet words // Oh, so softly in my ear? I thought, "Wow, that's so Old Man Logan" and this is what I birthed from that. This may be one of my favorite things I've ever written, and I sincerely hope you think so too. Huge, huge thank you to @yxtkiwiyxt for betaing this for me and making the final draft what it is; you helped end this in such a beautiful way. Thank you to @saradika for the use of her graphics. And as always, I hope you enjoy this and any likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated!

He shouldn’t care about the car pulled over on the side of the road, hazard lights blinking as the rain pours down.

For three days, Logan’s entertained a rowdy bachelorette party, chauffeuring them from bar to bar, dinner to dinner. The scent of cheap perfume and desperation still linger inside the limo, the drunken, whispered advances still burn against his skin.

He’s tired. Exhausted down to his very marrow and he wants nothing more than to crawl onto his sagging mattress and steal whatever amount of sleep his shattered mind will give him.

So, no. He shouldn’t care about the car.

But he finds himself easing off the gas, the limo starting to slow as he nears. He feels drawn, like a month to a flame, as if some unseen force has wound itself around his sternum and is pulling him forward.

Pulling him to you.

As the limo approaches, he spots you crouched down by the front left tire, struggling with a lug wrench, the tool slipping in your rain-soaked fingers. He can almost hear the curses spilling from your lips as you glance up and look towards where he’s sitting.

Logan knows you can’t see him, not well anyway with the headlights shining directly upon you and the rain pouring down in sheets, but he swears you find his gaze, your eyes seeming to pierce down directly to his soul. He feels the flutter of something deep in his chest and he feels exposed, like a raw wound that hasn’t quite healed.

For a moment, he hesitates, and wonders if you’re a siren, out here in your element to lure him to his death. Then your gaze drops and the thought dissolves but only just. Before he can talk himself out of it, Logan’s throwing the car in park and opening the door.

The rain is frigid, the cold biting at his skin as the downpour soaks him down to the bone. You glance up at him as he approaches, your fingers loosening around the wench but still keeping it firmly in your grasp. Straightening up, you push wet strands of hair out of your face, your fingers trembling from the cold.

“Need a lift?”

He doesn’t know why he asks. What he should do is swap out the old tire for the spare and let you go on your way. But those eyes of yours are piercing him again, the hook you’ve sunk deep in his sinew pulling taut once more and Logan feels compelled to take you home.

For a few moments, you continue to silently assess him, your gaze flitting between your car, the limo behind him and back to his now soaked frame. Then, you stand and open the driver’s side door, tossing in the wrench and pulling your purse close to your chest. You follow him to the limo and climb into the backseat as Logan slips back in behind the wheel.

He glances back at you through the rearview mirror, watching as you lean back into the seat, your wet clothes clinging to every curve of your body. Which is another thing he shouldn’t care about and yet…

Clearing his throat, he turns up the heat. “Where you headed?”

“North. About twenty miles or so.”

Logan nods and shifts the car into drive, heading back down the road as the rain continues to come down. Several minutes pass in silence, save for the rhythmic thump of the windshield wipers. Finally, your voice breaks through the silence, soft and lilting.

“Got a name?”

“Who’s asking?”

A half smile tugs at your lips as you slide from the seat and slip into the row directly behind the partition. Logan can feel the damp of your skin as you lean into his space, the scent of rain flooding his nostrils almost intoxicating. You say your name and wait for him to respond in kind.

“Logan,” he answers, eyes fixed on the road ahead.

“Life hasn’t been kind to you, has it, Logan?” you ask, his name dripping from your lips like honey and just as sweet.

Logan stiffens, his grip tightening on the wheel as your words cut through the night. There’s no pity in your tone, which he’s silently grateful for, but an unsettling mixture of curiosity and understanding.

At the best of times, he doesn’t like anyone trying to scratch below the surface, to worm themselves into all the soft and vulnerable bits he tries so desperately to hide away. Now that he’s older and feeling every bit of his age, the weight of his bones threatening to drag him down with each step, he likes it even less.

“It’s not kind to anyone,” he answers, turning his head just enough to glance sideways at you.

You tilt your head slightly, a wordless noise humming in your throat. “Maybe,” you concede, voice soft, like you’re mulling over his words. “Except your life has carved itself into you a little more than most.”

He wants to be annoyed, to slam his foot on the brake and send the limo careening into reverse back towards your broken down car. But something stirs in him, thrumming in time with the pulse beating in his veins—a spark of irritation mixed with that pull that’s been gnawing at him since he first saw you.

“You a therapist or somethin’?”

You chuckle softly, the sound low and intimate, as you lean back into the seat, finally putting some space between you. “No. Just intuitive.”

“Yeah?” He looks up at you through the rearview mirror with a scowl. “Intuit less. Just tell me where I’m goin’.”

A soft, chiding “tsk” falls from your lips and you shake your head, but Logan doesn’t miss the smile playing on your lips. You give him directions to your house and for moment you both sit in silence but the air remains heavy with unspoken tension.

Logan pulls off the highway, beginning to wind through the smaller streets of the town as he gets closer to your place. The thought of this ride ending, of you leaving this car, both thrill and disappoint him.

“You believe in fate?”

The question cuts through the silence, pulling Logan’s focus back to you. He glances at you briefly, your expression thoughtful as you wait for him to answer.

“No,” he finally says, voice flat.

A soft hum escapes your throat. “Unsurprising. But don’t you think, Logan,” you begin, leaning back into his space, “that maybe fate is what brought us together?”

You have that knowing look in your eye again, a sly smile tugging at your lips. As if you’re in on some cosmic secret he’s not privy to. It unnerves him.

But it intrigues him, too.

“I think a broken down car brought us together.”

“Or maybe life decided to be kind to you,” you challenge. “To bring me to you.”

Logan turns into a quiet subdivision as your words rattle around in his brain. The rain has mostly subsided, but is still falling in a gentle drizzle as he pulls up in front of your house, a single porch light illuminated in welcome. It looks small, yet homey, the kind of place he could have seen himself in once if life had been kinder to him.

“You should come in,” you say as you gather your belongings. “Get out of those wet clothes.”

Your eyes meet his again through the review mirror, a mischievous glint in your gaze and an even more sinful smile on your lips.

It’s been a while since he’s been with anyone. The thrill of finding a partner for the night having lost its luster around the time his bones started to ache. More often than not, his sexual escapades involve his own calloused hands and memories from when he was a younger man.

“Think about it,” you offer as you open the door and slip out of the limo. “Door’ll be open.”

Logan sits, hands gripping the steering wheel, contemplating whether or not to follow you into the house.

Your offer is tantalizing, ripe for the picking, and the baser part of himself wants to accept—follow you into sin. You’ve already injected yourself into his veins, he might as well see the high through.

The rational part of his brain knows he should leave, throw the limo in reverse and tail it back to the life he’s carved out for himself in the desert. Experience has hardened him, left him unable to, or maybe unwilling to, open himself to others. He doesn’t need whatever it is you think you can offer him, no matter how alluring and sweet your words may be.

The weight of his wet clothes against his skin begins to feel almost suffocating and with a low curse under his breath, Logan steps from the limo and follows the path you took up the porch and into the house.

A trail of water leads from the front door to a small laundry room just off the foyer and then damp footprints lead deeper into the house. He can hear the low rumble of a dryer as he steps further into the space, the squeak of his shoes against the hardwood doing nothing to hide his approach.

Logan finds you in the kitchen, lights dimmed low, standing in only a pair of mismatched underwear, the damp fabric barely concealing what’s underneath as you gently swirl a glass of whiskey. A second, untouched glass sits next to your hip on the counter.

“You seem like a whiskey man,” you say, your smile curving around the glass as you take a slow sip. “Did I get it right?”

Stopping in the doorway, he flexes his hands at his sides, and wills himself to move—forward, backward, he’s not quite sure. The muted light catches along your curves, the damp sheen of your skin enticing, the dark outline of your nipples and curls between your thighs acting like a beacon. Logan can feel himself hardening against his slacks.

He can smell you—bright and earthy and wholly intoxicating. Your heartbeat echoes in his ears, quick, but steady, betraying no fear.

“If you wanted to hurt me, you would have done it by now,” you say and he has half a thought to wonder if you can read his mind.

A sly smile spreads across your face as his eyes finally meet yours, a knowing edge to your expression that further sets him off balance.

“What’s happenin’ here?” Logan finally rasps, his voice low and rough.

You give a nonchalant shrug of your shoulders as you grab the glass next to you and take a step towards him, your movements slow yet deliberate. He doesn’t move, rooted to the spot as you approach him.

“That’s up to you,” you reply, handing him the glass. “You can get out of those wet clothes and enjoy this whiskey with me, or,” you pause to step closer, “you can walk back out that door and pretend like you weren’t curious about what’s waiting for you here.”

Logan’s fingers grip the glass in his hands just a little too tight as you stare up at him, holding his gaze a beat longer than necessary. You’re challenging him, daring him to act, and he knows the minute he breaks, he’s done for. He won’t be able to stop.

You risk another step closer, leaving barely a breadth of space between you. He can feel the heat radiating off your body, can smell the rain on your skin, as your closeness overwhelms his senses. He wants to drown in you.

“What’s it gonna be?” you ask in a whisper, your fingers trailing along the edge of his belt buckle.

Your touch and proximity ignites something primal in him, something he thought long extinguished. Logan can feel pure want, need, surge through his veins and lick flames along his skin. His free hand moves on instinct, wrapping around your wrist, halting your teasing fingers before they venture any further. His restraint is hanging by a thread, fraying and threatening to snap.

“You sure this is what you want?” His voice is low, all gravel and grit as he stares down at you, his eyes darkened by a hunger begging to be fed.

Your lips curve into a slow, knowing smile as you press yourself fully against him, soft and warm. Rising up onto the balls of your feet, you drop your gaze to his lips before flicking your eyes back up to his and ghosting your mouth along his jawline. “Stay with me,” you whisper, sliding your hand up his chest. “Just this once.”

Logan’s restraint snaps. The glass tumbles from his hand, shattering against the floor, but neither of you seem to notice. His hand moves to the small of your back, wanting to press you impossibly closer as his lips crash into yours, hot and demanding.

You respond in kind, a whimper dying in your throat as your fingers tangle in his damp hair, urging him closer. A growl tumbles from his lips as he trails his mouth down your neck, nipping and tasting as he goes, his tongue finding your pulse point and sucking. His hands roam freely, his calloused fingers sliding over your smooth flesh, palming your hips and gripping you as if you’re the only thing grounding him to earth.

He feels alive. Every cell in his body hums beneath your touch, the constant aches and pains temporarily erased. You’re a balm to his very soul, smoothing the ever deepening cracks and making him feel whole.

You gasp as he nips at a spot just below your ear and he smirks against your skin, the sound spurring him on. “Tell me where your room is, or I’m fuckin’ you right here on the table,” he husks, his voice thick with desire, breath fanning over the shell of your ear.

Pulling back just enough to meet his gaze, your lips swollen and eyes dark, you reach for his hand and wordlessly lead him past the living room and down the small hallway to your room. Once inside, he pulls you back towards him, mouth slanting back over yours, stealing the very air from your lungs.

His cock is almost painfully hard as he walks you towards the bed, only pulling his mouth away from yours as your knees hit the edge of the mattress. Instead of sitting back on the bed, you reach for the buttons on his shirt, easing them open before sliding the fabric from his shoulders. There’s an eagerness to your movements, your fingers fumbling with his belt buckle as he sheds his undershirt and tosses it somewhere behind him.

Logan watches with a hooded gaze, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, as you shove his pants down his legs, barely getting them past his knees before you’re reaching for the waistband of his boxers.

His fingers curl around your wrist, halting your movements and you gaze up at him, licking your lips. “Slow down, sweetheart,” he murmurs, a smirk tugging at his lips. “We have all night.”

A shiver runs through you and then his mouth is on you again, hungry and all-consuming. He drinks you in like a man parched, lips and teeth mapping the curve of your jaw, the solid edge of your collarbone as your pretty little moans and gasps fill the air. You tilt your head back and offer yourself to him, your hands grasping at his shoulders, fingers digging into the muscle to keep him close.

His hands are rough against your skin as he slides them up your sides, tracing the soft, damp skin below the band of your bra. Unfastening the clasps, he trails the fabric down your arms, his eyes darkening as he finally takes in your bare breasts.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his voice dripping with raw want.

Any final restraint he has evaporates and he kicks the last of his clothes off before tightening his hands around your waist and setting you down on the bed. Logan steals the gasp from your mouth as his body covers yours, easing himself between your thighs and thrusting once against your clothed cunt.

He cups your jaw, thumb stroking over your bottom lip, pulling it down just enough to wet the skin. “Last chance,” he husks, his breath fanning across your lips. “Last chance to stop before I ruin you.”

Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging just hard enough to elicit a growl, his teeth bared. A sinful smile spreads across your face. “Oh, Logan,” you coo, “who says I’m not going to ruin you?”

Logan lets out a deep, guttural sound, something between a growl and a groan before he slots his mouth back over yours and follows you into temptation.

“Figured you’d try and sneak out.”

Logan whirls around at the sound of your voice, claws slowly unsheathing from between his knuckles. Blood wells up from the wounds, dripping between his fingers as he finds you dressed in an oversized shirt, the hem just concealing the edge of your panties. Your expression belies no fear as you take in the metal jutting out between his skin, your eyes alight with an acceptance he’s not use to.

Fear, disgust, repulsion, but rarely acceptance.

Slowly, he retracts his claws as you move further into the kitchen, stopping at the sink to grab and moisten a washcloth before coming to stand in front of him. Logan instinctively pulls away from your touch, but you’re undeterred, taking his hands in yours and wiping the blood away from his skin. Your movements are gentle, taking care to avoid the still healing slits.

Washed of blood, you finally glance up at him. “You can stay, you know.”

“I’m not the stayin’ kind, sweetheart,” he mutters.

One of those slow, knowing smiles tugs at your lips as you release his hands and Logan actually mourns the loss. “We’ll see,” you say with a shrug, stepping back just enough to put space between you. “I don’t think fate is done with us yet.”

Your words hang in the air like smoke, curling around him and pressing into his skin. He wants to argue, the words burning on his tongue, but he doesn’t. Because despite his earlier claims that he didn’t believe in fate, he can’t deny the unnatural pull you have on him. A pull Logan doesn’t necessarily dislike.

At his silence, you lean up and press the faintest of kisses to the corner of his jaw. “I’ll leave the light on for you,” you whisper into his skin.

It’s then he knows—he won’t be able to stay away.

Logan shows up at your door again two weeks later.

He’s been driving around some bigwig CEO, chauffeuring him from conference to conference during the day and dropping him off at random hotels during the night. When he gives Logan the address to tonight’s hotel, Logan knows instantly he’s in trouble. Just his luck the hotel is in your town.

Pulling off the freeway, he feels that familiar tug behind his ribs. His hands itch with the want, the need, to turn the wheel towards you instead of the address on his GPS. Since that night, you’ve haunted him, your face showing up in his dreams, waking with the sensation of your softness burning into his skin.

Logan knows he could stay at the hotel or sleep in the back of the limo like he’s done so many times before. But as he slowly inhales at his cigar and waits for Mr. CEO to stop fingering his mistress in the back seat and get the fuck out, the need to be near you only grows stronger.

And damned if he knows why.

He doesn’t need a relationship, or whatever the hell this is. Enough of him has been spread to others, for better or worse, and he’s already worn thin. The last remnants of any family he has are hanging off a very precarious ledge and he can’t bear the heartache of more loss if he opens himself to you.

But as much as Logan keeps telling himself he’s closed off, fortified against anything new, he can feel himself bleeding through the cracks.

By the time he finally turns down your street, it’s well past a respectable visiting hour. Most houses are dark for the night, but not yours. The front porch light illuminates just like it did two weeks ago and the dim lights of the kitchen shine through the pulled blinds. You’re up and a frisson of anticipation shoots through him.

He parks the limo and stamps out the cigar before walking up your driveway. As he approaches the door, he hesitates. He doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing. While your final words to him were open ended, did that give him the right to just show up in the middle of the night?

You open the door as he contemplates and when his gaze finally focuses on you, he relaxes. A well worn robe is tied around your waist, your hair tied up in a messy bun, your face cleaned of makeup and yet you’re more alluring to him than you were that night in the rain.

“I don’t know why I’m here,” he confesses, stepping just a bit closer towards you.

A slow, soft smile spreads across your face. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out eventually,” you reply. You open the door to allow him entrance and he steps in after you.

Logan follows you into the kitchen, where you already have a glass of whiskey ready for him. Handing him the glass, you nod your head towards the living room. “Come. Relax for a bit.”

He follows you into he living room, the single lamp casting a soft glow within the space. You settle onto the sectional, tucking your legs beneath you and turning yourself towards him as he joins you. For a moment, neither of you speak, but the silence isn’t awkward—it’s comfortable, like it always is around you.

“You look tired,” you say, finally breaking the quiet. Your voice is soft, a sense of familiarity laced in with your words, as if you understand the magnitude of his fatigue.

Logan huffs as he swirls the whiskey in his glass, watching the amber liquid catch the light. “Honey, I’m always tired,” he replies. “Comes with the territory.”

You give a small hum, your head tilting to the side as you assess him. “You’re in pain, too.”

Logan freezes at your words, his eyes flicking up to your face. His gaze locks with yours, sharp and guarded, like you’ve peeled back a layer he wasn’t ready to expose. And yet, you’ve been doing this since the beginning. Finding the cracks in his facade and wedging yourself in until the gap widens, uncovering the raw nerves underneath.

“What makes you say that?” he asks, his tone challenging.

You gaze remains steady and calm, holding a softness that unnerves him more than the question itself. “Because it’s written all over you,” you say simply. “I see it in your scars, in the way your hands are always clenched, as if steeling yourself against a blow that’ll never come.”

Logan exhales a low, humorless laugh before taking a long sip of whiskey, relishing the burn as it slides down his throat. “Don’t even notice it anymore,” he lies, shifting in his seat.

Your mouth tugs into a gentle frown as you shift, crawling closer to where he sits. You pluck the glass from his fingers, swallowing down the rest of the whiskey before setting it on the coffee table. Logan watches as you swing your legs over his lap, your robe riding up to reveal the smooth expanse of your thighs.

The weight of you against his lap sends a rush of arousal down his spine and he can feel his cock stir in his slacks. If you notice, you ignore it, instead reaching for a small bottle of lotion on the end table and squeezing a dollop into your palm. You rub your hands together twice before reaching for his right hand.

Your thumbs dig into the meat of his palm, a low groan slipping from his throat before he can stop himself. You bite your lip, but Logan can see the sly smile beneath.

“You help take care of everyone else,” you begin, rubbing the lotion further into his calloused palms. “Who helps care for you?”

Logan feels flayed open, that pull that spins him into your orbit only growing stronger as you see down to his very soul. Caliban swore you weren’t a mutant but Logan still couldn’t shake the idea that you were something more.

“What are you?” he asks, his eyes tracing the lines of your face, watching you concentrate on his hand.

You slide your fingers along the pink, puffy lines between his knuckles, a slow hiss escaping between his teeth as you massage the tender flesh. He wonders if you know how sensitive his skin is now, how each time his claws come out it hurts just a little bit more than the last time.

“I’m human,” you reply, positioning his hand to focus on the back, tracing the fine scars there. “Same as you.”

“I ain’t human.”

Your eyes flick to his as you drop his right hand and reach for his left. “You’re human where it counts,” you say, beginning to massage his hand.

Logan scoffs. “Yeah? And where’s that?”

You release his hand and place your palm in the center of his chest, your fingers splayed over his heart. “In here.”

He swallows hard, his gaze dropping to where your fingers are resting against him. You touch him like you’re unafraid, undeterred by the metal in his bones and the sometimes primal rage that courses through his blood. His killed—for the sake of war, self preservation, and for reasons not so innocent—but you can somehow still see past that, to some soft part of him that still lingers.

Logan itches to touch you, to pull you closer and—

“You can touch me,” you say, as if pulling the thought from his head. “I like when you touch me.”

Logan slides his palms up your thighs and around your hips, pulling you flush against his lap, your clothed center pressing against the fly of his slacks. He doesn’t miss the gasp that falls from your lips or the shift of your hips as you try and press closer.

That thrum of aliveness begins to churn in his veins as he slowly unties the sash of your robe, allowing the fabric to fall to the side. You’re bare underneath and Logan can’t help but lean forward and press a kiss to the center of your chest.

“You dress like this jus’ for me?” he asks, dragging his lips towards your breast and pulling a nipple into his mouth, working into a taut peak beneath his tongue.

Your fingers wind themselves into his hair, holding him close. “Yes,” you breathe, a whimper falling from your lips as he moves to your other breast. “Only for you.”

A surge of possessiveness rushes through his veins and Logan can feel the prickle between his knuckles, his claws threatening to unsheathe at the thought of you with another man. Instead, he doubles his focus onto you, his beard scraping against your skin as he licks a hot stripe across your nipple. “Damn right, only for me,” he growls.

You shift your hips in response, seeking more friction against the hard length of his cock pressing against you. Logan groans, his fingers digging deeper into the flesh of your hips, urging you to move against him. The soft, wet heat of your cunt through the thin fabric of your panties and his slacks sets his control on a razors edge.

Logan leans back slightly to lock eyes with you, your pupils blown wide with want, your skin flushed with desire. You find his gaze, hazy with pleasure, but focused and then you smile at him, bottom lip pinned between your teeth.

“And you, Logan,” you whisper, your hands sliding down the column of his neck, “you’re only for me.”

That hook you’ve lodged in him sinks deeper and he’s too far gone to care. The mystery behind your presence in his life is one he’s willing to spend the rest of his days unraveling so long as you stay right here, continuing to bewitch him with the beauty of your soul.

Your allure was more potent than any pheromone, more intoxicating than any aphrodisiac. In his waking moments, Logan found his thoughts drifting to you more often than not and the frequency between his visits grew shorter and shorter until he found himself lured into your embrace almost every night.

He was good at lying to himself, writing off these visits as nothing more than comfort—the need to find warmth in a world that so seldom offered him that luxury. But that lie grew bitter, warped in the liminal space between midnight and dawn where you stripped him down to his very bones, saw through the gruff and grit he wrapped himself in. Saw him as something more than the sum of his sins.

Logan couldn’t hide from you and he didn’t know if he wanted to. Those carefully crafted walls that surrounded him cracked and crumbled, turning to dust at his feet. In that mysterious way of yours, you always knew what he needed—a warm meal; your tender, healing touch as you helped him stitch the worst of his wounds; the soft, pliant feel of your skin on his as you kissed him deep, the kind of kiss that burned like wildfire and whiskey.

God help him as your gravity pulled him in closer, your orbits circling tighter and tighter, destined for an inevitable crash.

“What am I to you?”

Those five words root him where he stands, flaying him down to his very marrow. Logan should have expected this question, should have known that eventually you’d ask.

He wants to tell you the truth, speak those words that burn against his tongue, begging to be said.

He wants to tell you of his need to find you when the days are long and the nights are longer. When the weariness he feels in his bones aches more than usual and seems to bleed into his very soul.

When he needs to feel something more than the hollowness that seems to grow inside his chest. The slow carving away of his humanity that’s been scraping closer and closer to emptiness for years.

When he needs to be wrapped in warmth and set afire by something almost like love. Like home.

But he says none of this as he gazes over at you sitting at the kitchen table, one knee pulled up to your chest. You look small sitting there, vulnerable in a way he hasn’t seen before.

And instead, he remains silent, praying you’ll let the conversation slide. But he knows better.

You glance up at him, your gaze piercing straight through the heart of him and then you devastate him with three simple words.

“I love you.”

The air punches from his lungs and for a moment it feels like he’s forgotten how to breathe. Your words tear through him, cutting deeper than any knife, and his hands curl into fists as you slice him open.

“Don’t,” Logan rasps, his voice rough, barely more than whisper. He avoids your eyes, knowing that if he looks and sees the sincerity in your gaze, it’ll be his undoing. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not?” Your voice cracks with emotion as you push away from the table, your arms wrapping around yourself. “What about those words can’t you hear?”

His jaw clenches and for every step you take closer him, he takes a half step back, as if he’s trying to distance himself from the truth beginning to swirl between you. You can’t love him. Loving someone has brought him nothing but misery and pain, loss and suffering and he’ll be damned if he drags you down that road.

So, instead he lies, the words bitter in his mouth.

“This ain’t love, sweatheart,” he says, gesturing between the two of you, “This is fuckin’.”

You inhale sharply between your teeth and your expression twists into disbelief, the beginning of tears welling in your eyes. “Fucking?” you bite back, your voice trembling but still firm. “You think after all these months that this is just fucking?”

Logan doesn’t answer. And he doesn’t move. He simply stands there, jaw clenched so tightly he could shatter bones. He can’t say yes. If he does that, if he voices that lie into existence, he’ll have to spend the rest of his days remembering the look in your eyes right now—destroyed.

Your breath starts to shudder as you continue to step closer towards him. And he can feel you, warm and comforting, even though you shake with barely contained anger. “Look me in the eye and tell me that’s all this is,” you demand, your voice thick with emotion. “Tell me that when you come to me in the middle of the night, broken down, bloody and bruised, it’s just fucking. Tell me that when I touch you, hold you, love you, that it means nothing.”

He remain silent.

You let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “God, for someone with heightened senses, you’re blind to what’s right in front of you.” Your trembling voice matches the shake to your hands, your fury pouring off you in waves. “You really are a coward, aren’t you?”

Logan nostrils flare at the insult and he can feel the prickle of his claws between his knuckles. He knows his rage isn’t with you, but himself. And yet he can still feel his lips curl into a snarl. “You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he growls.

“Oh, fuck you, Logan,” you seethe, your voice now raw, pain bleeding through every syllable. “You can’t even look me in the eye when you lie.”

His jaw clenches impossibly harder and he swears he can taste bone. Then, he finally meets your gaze head on, eyes flashing. “You think this ends well between us? You think I get to have somethin’ like this? Like you?” Logan’s voice cracks in a way that he loathes. “I can’t—”

The crack of your palm against his face is deafening. He barely moves from the impact, but emotionally you’ve landed him on his ass. Your eyes are wide as you stare up at him, unblinking.

Logan stands there, immobile, as he processes the sting of your slap. It doesn’t hurt, not physically. It’s the fact that you did it, the fact that you’re standing in front of him, chest heaving from the effort of your breathing as if you just ripped yourself open for him.

“Get out of my house,” you seethe, your voice softer than before, deflated.

Your words shouldn’t sting as much as they do. They shouldn’t wreck him and make him feel like he’s been ripped apart limb from limb. He should relish them, the push, the shove. He should revel in the confirmation that you’re finally seeing him for what he truly is—something undeserving of all the warmth and love you’ve given him. A stray animal that never should have been fed.

Logan swallows, his throat tight as he gives you a small nod. And then he does the only thing he knows how to do.

He turns. And he walks.

His legs feel like lead, each step a feat and his brain is screaming at him to turn around. To fight. To beg. To plead. To say something, anything.

But he doesn’t.

Logan exits the house, the front door slamming shut behind him. As he steps off the front step, the porch light above him clicks off, plunging the house into darkness. Your guiding light is gone, lost in the storm of his destruction.

Of all the wounds he’s ever taken, of all the scars that mar his skin, nothing has ever bled quite like this.

Charles watches with sharp eyes as Logan enters the old water tank and shuts the door behind him. The older man is in his wheelchair, tending to his plants as Logan walks around the place, picking up random bits of trash and the tray from breakfast.

A soft “tsk” falls from Charles’ lips and echos in the small space. “Will you ever learn, Logan?” Charles’ voice seems tired, weary.

Logan pauses and looks over at him, irritation already prickling along his skin. “Stay outta my head,” he snaps, slamming the tray down on a nearby table.

He doesn’t need this, doesn’t want Charles sifting through his mind, seeing those pieces of you he so deeply cherishes. Pieces he doesn’t deserve. Pieces he doesn’t know if he’ll ever have within his grasp again.

“She loves you,” Charles continues, seeming to ignore his request.

Logan strides over to where Charles is sitting, unable to keep the ire from boiling over. He wants to sweep all the plants to the floor, destroy the one creative outlet Charles has, retaliate for the way he presses into the fresh bruises on his mind. “I’m begging you, just—”

Charles lifts the spray bottle beside him and directs the spray in Logan’s face, showering him in a fine mist of water. Logan freezes, water dripping from his face as his lips tighten in a thin line. He grits his teeth, an ache already blooming in his jaw.

“What the fuck was that for?” he growls.

“Are you a cat?” Charles asks, lowering the bottle. “No? Then stop being such a pussy.”

Logan stares at Charles, the vulgarity of the of man’s words leaving him temporarily speechless. He scrubs a hand down his face, wiping the rest of the water off with the sleeve of his shirt, scowl deepening.

“You’re pushin’ it,” Logan warns.

Charles simply smirks, finally setting the bottle down on the table. “Someone should. God knows you won’t push yourself. Not when it comes to matters of the heart.”

Logan sucks in a sharp breath and steps back from Charles, sitting down on the bed across from him. The old metal springs groan beneath his weight. He wants a bottle of whiskey, to quiet the thoughts in his head, at least temporarily, and fall into a drunken stupor. Anything but flaying open his feelings, especially his feelings about you.

“What are you so afraid of?” Charles asks gently. “That she’ll see all your broken pieces?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Charles raises his eyebrow. “No? Logan, she’s already seen them. She knows what you are and she’s still here.”

“That’s not the point!” Logan roars, his voice echoing off the metal walls. His breathing comes out in short gasps and he knows he needs to rein himself in. Not only for himself but for Charles. It doesn’t take much to trigger a seizure these days and he doesn’t need the stress of this conversation to become a catalyst.

Charles remains quiet, expression calm and Logan hangs his head, his voice softening into something raw. “It’s not about what she knows. It’s about who, about what, I am. I don’t deserve her.”

Bracing his elbows on his legs, Charles leans forward, a sympathetic smile tugging at his lips. “She knows all that, Logan. And she chooses you. Every night you come to her, she chooses you. How can you not see that?”

Logan doesn’t respond, but the weight of Charles’ words hang heavy against his shoulders. He looks down at his hands, seeing the callouses and crisscrossing scars. His body is a physical map of violence, each faded pink line a story of pain, regret and death.

But you’ve never seen them that way. You’ve only ever looked at them with reverence, traced your fingertips along each one and wondered about their stories. Made him feel whole instead of broken and used.

“You have a choice to make, Logan,” Charles says, interrupting the silence. “Let her in…or keep running. Don’t make her choose for you.”

For days, Logan’s mind is plagued by replays of his last moments with you and his conversation with Charles. His already sleepless nights are further tormented by dreams of you, the devastated expression on your face haunting him.

The memory of your face, the crack in your usually steadfast voice, the tremor in your hand after you struck him. They all play in a nauseating loop in his brain, punishing him in a way he’s never felt before.

His life reverts to autopilot—drink, fight, drive, but nothing quells the gnawing ache in his chest. He couldn’t stay in the smelting plant with both Caliban and Charles staring at him, watching his every move as if he were a ticking time bomb waiting to explode. Charles was running out of medications, a few days supply left at most, and Logan knew he was better off leaving Charles in Caliban’s care than his own.

Now, he sits on the edge of a dingy motel bed, the scent of cheap whiskey and cigar smoke clinging to his clothes. His eyes are dry and heavy with exhaustion and his skin is itching with that familiar want to be near you. It started as an annoying tug, but has now grown into a maddening want.

He knows he should ignore it. But he was never that strong.

Before he can talk himself out of it, convince himself that this is an astronomically stupid fucking idea, he’s on his feet, keys in hand and driving down those lonely roads towards you.

It’s late when he reaches your house, like it usually is, and he half expects the porch light to remain dark, a cold, bleak reminder of how badly he’s fucked up. Instead, he finds that single porch light illuminated, shining like a beacon of hope. Logan walks up onto the porch, but you don’t open the door like you’ve done so many times before.

He contemplates leaving, turning around and getting back in the car and drinking himself into a semblance of sleep. But then he hears you, your heartbeat echoing beyond the wooden frame, as steady and as comforting as it’s always been. Logan pauses, wondering if he should try the knob and come inside—if you’ll even let him.

If you even should.

With a sigh, he lowers himself to the ground, his joints aching in protest as he rests his back against the door. “I’m not good at this,” he finally says, hoping you’re listening. “I’ve been alive for too long. Seen too much shit.” Logan pauses, his words burning in his throat. “I’ve lost too many people.”

He hears you shift behind him, your head thudding softly against the door as you listen. His relief is almost palpable knowing you’re there, that you’re at least willing to listen to him. Leaning back, Logan closes his eyes and exhales a heavy breath. “The only way I know how to keep people safe is to push ‘em away. And I need to keep you safe.”

The words feel foreign leaving his mouth, as if they’re uncovering a truth he’s long kept secret. He feels exposed in a way he’s not used to, raw and honest, and the truth of his words burns. Logan can still hear you on the other side of the door, your breathing slow and steady, yet laced with something—hesitation, maybe, or hurt. It makes his chest ache in a new and unfamiliar way.

“I’m tired,” he continues, his voice softer. “I’m so fuckin’ tired, sweetheart. Tired of fightin’ when all I want—” Logan swallows hard. “All I want is you.”

The porch light hums above him, the night is alive with the chirping of crickets, but the silence that follows is almost deafening.

Logan doesn’t deserve you, he knows that. You should turn him away, tell him to leave, to kick him back to the desert to lick his wounds alone. He doesn’t know how to be someone’s partner, their lover. He’s not sure if he ever has, really, too hung up on all the ways he paints himself as a bad man. Someone unworthy.

Except with you, he finds himself wanting to fight. To prove he’s not as hard and unyielding as the metal bones inside him. That somewhere deep inside him there still lingers warmth and affection and the capacity to love.

He’s bracing himself for the worst when he hears the faint sounds of the lock turning. The door creaks open and he shifts to look up at you. One of your well used blankets is wrapped around your shoulders, your hair tousled from sleep and your eyes are red and wet with unshed tears. Logan’s heart thuds heavily in his chest as you stand there and he turns to face you, pushing up onto his knees. Your expression is carefully masked, betraying little of your underlying emotions, and he carefully crawls forward, testing the waters of how close you’ll let him get.

His knees ache as he kneels on the hard concrete, but he’d crawl through glass if you asked him to. Slowly, he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you to him as he nuzzles his face into the softness and warmth of your belly. Your comforting scent floods his senses as he waits for your anger, your rejection.

Instead, you sigh, a long pent up breath released in a steady exhale and your fingers sink into the disheveled hair at the nape of his neck, holding him close to you. “You’re an asshole,” you finally say, though your tone lacks any venom or spite.

Logan feels it then, the tension slowly easing from your body as you allow him to sink further into your frame. His heart lurches his chest, the faintest flicker of hope fluttering against his ribs.

“Yes,” he mumbles into your shirt.

“You hurt me.”

He pulls back as you gently push at his shoulders and sink down to the ground in front of him. But you don’t push him away any further and instead, lace your fingers through his. “I should tell you to fuck off,” you continue, your eyes focused on where you’re touching him. “But I can’t.”

His voice comes out in a whisper. “Why?”

Your eyes meet his and your gaze pierces straight through his soul. “You know why.”

And he does. In truth, he thinks he’s always known, long before you ever spoke those three little words out loud. Words so simple, yet so profound. Words he rarely speaks, while others casually toss them around. Words he has rarely felt, but with you feel as natural as breathing, as the sun rising in east.

Words he’s still afraid to say, despite everything, despite every cell in his body screaming at him.

You look at him like you know, because of course you do. You’ve always known him, in that uncanny way of yours since he first saw you standing in the rain. So instead of ire or disappointment at his lack of response, you simply squeeze his hand, grounding him to your reality.

“You don’t have to say it,” you whisper, your voice soft and steady. “Not yet.”

Logan looks at you, his brows furrowed. He can’t fathom what he’s done in this life to deserve you, your patience, your unwavering belief in him. “You make it hard not to,” he finally rasps, his voice rough and uneven. “Love you, I mean.”

The admission hangs heavy in the air, raw and jagged, much like him. It’s close to what you want to hear, but not quite. And yet he sees something warm and bright blossom on your face.

You lean in, raising your free hand to lightly trace the curve of his jaw, scratching at the scruff there. “You’re a man of action, Logan,” you say, pressing in closer, your breath mingling with his. “Wanna show me instead?”

This—this is a language he’s fluent in.

Using his lips, tongue, hands and cock to write on your body all the words he cannot say. He’s mastered your shape, the way your hips curve beneath his palm, the softness of your belly and breasts, the heat between your thighs stoked hotter only by him. He knows exactly where to press, where to nip and suck and tease to elicit all those pretty little moans and gasps of pleasure.

Logan’s already drawn one orgasm out of you, his fingers still thrusting against you as you ride out your high, your thighs shuddering against his forearm. You’re flushed and breathy as you reach for him, urging him up from between your thighs.

You pull him close, fingers sinking into his hair as you lick into his mouth, not caring that your slick still stains his beard and lingers against his tongue. He swallows your gasp as he knocks your knees apart and slots himself between your legs, his cock heavy against your belly.

He wants you. In all the ways he can think of and not just like this, naked and pliant beneath him. He wants your sleepily whispered hellos each morning and your softly murmured goodnights each evening. He wants the warm, weighty press of your body against his as you sit on the couch beside him sipping whiskey.

He wants, he wants, he wants.

As his kisses grow more fervent, you grow impatient and push at his chest, urging him back. “Lie back,” you command softly, your breath damp against his lips, “Let me take care of you.”

He wants to protest, deny you this request. This is supposed to be about you, about using his body to show you all the things his words can’t say. He’d spend the whole night between your thighs, using his mouth, tongue and fingers to worship if you’d let him. But there’s something in your gaze that forces him to comply and he gives in, rolling onto his back.

You straddle his thighs, your slick cunt sliding along the length of his cock. Logan groans and his hands reach for your hips, fingertips digging into your flesh as he encourages you to move. “This is s’pose to be about you,” he husks as you slowly begin to rock your hips back and forth.

“Oh, it is,” you answer, licking your lips as you brace your hands on his chest. “Who else can get you hard and needy beneath them?”

A low growl escapes from his throat. “No one.”

A wicked smile curls at your lips as you drag your heat along him, the blunt head of his cock nudging your clit with every slow, deliberate rock of your hips. The sensation has his control unraveling and he slides his hands along your thighs to palm the curve of your ass.

You press into his touch, continuing to roll your hips as you lean forward to press an open mouthed kiss to the corner of his jaw. “You see,” you murmur, “this is for me.”

Reaching between your bodies, you grasp him in your hand and line him up. Slowly, almost tortuously slow, you sink down on his cock, taking him inch by inch until he’s fully sheathed inside of you. A sharp inhale escapes him as your warm, tight walls surround him and Logan knows this feels different.

This isn’t merely fucking anymore, the melding of flesh for the pure sake of pleasure, of briefly escaping the nightmare of his life, of finding solace in sin. You’ve somehow managed to bleed yourself into him, to wrap yourself around his heart.

You feel as if you’re a part of him, lodged deep between his ribs and that if he were to try to remove you, he’d kill himself in the process. A part of him knows this feeling has always been there, back when you first entered his limo. The feeling threatens to choke him, to fill his love soaked lungs until all he can breathe is you.

He loves you.

Pure and unfiltered and it terrifies him.

“I—fuck, I,” he chokes out, the words caught in his throat. “I feel—”

Your hands run over his chest, up along his collarbones, your fingers blazing a trail over his skin. “I know, Logan,” you whisper, your hips rocking languidly against his.

He grips your thighs, almost tight enough to bruise, helping guide your movements, but also prove to himself you’re real. Logan’s chest heaves as he watches you ride him, your hips rocking harder, faster, dragging moans out of both of you. You lean back just enough to change the angle, driving him deeper and he bucks his hips, meeting your thrusts with a force that has you crying out his name.

And yet it’s not enough. He needs to wrap himself around you, twine his fingers through your hair and hold your mouth to his until he’s completely consumed you. His hands slide up your back towards your waist and he pulls you down against him, mouth hot and insistent against your neck as he continues to fuck up into you.

In one fluid motion, Logan grips your thighs and flips you onto your back, pinning you beneath him, cock still sheathed deep within your cunt. You arch beneath him as he sets a brutal, devastating pace, the raw intensity of his movements stealing short, gasps breaths from your lips with each thrust. A shiver ripples through you as he draws a nipple into his mouth, his name tumbling from you like a prayer.

“Fuck, there it is,” he growls. “I love all those little sounds you make.”

His choice of word isn’t lost on either of you and your eyes meet his as your nails dig into his shoulders, leaving faint red crescents as you cling to him. “Logan,” you gasp, your voice trembling as he hits that soft spot deep inside you. “More.”

“You want more?” he rasps, gripping your thighs and pulling them higher around his waist. The new angle has you crying out, the sound echoing in the room as he continues to slam into you with a force that has the bed creaking beneath you.

“Ah, fuck, yes,” you moan, your head tipping back.

Logan takes advantage of your offering, his lips and teeth marking a path down your neck, his beard scraping against your skin in a way that’s sure to leave a burn come the morning. There’s a possessiveness to his touch, a need to claim you, to prove to you that this is all he needs—your embrace, your warmth, your love.

“You’re so fuckin’ good to me,” he growls against your skin, his hand sliding down between your bodies and finding where you’re joined. He can feel himself pounding into you, your combined arousal coating his fingers as he finds your clit and begins to rub in tight circles. “So goddamn perfect. You were made for me, sweetheart, you know that?”

Your cunt flutters around him and he knows you’re close, your thrusts against him growing erratic. He feels his own impending release, but he needs you to come first, needs to feel you shatter against him. His fingers press more firmly against your clit and with a breathy moan, your body tenses, back arching off the bed as your orgasm crashes into you.

“That’s it,” Logan groans, his own thrusts faltering as he feels you tighten around him, pulling him in deeper. “Look at you, comin’ so pretty for me.” He slows just enough to prolong your release, his thrusts deliberate as he draws out every ounces of pleasure until you’re trembling beneath him.

It’s overwhelming—the sensation of you beneath him, around him; the cling of your fingers to his shoulders; the warm, damp breath against his neck; the absolute perfection of this moment right now. In all his years on this earth, he’s never experienced anything like this. The desire to completely consume someone, body and soul, and be consumed return. He wants his dying breath to be your name.

Something inside of Logan snaps, and as you try and catch your breath as you come down from your high, he presses your legs higher, folding you beneath him in a way that has his cock pressing deeper than before. The change has you whimpering and he looks down to find your expression as wrecked as he feels. He pauses his thrusts just long enough to grasp both your wrists and pin them above your head before he picks up his pace again, fucking into you with an almost ruthless intensity.

“I love you,” he growls, his thrusts growing erratic, his control quickly unraveling with every whimper and cry of his name. “God, I fucking love you.”

For a few moments, he doesn’t even realized what he’s said. Then he looks down at you, your gaze trained on his face and that soft, knowing smile of yours on your lips. “Logan,” you gasp, “I know. I’ve always known.”

Logan lets out a rough, shuddering breath, his entire body trembling with the weight of his confession. Any response he has dies in his throat as he presses his forehead to yours, his entire body wound tight. He’s so fucking close, can feel his orgasm coiling hot and tight in his gut, but it’s more than your warm heat drawing him in—it’s everything.

“Tell me,” he grits out, his hips chasing, chasing, chasing that release.

You lean up as much as you can with your hands still pinned above you and lick an open mouthed kiss against his lips. “I love you, Logan.”

And that’s all it takes. He groans into your mouth as he finally lets go, his body tensing as his release crashes into him. He spills himself deep inside you, shallowly thrusting into your cunt as his rhythm slows.

Logan releases your hands, and for a long moment, there’s only the sound of heavy breathing, of heartbeats slowing, the two of you tangled in the aftermath.

Logan’s restless and unable to sleep despite your smaller frame tucked alongside him, the weight of your head resting against his chest. From his periphery, he can see his phone illuminating with unread texts, no doubt from Caliban urging his return. Charles has been deteriorating faster than Logan cares to admit, his mind gone more often than not, raving about new mutants. He needs drugs faster than Logan can procure them.

His mind churns, the reality of the outside world looming closer and he contemplates slipping from your grasp when you shift, curling yourself further into him. You don’t speak, not yet, but he can tell you’re alert, floating somewhere in that space between sleep and full wakefulness. Your fingers start to move of their own accord, the gentle pressure of your fingertips tracing over an old scar along his ribs, mapping out an old battle he no longer remembers.

Beside him, his phone buzzes again and Logan sighs.

“Sounds important,” you murmur, voice thick with sleep.

He wants to keep ignoring it, stay wrapped in the quiet cocoon you’ve thrown around him, but Logan knows he can’t. It’s a cruel reminder of the chaos that plagues him beyond the sanctuary of your embrace.

“You can go to him, Logan,” you continue, fingers never stopping their slow path along his skin. “I know you’ll be back.”

“How,” he starts, licking his dry lips, “how do you always know?”

Logan’s asked versions of this question before. You’ve always brushed him off, given a coy answer and steered the conversation towards something else. For a moment, he thinks tonight will be the same.

But then you answer.

“I can feel you,” you answer softly, your breath warm and damp against his skin. “I just—” You pause and turn to look up at him and then disentangle yourself from his embrace. “Stand up,” you urge, nudging at his side until he complies.

He blinks at you in confusion, but you just smile at him, soft and sleepy, and gently cup the side of his face. “Now, close your eyes.”

Logan does as he’s told, chasing after your touch as you step back from him, settling somewhere beyond him on the bed. “I’m going to move and you tell me where I am.”

The soft rustle of bedsheets follows and then, stillness. You’re quiet, but he can sense you, just off to his right, but too far away to touch. “My right, but farther back in the room.”

You move again, keeping your movements light. Again, he pinpoints you, this time towards his left, closer, but still too far away to grasp. “Left.”

A final movement, this time even closer, your proximity flooding his senses, sending a rush of warmth down his spine. Logan reaches out, finding the curve of your hips, hands tucking underneath the shirt you had slipped on earlier in the night, splaying his palms against your back. He opens his eyes and meets your gaze, alive in the predawn glow.

“How did you know?” you ask, looping your arms around his neck.

Understanding dawns on him, the answer so simple, yet so profound. Pinpointing where you were had nothing to do with his heightened senses and everything to do with just you—the way you’ve molded yourself to him like a second skin. “I could feel you,” he answers. “I could—I just knew.”

You lean forward, pressing the lightest of kisses against the corner of his mouth. Logan sighs into your mouth, his eyes fluttering close as you press your forehead to his. “It’s like that,” you whisper. “This undeniable pull, an invisible string that connects me to you and it tug, tug, tugs, until…there you are.”

His phone continues to buzz, growing more insistent as the soft blues and grays of the morning bleed into more golden hues. With a reluctance you both feel, Logan peels himself away, finally answering the phone with an irritation he doesn’t bother hiding.

You watch him go, standing on the porch with the light casting a halo around your head. Your smile is gentle, but stained with worry and yet you remain stoic, the steady pillar holding up the fractured remains of his life.

As he drives away, he catches one last look at you in the rearview mirror and he’ll spend the next few months wishing he told you—he feels you too.

The last one hundred miles have dragged on for eons, the road before him stretching into an almost infinite distance. Logan finds himself darting his eyes towards the dashboard clock, growing increasingly frustrated when the numbers move only a few minutes at a time, the slow passage of time seeming to taunt him.

It’s been months since he saw you last, though no fault of his own. His memories are hazy—a swirling fog of confusion, pain and burning fever. He’s not even sure how he survived, whether it was modern medicine or sheer stubbornness. Or something more.

You believe in fate?

Your words echo in his mind, soft and sweet, and he feels a familiar pang of longing in his chest.

Fate or not, something kept a spark alive in him, pulsing through his veins with each sluggish beat as he slowly and painfully healed. His wounds are still pink and tender to the touch, more of his skin marred by death and destruction.

As he turns into your subdivision, the night quiet, a cold, creeping anxiety snakes along his spine. What if you’ve given up on him? Figured this last absence was the real deal, all his idle promises of staying away finally coming to fruition.

But as Logan drives down your street, he sees it—the single porch light illuminating in the night. Acting like the beacon it’s always been, leading him safely to land.

To you.

Logan pulls into the driveway and shifts the truck into park. Turning in his seat, he glances back towards the young girl curled up on the backseat. Laura’s face is relaxed in sleep, her hands tucked protectively under her chin. She fell asleep several hours ago, the soft rhythm of the tires against pavement lulling her to sleep.

Logan’s been many things in his life. Son, brother, fighter, friend. Lover. He never thought he’d add father to that list. While he can’t quite find it in him to call himself that just yet—even though Laura readily and easily calls him dad—he no longer denies the protectiveness he feels towards her.

Easing the door to the truck open, Logan steps out and gently shuts it behind him, loathe to disturb her just yet.

Here he is showing up at your door like he always has—late, quiet, and carrying a heavy weight he feels only he can shoulder. His hand is poised to knock, knuckles clenched, but he pauses, unsure if he even has the right to be here.

But then there you are, the front door opening to reveal your tired but relieved face, months of worry etched into your skin, your eyes already brimming with unshed tears.

“Logan,” you breathe, pulling him gently by the wrist and leading him inside. You don’t ask why he’s there. He suspects you already know.

The air inside the house is just as he remembers. Warm and inviting and laced with the faint, comforting smell of you. Logan inhales deeply, letting the scent settle somewhere in the parts of him that still feel alive, that thrum with the memory of your touch.

Your fingers still linger against his wrist and he can feel the heat radiating from your body, but you’re not close enough. And yet, he’s afraid to reach out, pull you into his arms. Afraid of the pity or obligation you’ll feel to comfort him, to allay all his fears.

As if reading his thoughts, you gently cup the side of his face, your nails scratching along his jaw. Logan flinches slightly, his body so used to pain these past months he’s almost forgotten the tenderness of your touch. But he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he closes his eyes, a ragged breath falling from his lips and his head dips forward.

“C’mere,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around his waist.

For a moment, he doesn’t move, but then he slides his arms along your back, pulling you against him. You feel real and solid and alive pressed this close. Never one for overt physical touch, Logan’s surprised by how much he missed this—the simple act of just holding you. Burying his face in the crook of your neck, he inhales deeply, his breath warm and damp against your skin.

He doesn’t say anything, unsure where to even begin. The weight of his grief, his weariness, feels heavier than any burden he’s ever shouldered before and it’s almost desperate the way he clings to you. Like you’re the only thing tethering him to the earth. If you were to let go, he’d fall apart.

Logan doesn’t even realize he’s crying until he feels the hot trail of tears against his cheeks. You run your fingers through his hair, murmuring soft reassurances as you hold him.

“I couldn’t feel you, Logan,” you whisper into his neck. “Several days of just…nothing. I thought that—”

The words lodge themselves in your throat, but he knows what they are just the same.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, your eyes glistening with tears that match the ones rolling down his weathered face. Your expression is marred with pain, raw and unfiltered, but also with a bright flicker of relief.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps, voice rough with emotion. “I got dragged into some bad fuckin’ shit. I almost…we—”

You quiet him with a soft brush of your fingers against his lips. “It’s okay, Logan,” you whisper. “Tell me about it later. I’m just happy you’re home.”

Home.

Logan gaze softens at your words, but guilt gnaws at him. He doesn’t deserve this—your unwavering faith in him, the patience you’ve shown him, the light you’ve been in his dark, endless nights. But here you are, giving him everything he’s never asked for but so desperately craved.

“C’mon,” you murmur, dragging him from his thoughts, “Let’s get you settled.”

It’s well past two in the morning by the time Logan finally carries Laura into the house, tucking her comfortably into the guest bedroom. Turning from the bed, he finds you there, leaning against the doorframe. You reach for him, in that soft, gentle way you always do, and lead him into your bedroom.

He doesn’t protest when you sit him down at the edge of the bed and begin undressing him. Kneeling before him, you unlace his boots and peel off his socks, setting them aside. With a slight press to his knees, you force his legs wider, slotting yourself between them.

Despite the late hour, the weariness and fatigue tugging at his bones, Logan feels his cock twitch as your fingers brush underneath the hem of his shirt.

It’s been so long since he’s felt you.

He dreamt of you, in those fevered moments where he didn’t know where one part of his body began or ended. When his entire existence had been boiled down to raw nerves and sluggishly knitting flesh. Through the haze of pain, he wondered if he’d ever feel your kiss again, feel the frantic press of your fingers into his shoulders, feel the warm, wet heat of your cunt stretching around him.

You toss the shirt aside and he can feel your gaze lingering over the new scars, the pink, raised lines of flesh that are still healing. With a reverence he’s not worthy of, you trace your fingertips along the three jagged scars from where X-24 had ripped into him.

“What happened to you?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper as you move to trace more of his scars.

Logan tells you then about Pierce and the Reavers, about Laura and the other mutant children. His throat grows tight as he continues, relaying the loss of Caliban, Charles and the Munsons, and the final confrontation between himself and his clone.

He tells you how Laura saved him. How her and the other children brought him to safety over the Canadian border. How he spent the next months fighting with every fiber of his being to knit himself whole.

For you.

You lean into him as he looks away, jaw tightening as he tries to shove down the memories of everything he’s lost. Your touch is light against his face as you trace the angle of his jaw, and reach up to press the lightest of kisses against his lips.

Logan exhales into your mouth as you kiss him again, soft and tender and warm. You seem to breathe him in, imbue life into his weary flesh and reignite the spark he’s kept alive for you.

He wants to do more—to pull you into his arms, to taste you, to fuck into you until he can’t breathe. But exhaustion pulls heavily on his bones, threatening to sink him.

Logan knows you can feel his hesitancy because you keep kissing him softly, punctuating each press of your lips with whispered reassurance. Your fingers card through his hair as you lean back. “Just let me hold you?”

Your voice cracks at your request and Logan can only nod, unable to deny you. You help him shuffle out of his pants before coaxing him further into the bed. He moves slowly and he knows you don’t miss the creaking of his joints, the soft groan of discomfort.

Coming to rest on his side, you tuck into him, throwing a leg over his hips and pulling him close. He sighs into your touch, the weight of the last few months pressing just a little bit less as you press a kiss to the hollow of his throat.

“Don’t leave me,” you whisper into his skin, soft and damp.

Logan feels his heart clench at your words. He’s hurt you. He knows that. Not just inadvertently with his most recent disappearance, but all the other times, too. Those times when he ran, afraid of what your words and touch meant. Afraid to accept what you’ve always so freely given.

His hand slips under the hem of your shirt, fingers splaying across your back. “You kept the light on,” he husks, unable to keep the break out of his voice.”

Your lips quirk into a soft smile. “I always will, Logan.”

#logan howlett #hugh jackman #fic recs

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sugarpasteltmnt · 2 days ago

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wow first of all THANK YOU SO MUCH to everyone who voted for my silly little story in the AU comp!! seriously you all are so wonderful and sweet and i'm just so happy to be in the comp period 😭🩵

as a big thanks i wanted to tell ya'll i'm working on the next chapter of 'Purgatory Paradise' ( • ̀ω•́ )✧ i'll try my best to have it out within the next week!! (`･ω･´)ゞ here's a sneak peak:

in the meantime, please enjoy this list of some of the references and easter eggs i had put in 'The Neon Void' while writing it! (hehe how many did YOU spot while reading?)

[warning; spoilers ahoy! avoid reading if you haven't finish TNV yet!]

here's a rough list of some of the references I snuck in or jokes i was quite proud of when writing 'The Neon Void' haha!

Houdini

● silly reference to ‘ooze’ hehe (not so much of an easter egg but more of a bad joke lol) ● “…What in sweet Marie Curie’s name was that about?” – Marie Curie was a physicist who studied radioactivity, and her research ultimately was used in the creation of the atomic bomb, which uses nuclear fission (aka, atoms splitting apart) (lol get foreshadowed, nerds.)

The Shrine

● The Jupiter Jim issue number 84 is a reference to 1984, the year the TMNT comics first came out.

Mosaic

● Leo’s hideout is inspired by an episode in the 2003 TMNT, where the fam hides in a water tower when the lair is discovered by the Foot Clan. (And I believe a water tower comes into play in other TMNT iterations, but I wasn’t 1000% sure)

Marigolds

● The area where Mikey fights Leo and cuts off his arm is heavily inspired by some of the 2003 sewer layout scenes, with the giant atriums and criss-crossing skywalks over giant areas of water. I loved those designs and wanted to incorporate that.

Ground Control

● Another silly joke reference of ‘shellphones’ used in the 2012 series ● “I doubt it was unimportant considering you made enough to feed the entire New York Dave’s team,” Donnie pressed. He picked up a butterfly, inspecting it, but Mikey knew that he was trying to get to the root of the cause, “What did he say?” – Homage to early concept art of Donnie, where he has a butterfly on his knuckle (look at this cutie)

(BTW i for the life of me CANNOT find the original tweet where this photo was so if you have it let me know!)

Mad Dog: Haunted

● Call-back to the Krang carcass you see for 0.2 seconds in the season finale inside of the Crying Titan, which I thought was a really neat detail.

Strings

● The book excerpt Donnie reads is written by Professor Honeycutt, a referencing the 2003 Professor Honeycut who studied teleportation and invented the teleportal ● ‘October 28, 20:20’ written on the sticky note Donnie looks at is a reference to the release date of ‘The Last Ronin’ (10/28/2020) ● ‘By Carl Sagan–! It worked! We’ve established contact–!’ – Carl Sagan lead the effort in the creation of the Golden Record aboard the Voyager spacecraft, whos purpose was to send a message to extraterrestrials who might find the spacecraft as it traveled through vast spans of space. Since Donnie was trying to reach Karai and the ancestors from what felt like an impossible distance, it felt fitting.

Bed and Breakfast

● ‘He groaned. His brain was pulsing painfully behind his eyes. His whole body was achy. Great Pythagoras, what happened?’ – Pythagoras was a Greek philosopher referred to as the ‘lover of wisdom’ and made numerous mathematical and scientific discoveries, and I felt like Donnie would just generally be a fanboy of him lol. ● ‘Sweet Friedrich Sertürner was that blood–?!’ – while working on this chapter, i asked my best friend and beta reader for some inventors/scientist names to make into funny Donnie Swears. She suggested Friedrich Sertürner because he invented morphine which is used to treat pain… and she said 'would be funny...considering how much of it they were gonna need by the time things were said and done with the Key/Leo's infection.' (SHE WAS SO REAL FOR THAT LOL) ● The ‘Void ducking in and out of doorways just to come out of a totally different door’ chase was 100000% a Scooby-doo reference, lol. It was one of my fav cartoons growing up and that gag felt very on-brand for Leo’s silly ‘Void’ persona and i’m a little proud of it hahaha

The Deal

“Neon Void was literally blasted into the air. All the while laughing merrily as he soared. He went crashing into a poor, unkept, unsuspecting billboard for the Super Slam Hockey Game that already happened over ten years ago.” – This is SO obscure but this is a reference to one of my favorite 2003 TMNT episodes, ‘The Golden Puck’. The episode is so peak 2000’s cartoon to me with its silly premise and I just loved it LOL. (Southern millionaire who hires sci-fi-technology cowboy bounty hunters to steal a sports trophy in the middle of New York city? Peak old cartoon synopsis.)

Rap Battle

● The first few lines of Leo’s freestyle rap are the 2012 TMNT opening theme lyrics

Boop!

● Leo runs past a ‘Space Heroes' game cabinet– Space Heroes is a reference to the 2012 TMNT, which was the show that Leonardo was obsessed with

Tag Part I: Sonic

● Leo bounces off the back of the Sonic the Hedgehog balloon in the parade in reference to the fact that they share the same voice actor LOL Extra fun fact this entire fic was set in autumn/fall JUST to write this NICHE SCENE

I’m sure I missed a few I couldn't remember off the top of my head, but I had a lot of fun putting these little references and easter eggs in the story 🩵 TMNT itself always makes call-backs and references to it's other iterations, and i love love love that and wanted to try myself!

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ddlydevotion · 2 days ago

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HE'S VENUS AS A BOY ⊹˚₊･

boyfriend! hamzah x fem reader headcanons ౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹

a/n: this is purely FICTION if u couldn’t already tell.

Hamzah is the first person you run to when it’s time to gossip. He gets sooo sassy sometimes it’s honestly hilarious. You can always count on him to channel his bitchy side when the two of you are talking about someone you don’t like. He constantly has you wondering how he even comes up with the insults he uses for the people you don’t get along with. Like, what possessed you to say that shit ໒꒰ྀི˶╥︿╥꒱ྀི১ ? At least you know he’ll always have your back!

you always help dress him up when Martin and him decide to be in costume for a podcast episode. I’ve mentioned this in the first post I made about him, but he would absolutely ask you to help him out with his costumes. If he’s wearing makeup/a wig/feminine clothing, he’s making you help him. Not that you’d need that much convincing anyway.

like, literally look at him. Him in those little braids is gonna kill meee ohmygod 😭.

prefers to have you around when he’s editing a video. He loves being able to have you sit on his lap while he works on putting out a video for the day. Your feedback is something he values an incredible amount, and he’s always asking for your opinion when it comes to music choices, text styles, transitions, etc.

Constantly sending you updates on his day when the two of you are away from each other. You could be out n about running some errands, and you’ll receive tons of messages from Hamzah saying what he’s doing at that exact moment.

“me and the cats miss u 😞.” “babyyyyy do u know when you’ll be home” “do you want me to order something before u get back home?”

Hamzah most definitely refers to you as your cat’s ‘mom’. He’ll be holding one of your cats in his arms, talking to them in a baby voice before saying: “wanna say hi to mama?”

You helped prepare his food when he was in the process of bulking up for his boxing match with Martin. Okay, baby, so you need 16 eggs? Coming right up!

Hamzah is constantly putting you on to new music. some of your favorite songs are ones that he recommended to you.

He always finds an excuse to talk about you. There are countless clips of Hamzah rambling on n on about you, sharing cute little stories that he has stored up about his sweet girlfriend. There’s even a funny clip of Martin saying, “here he go y’all 😒”, meanwhile Hamzah is practically powering up to start talking about you. Martin doesn’t actually have a problem with it he just likes teasing Hamzah about how ‘whipped’ he is.

During his boxing match with Martin, you could be seen wearing your very own version of Mandy’s shirt.

He is almost ALWAYS taking photos of you with those stupid ass filters on. He finds it soo funny and uses those photos as stickers/reaction pictures when he’s texting you. Aside from that, he loves taking photos of you and it’s to the point where his photo gallery might as well be dedicated to you at this point.

He is INSANELY clingy. It honestly gets even more intense when he’s high. It’s to the point where you’re convinced he’s trying to burrow himself within your skin.

when you’re in the same room as him & Martin while they’re filming a podcast, his eyes are always darting behind the camera to admire you. It’s soso cute because he’s all smiley and everyone knows that he’s looking at you behind the camera.

Him trying to telepathically communicate with you while you’re behind the camera:

#hamzah x female reader #hamzahthefanatasticxreader #hamzahthefantastic x reader #hamzah x y/n #hamzah x reader #slushy noobz x reader #hamzah fluff #hamzah imagines #hamzah fic #hamzahsmut #x female y/n #x female reader #x fem!reader #youtuber x reader

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sunrisecaminus · 3 days ago

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Tfp Megatron with autobot fem bot reader who tries to dom him but quickly fails 😭 nsfw of course

Message - This is a great idea, I laughed just thinking about it.

Megatron x Vehicon Reader NSFW

Summary - Decepticon Soldier tries to over power her leader. This was plan that she regrets later.

Warning - NSFW

You have been known as a favorite amongst the lower ranks. Megatron has seen you since before the war and you were one of the many first bots to go into the Decepticon Faction. He has been proud of your work and you have been ranked as a Sargent, being able to take charge of your own little Vehicon group. You are still known as a low rank Vehicon, even Breakdown is higher then you. It was a nice rank, not to low and not to high for you to be stressed about and not have too much work. Megatron still respects you as an individual, and doesn't put you in with the other soldiers. You are one of the rare few that could tease Megatron without dying first, which is always an amazing accomplishment.

Starscream, of course, hates you and tries to get you in trouble a lot of the time (If he cares about how much you are succeeding). There was one time he shot a missel, which totally destroyed a mine shaft and blamed it on you. At the time he had a lot of evidence to frame you, so Megatron was surprised you would do something so impactful for their war efforts, but was furious. Thank Primus you quickly explained the situation before he got close enough to hit you, because if you didn't, you would not be here today. After that incident, Megatron asks you if something was true before he gets pissed off. It was also one of the many reasons he doesn't trust Starscream with any report, so he lets Soundwave handle them. Megatron didn't think about you a lot in the beginning of the war; You were nothing to him like every other mech that was not in the high command. Now a days, you have caught his attention a lot more than he wanted to admit. Every mission you have was a 90% success rate, you returned to the ship at good times, and you never got caught most of the time. The one thing he liked about you as well was your personality, cocky, confident, and had a sharp tongue when it comes to wit. He figures he wouldn't be too angry if you were injured, but damn would he be disappointed about it. He has enough patience with you as much as he does with Soundwave, which was pretty good for a soldier like you. The only time he got physical with you was when he was blinded by rage and almost threw you off a cliff, but you soothed him before he could do any damage he would regret later. Megs wasn't even mad about something you did, and after what happened he knew he needed help with his anger problems…and how he uses his strength.

Right now, he was called by Starscream that Optimus was in the area he has been scouting and the soldiers are fighting his squad. Megatron transported there as fast as he could, as it has been a few months since he was able to face his mortal enemy. After the fight, he was told the total death and injure count of what happened at the battle. It was a tie between them, as both had to retreat from the unstable rocky cliffs they were fighting on. Megatron hated draws, it was worse then losing in his mind. He was already not in a good mood when Starscream was bragging about his fighting skills, when he spots you from far away, trapped in between some rocks. Your left leg and arm was trapped, but you didn't want to call for help because you felt like it would make you look weak in front of Megatron if you told him. As you were attempting to carve the rock, your body starts to be covered by a large shadow that is coming from behind you. Turning around, you gasp from Megatron being right there in front of you. "My liege! You do not have to worry about me, sir. I will be able to get out soon." Now you were sweating from him watching you struggle, as you carved a bit of the rock that was pressing against your arm. He stood up straight and stayed where he was, not wanting to help you just yet. "Which one put you in this predicament?" Laughing nervously from the question you get your arm free. "That yellow car, Bumblebee. He didn't have the spark to end me, so he left when he knew I couldn't fight anymore." Megatron rolled his eyes, hating how much of a coward those Autobots were. Thought, he was glad that nothing fatal came your way.

You feel the rock on your leg gets picked up, Megatron throwing it to the side. "Oh, thank you sir. What do we do now? We can try to catch up to them." Megatron was surprised you were still ready to fight; Your leg was bent a bit, but he could see you clench the knife in your hand to show him you still had fight in you. "No, we will take the injured and get Knockout to do his job. Tomorrow we can start tracking for their base again. We must be close." Megatron turns and walks away, ending the conversation to go through the ground bridge that Soundwave just placed next to him. You go with him and is sent to Knockout to help you with your leg. Knockout tends to you, and you laid there to think about what else you can do today. Your leader is a very grumpy mech that seems to want to do something else other than fight. He seemed bored for so long, wanting something knew to happen. Earth got him motivated again, but after staying here for a few years, he has been getting back to feeling like the days are going by slower. You finally got a risky idea…hopefully you don't die for this plan. Knockout watches your expression changes into a smirk and he sighs. "Don't do anything stupid, I just buffed you."

Megatron was walking in the hallways to go back to the brig, the doors open and he finds something that bewildered him. Soundwave was gone for a mission with others so the only person that was in the room was you. You were sitting on his thrown, knees spread with your back lazily leaning back on the chair. You gave him a smirk, which made him tilt his head. You never did something like this before, it was crazy to see one of his best soldiers do something that would have them killed in seconds. The fact he is able to compose himself, trying to understand what you are doing before he blasts you out of the fucking chair. "What is the meaning of this?" He sounds like he was keeping his cool. Megs hopes to Primus you weren't turning into another Starscream and has a trap for him if he stepped closure. You cross your legs together in a slow, sassy way. "You don't like it? I wanted to protect your space so some jet wouldn't try to steal it again." His eyebrow raised, knowing you were lying out your ass. You did look good right now, but you always did to him. "I feel as though there is something more than that." He walks over to you and stands a foot away from his chair, staring at you like you were not suppose to be there. "I understand you wanted something different, so I thought maybe I could give you some sort of surprise. Nothing more." You brush your pede against his lower leg, rubbing against it to be more sensual while you talked. Megatron now understands what you were doing and narrowed his optics. What a curious little doll trying to act like she owns the place to make him feel such a warm way. You were doing something he knew was a life or death situation, which was a surprise to him how daring you were.

The second you try to raise your leg more to rub against his upper leg, you feel his hand quickly grab you by the throat. You yelped from such a quick motion as you are raised in the air and put against the wall. The fear set in, but his free servo touching your hip got you to know that you won. "What a snake you are, y/n." Megatron grumbles in your ear, feeling him press himself against you. You needed to try to get your way again, so you glide your servo on his cheek to try and keep your dominance, though it was lost immediately when he bit down on it when he felt you. The scream that comes out of your mouth made him understand you quit. Megatron chuckles and licks the mark he gave to you on your palm. "How dare you try to get your way with me like that. You need to know your place." He flips you around, so now you are facing the wall with him behind you. He presses you against the ship, rubbing your aft with his other servo. You moan from the pressure, arching your back a little to show him how much you are loving this. Megatron smirks and pops his panel, pressing his spike in between your legs. Gasping from the sudden touch, you desperately try to open your panel for him, wanting him inside of you this second. He watches every movement you make, looking at your valve coming into light as you play around with it to tease him. The more you toyed with him, the more he was going to be a bit rougher. He slaps your aft which made you straight yourself again and keep your hands against the wall. "You are so disrespectful to your leader. Why don't you relax and let me do the job."

You were going to say something cocky, when his spike is shoved inside your tight valve, making you scream. Grabbing your hip with one servo while gripping your helmet with the other, he pounds you like there was no tomorrow. He loved destroying you like you deserved it, honestly he was starting to feel better than how he was a few hours ago. Watching your valve closing and stretching over and over was putting him in a entranced spell. You released, but he kept going like he didn't even know you just cam. Everything became a lot more sensitive and you started to just become a moaning mess. If anyone was in the hallways next to the room, they could probably hear you screaming, even if the walls are thick. Megatron would keep going until it was his time to cum, but that was going to take while. You feel yourself cumming for the second time, and you needed him to stop from how much you were feeling right now. Your sensitivity was through the roof and he was still pounding your valve without slowing down. "Ah! Megs! S-slow dow-ah!". He hears you begging for him and he quickened the pace. Your back was fully arched and your head was pushed against the wall a bit more before he slams inside you for the last time, jamming all his juices inside of you. He pulls out and takes a breather, letting go oh your helm to let you relax. Your body drops on the floor, your ass aching from the abuse it just went through. Panting, you try to get up with your pedes shakily pressing against the ship's floor. Seeing you struggle, he grabs your frame and carries you off somewhere. You didn't know where he was going, until he places you down on his birth. Holy scrap, you were in the warlords birth room. You looked over to see him open the door again. He looks back at you and gives you a cocky smile. "Stay there, I am not done with you." He leaves, making you lay there to regret all your choices up until this point.

#maccadam #tfp #transformers #transformers x reader #transformers prime #transformers x y/n #valveplug #megatron x reader #megatron

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heartz4levi · 2 days ago

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all i can think about is an ivan and till threesome and possibly double penetration 😭

g–a–n–g, baby, let me b–a–n–g, baby !

☆ thinking abt ivantill + threesome . . .

☆ ivan (alnst) ,, till (alnst) ,, gn reader . . combined with anon's request : intense threesome with ivan and till pretty please with a cherry on top? longing, rough housing, lust filled *squeals and runs away* (gn reader, my nonbinary heart is swelling with happiness) ,, switch!till ,, switch!reader ,, switch!ivan ,, mentions of multiple rounds ,, oral ,, riding ,, manhandling ,, double penetration ,, rough sex ,, slight choking ,, idek anymore this is just NASTY.

ivan's personality clashes with till's. till's personality clashes with yours, and your personality clashes with ivan's.

theoretically, the three of you should not be allowed withing a certain radius of each other. and yet here the three of you are, bodies touching each inch of the others', groping whatever is within hand's reach, moans mixing in with the sounds of sucking and fucking.

you are a mixture of holes for them to use just like how they are another mixture of holes for you to use.

the bedsheets are drenched, the stench of cum and sex engulfs the room. your throat is hoarse from being fucked by both ivan and till's cocks, ramming into your mouth while the other laps at your hole like a man starved, hands securing an iron grip on your thighs.

till's legs are already shaking from being sucked off by you, from having ivan toy with his hole and now having you ride him. you're straddling his lap while the back of his head digs further into the pillows below, his moans gravelly and guttural. you're clamping down around him so eagerly, as if your mind is permanently set on milking him dry. his hands have long given up on trying to hold onto your hips, his fingers now ghosting and twitching against the sides of your thighs.

meanwhile ivan, who has his eyes set on the both of you as you claim till's body with such fervor, can feel himself overflowing with desire. as much as he'd love to continue watching you ruin till, he can't help but give in to the temptation of chasing some pleasure of his own.

you feel the bed dip behind you as ivan crawls atop, but you don't react or halt your movements. until ivan's hands are on your shoulders, pushing you down to press your chest against till's own. your hips still, eyes darting behind you to shoot a questioning glance in ivan's direction, meanwhile till whines. why did you stop? what's going on?

ivan settles one of his hands on the back of your neck, holding you still. meanwhile the other one glides down, gripping tightly at your hip for balance, all so he can ease his cock inside of you, feeling it slide against till's own. your face quickly buries itself into the crook of till's neck, muffling the scream that is pulled out of you from the big stretch. till, whose body was practically limp not too long ago, suddenly jolts. his arms wrap themselves around your torso and it isn't long before he's clawing at your back, as if this isn't ivan's doing.

except till knows that it's ivan's doing, because with your face hidden against his skin, that leaves till with no other option but to look directly at ivan. ivan, who looks so proud. so smug, so satisfied that he's joining in on the fun too.

ivan hardly gives the both of you any time to adjust before he retracts his hips, nearly pulling out of you completely before slamming his cock back inside. the pace he sets is ruthless, it knocks the air right out of your lungs and it sends till's senses into overdrive. he can't think like this, he can't move, he can't do anyth—

all it takes for till to wake up, so to say, is one mocking remark uttered by ivan. he coos at the tears that begin to pool in till's eyes, asking him if he's sure he can handle this, because it sure seems like he can't. not that ivan minds, he's happy to use you both like his own personal fleshlights, reducing you two to nothing but mindless, cockdrunk whores.

but till minds. till definitely minds. he tried to snap back, tried to make a retort, but all words die on the tip of his tongue. alongside the shocks of overwhelming pleasure that flow through him begins to creep in a feeling of frustration, and that feeling is enough to give till a little bit more energy just so he can prove ivan wrong.

having ivan's cock pound into your hole while till is still very much inside of you provided plenty of stimulation. plenty! even if it bordered ever so slightly on being painful, it felt just right. it felt perfect, and you don't have to move an inch to obtain this kind of pleasure. much to your dismay, till springs up, his hips bucking into you once. then twice, and.. now he's jackhammering into your weeping, dripping hole as well.

your moans, high—pitched and silky, begin to drown out every other sound resonating within the room. in other words, the sound of skin slapping, the wet sounds your hole makes as it continuously gets abused and, of course, the sounds tumbling past ivan and till's lips. at this rate, you're going to cum way too fast for your liking and it is going to be intense.

as if till or ivan would ever complain about such a thing. till is revelling in how snugly your hole fits his cock, sucking it in the more he plows up into it. on the other hand, ivan is savoring every little mewl and whimper coming from you, considering it as music to his ears. and the sight of you, your body, so limp and spasming inbetween him and till, it serves to spur ivan further on.

till can feel himself getting closer to cumming first. he can't let go of you, he refuses to stop moving just yet, closing his eyes abruptly and biting down onto your bare shoulder to quiet down the embarrassingly loud whine that claws at his throat once he spills string after string of his cum inside your tight hole.

the added aftershocks of pain from till's bite into your skin, combined with the sensation of being emptied into and the rest of the pleasure have you cumming next, gushing down on till's cock that has taken on a slower pace and also in ivan's cock that is still mercilessly moulding your insides as he pleases.

ivan is up next. he couldn't even feel his own climax inching closer, the suddenness of it washing over him pulling a throaty moan out. slowly, his cum and till's becomes one, dripping out of your overstimulated hole.

you and till are panting against eachother's skin, trying to get over the extreme height of pleasure you two just reached. ivan recovers quickly, and his hold on the back of your neck tightens. he adjusts it, wrapping his fingers around the entire length of your neck.

with one swift motion, ivan tears you off of till. you tilt your head back, following his movements subconsciously. the hunger in his eyes seems to have grown in intensity, similar to how yours are noticeably more lust—filled than the last time he looked into them. ivan leans down, whispering a mix of a plea and an order of one more into your ear.

one more he gets.

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illubean · 2 days ago

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JJK Men with a S/o in Musical Theatre

Characters: Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Kento Nanami, Toji Fushiguro, Ino Takuma, Aoi Todo

Type: Headcanons, Gn!Reader

self indulgent af (im not even in theater anymore)

Warnings: it’s mentioned that reader plays female characters but other than that relatively gn

Satoru Gojo

he INSISTS that you practice in front of him (he just wants to hear you sing any chance he gets)

his favorite musical after you introduce him to it is Legally Blonde no I will not be taking criticism

sometimes walking past you in the hall he’ll sing the little musical theater song lyrics he knows very bad and very loudly

“Hi Toru-“ “A TOAST TO THE GROOM”

he comes to every single one of your shows and every show date

your production is being put on for a week? he’s got tickets to go all 7 days

and since he’s already watched it so many times he likes to snicker and gossip with you about your cast mates and how he noticed them mess up one night

without fail Satoru is always front row with his camera pointed directly at you (terrible theater etiquette I know)

if theres ever a point where you get to interact with the audience he eats it up every time

hes you’re #1 supporter and he gets you the biggest bouquet he can find every time

your cast mates are always gossiping about him, telling you how lucky you are and how they wished they got flowers every show night

very supportive but if you get in the car to go home with your stage makeup on he WILL laugh at you..

“Help me, why are your eyebrows so dark!?” “The stage lighting washes me out!”

Suguru Geto

HE’S SO JD HEATHERS CODED IM MFFHGHGNGGJGNJG

he appreciates performing arts but has never spent much time thinking about it or seeking it out if that makes sense?

he’s reluctant but he will sing parts of songs when you need to practice and can’t meet with whoever the part originally belongs to

MAKE HIM DUET SUDDENLY SEYMOUR WITH YOU. HE CAN SING EITHER PART.

if you beg and cry hard enough he might just audition for a show with you

but if he get’s casted as anyone else but your character’s love interest or worse, the love interest of SOMEONE ELSE he’s rejecting the role

he doesn’t think he’d actually ever get casted, he just auditioned because you kept bugging him about it

but if he does? god damn it now he’s stuck

you’re directors love him, and since you guys have good stage chemistry they are almost always going to cast you together if he auditions again

Kento Nanami

out of all of them I think he’s the only one who was interested in the arts before meeting you

he probably likes Les Miserables and The Phantom of the Opera

he never asks you to sing for him but if you offer or ask him to watch you practice he will gladly do so

he’s impressed by how well you perform

it amazes him how you’re able to move around, dance, and sing all while in character

he attracts the attention of your cast mates, always being so respectful

especially when he waits for you to finish getting out of costume with a bouquet and his jacket to offer you if it’s cold

he’s always invited to your open rehearsals even if its not by you 😭 your directors love him too

Toji Fushiguro

doesn’t care much for the arts but he’d be damned if he missed seeing his baby perform

no matter if you’re a lead or ensemble he WILL be there

he tends to keep to the back as to not block people’s view with his broad shoulders..

he likes watching you play characters that are so far from your usual personality

especially if you’re usually quiet, like wow he didn’t know you could project like that

he teases you after the show if you have a love interest in the show, especially if you complain about the person casted as them (no because why did I get casted as love interests with my mortal enemies 3 times)

if the show is suitable enough, he’ll bring little Megumi along to see you perform

I don’t think he’d be one to buy bouquets for you but he’d buy a single rose and let Megumi give it to you

he’d watch fondly as you pick up his son and bring him to meet the other cast members

GAH I LOVE THEM SO MUCH

Ino Takuma

he does the “raise your ya ya ya” thing around you 😭

he gets jealous if you have a love interest especially if theres a scene where you get freakay

this makes him consider auditioning for the next show you’re going to be in….

he’d watch you take photos with them and pout until you walk up to him

his favorite roles to see you in are the ones like Heather Chandler or Regina George

he may or may not be joking when he says you should be mean to him after seeing you perform…

if the show is sad he will cry then try to deny it when you point out the tear stains on his face

and if YOU’RE crying on stage? he cries even harder

he makes you karaoke with him, even though he’s getting absolutely mogged but he doesn’t mind

he just likes hearing your voice

he brags about you to anyone willing to listen

Aoi Todo

the audience hates him.

he always insists on sitting as close to the stage as possible and his large body blocks the view of the people behind him (luckily the stage is raised…)

and he’s so loud… you can always hear his shouts and applause over everyone else’s

your cast mates don’t like him either…

“Wow, your boyfriend is so…supportive”

even after the show is over and it’s time to meet you people give the two of you side eyes

“YOU DID SO GOOD MY LOVE!” “Shhh! But thank you…”

he’s so bad at being quiet 😭

another one who likes watching you play mean characters…

he has so many photos of you on his phone of you in costume and on stage

and they’re ALL in his wallpaper rotation

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salemsinss · 13 hours ago

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18+ MDNI reader is GN but there are some feminine terms.

Part one Gardener!SimonRiley x Oldmoney!Reader

PrivateChef!Price x Oldmoney!Reader

(TW: creampie, breedingkink, jealousy, masturbation, overstimulation, all of these are vague if you read deep into it)

AN: I was not expecting the amount of love my first post got so thank you so much（≧∇≦）

also currently suffering from a UTI, and when I told my partner he was like you have an std 😭 I told him to kys immediately after men are dumb guys (and I chose this voluntarily…)

Anyway wish me luck with my UTI

Oldmoney!Reader like to happily spend their time at home being a couch potato, they already have enough money to put them and the next three generations through life some would they waste their time working when they can take up any hobby they can imagine

Oldmoney!Reader always finding the most unique recipes on TikTok or Instagram and spamming PrivateChef!Prices inbox on all the apps and even iMessage

PrivateChef!Price who doesn’t live on the manors land like the rest of the staff but actually commutes daily to come to readers home, prep food, cook for them, them return to his own home

PrivateChef!Price who does as best as he can to recreate the recipes reader sends him, making sure to do at least one a week, writing down the ones reader likes more and keeping them in a little note pad he tucks away in his apron.

PrivateChef!Price going far beyond readers expectations with every new recipe he tries and convinces the picky eaters that reader is to eat.

Oldmoney!Reader always looking at the new dishes like they are poisonous and vile, wonder just what they where about to eat rather than having price make them their comfort foods

Oldmoney!Reader who likes to invade prices kitchen and sometimes even kick him out so they can make snacks for Gardener!SimonRiley

PrivateChef!Price who is insanely jealous of the brew chemistry between Oldmoney!Reader and Gardener!SimonRiley

PrivateChef!Price trying to find a way to bend reader over the kitchen counter and take them right then and there but has to snap out of his thoughts to not burn the dish he was working on

PrivateChef!Price a food connoisseur but he can’t help but wonder just good reader would taste laying half naked on the kitchen island, back arched as he ate your cunt like it was the most perfect meal he’s ever eaten

PrivateChef!Price watching reader stumble back into the kitchen after seeing both reader and Gardener!SimonRiley disappear into the garden shed for a while, and reader comes into the kitchen clearly having just been fucked

PrivateChef!Price who has words to say to Gardener!SimonRiley, nothing nice of course because Simon got to his bird first when he had been planning and planning just how he would take the most private of reader as his own

PrivateChef!Price having to leave early the day you and Gardener!SimonRiley get freaky disappeared into the garden shed so he calm his own nerves and not kill the other man, but got the hard on he got strains so tightly in his pants as he saw you walk back into the kitchen also made him have to excuse himself

PrivateChef!Price masturbating to the thought of how fucked out you would look from you taking every part of him, picturing how many orgasms he could probably draw from you within a night, while he ate out your cunt, delved his fingers Into you to stretch out your tight pretty cunt, flicking at your clit while pressing on that soft gummy spot deep inside you before he’s spitting on his cock and slipping it between your folds to lube it up before making you take him inch by inch.

PrivateChef!Price cumming so quickly into his own palm but wishing it was deep inside your cunt so he could see you so full of him cum as he fucks it right back into you until that white ring is forming around the base of his cock, and your crying from overstimulation and too many orgasms to count on one hand

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loveliestofbugs · 3 days ago

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☆ Arthur Morgan Headcanons! (Modern)

☆ I could definitely see him working a blue-collar job tbh, like a mechanic or something. Either that or something involving animals/nature, like a park ranger!!

☆ I could see him liking a lot of older music, not necessarily from his childhood (which, in this case, he'd be a 90s kid) though he definitely does like some 90s music, but I could see him liking 70s music, specifically rock. I could also definitely see him liking folk music (for obvious reasons lol)

☆ The only indication that an account belongs to him on social media is that he makes the "nickname" or whatever its called his full name. Everything else is blank. No posts, no profile picture, username is something like "user192829201010". Literally does not gaf 😭 is rarely on social media too, so if you sent him a video it would take him DAYS to see it. You're better off just showing it to him irl.

☆ Victim of single man decor. His house is so plain looking it's kind of sad. Has a couple of decorations here and there, like pictures in frames and a couple of trinkets, but the house is mostly empty.

☆ Drives a pickup truck. Either red or blue, I don't make the rules.

☆ Smokes so many cigarettes, but lowk judges people for vaping 😭

☆ When out with friends, he'll drink but rarely get drunk. Mainly because he's able to stomach an ungodly amount of alcohol, making getting drunk unintentionally next to near impossible (Keep in mind I don't know how much alcohol is a lot, because I don't drink lmao)

☆ His phone is so bright, it's literally blinding. Also he got it for like $50 and it's a brand no one has ever even heard of.

☆ Absolutely a dog person. Has 2 dogs, something big but friendly like a golden retriever and then a tiny satan spawn named "princess" or something 😭. It's like 100 years old and bullies the bigger dog.

☆ Loves playing pool or darts on nights out with friends.

☆ Replies with 👍 to every. single. text. Either that or like a grammatically correct reply, fully punctuated and all.

☆ REFUSES to get therapy, even though he very clearly needs it. (Assuming his childhood went the same way as in canon, aside from his dad getting hung because obviously no one's getting hung over theft/larceny nowadays.) Thinks it'll do him no good.

☆ Assuming his father is still alive, I don't think he'd go no contact with him, but they'd definitely have a strained relationship. Not to say Arthur doesn't love him, he does, despite everything.

☆ Would probably have tattoos, to be honest. I could definitely him having a sleeve.

☆ I seen someone else say this but he would watch Judge Judy. That is so funny to me. I don't know why.

☆ Is bisexual, but that doesn't click with him. Just assumes everyone else feels the same way about the same gender because he has a preference for women, which "makes him straight" (Projecting heavily here)

I love Author wish he was reel 💔

#rdr2 #red dead 2 #rdr2 modern au #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #lovelybugsworld #lovelybugsworld headcanons #headcanons #rambling #screaming into the void #pulling my hair out #why isnt he real #WHY #oh arthur

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theinheriteddutchess · 34 minutes ago

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Flattery will get you anywhere😂

I started of intending to have Lee be darker, but really along the way, they flowed so nice together that I realized that even if he's a selfish man, he intends to be a good husband and I believe he softened when they started interacting.

Oh my god yes! I really picture her living in her own world dancing around the reality😭 I love what you said here! And he watches her so much now, building up over the years, no one else seems to notice this, they just judge. But he sees that vulnerability and the qualities she does have.

I think I wanted to make him even older but he's probably about 9 years older? He wasn't seeing her like a possible match right away because she was a teenager. He just felt some sympathy for her and noticed that she was actually well behaved and sweet. And then after a few years started to see her differently. He was early twenties when he helped her. Not as bitter and shady as he is when our story starts. He's just the kind sheriff that treats her nicer than the others. Also he's not pretending to be nicer, she brings that out in him. He just thinks people are too mean to her.

Now after, now she's in her 20's he's acting very nice...👀 Now he wants to pursue her😂 before their interactions were short and spontaneous. Now he's searching her out.

I definitely tried to make it seem that while she's desperately trying to go along with people, they are rejecting her for how she is. She can't help it, but they are sure to let her know she simply doesn't fit in.

And I love reactions like this because as someone often feeling like I was also not really fitting in, that I was different, it's so nice to hear that people read this and get it! 💕

She reads mostly romance, she's still very sheltered, so the smut is really vague and non-descriptive 🤭

But Lee in that library🥴 he probably never set foot in it before 😂 he's really trying to get in her spaces.

Okay so to answer your question, he's helped her when she was about 16 and then kept an eye out for her because he knows she's struggling and people are being mean. They ran into each other off course because it's a close community, but it's all fleeting and shallow meetings? So she did grow up with him but he was not constantly involved and he definitely didn't see her this way until a few years after. It started with him thinking she's just a good girl and then that she would make a good partner and then it changed in that she would make a good partner for him. And as soon as that thought sneaked in, that's when he really started looking at her differently. And he then was basically waiting for the right time to pursue her.

The chairs... Wel i noticed I can get really upset about changes that make no sense sometimes so I just changed certain examples but I can relate to that feeling. That chair was something she was used to, safe and now what was taken from her and she couldn't even really express her feelings because she knows they're "not normal" so whenever she struggles and tries to hide, well it doesn't really work. And those women are so brutal. I love everyone had the same reaction to these mean girls. It's so so relatable.

I just want to say that she feels bad for her parents but get parents do nothing but love and accept her, don't worry. But Lee is the first person to truly be nice and compliment her outside her parents😭😭

I really loved how he was trying to hint at her being the one to cure his loneliness and it flew right over her head. She's so sweet, but Lee needs to be very clear with her. I love those awkward moments where he's left unsuccessful lol.

Anyway you got me ranting as well! Because I love this story so much. And I really loved your enthusiasm, so thank you so much for reading and reblogging and the excitement because it means so much!💕

Dream Of A Girl

Part 1

Summary: The sheriff had his eyes on you for a while, the town's joke of an Omega. You never thought you'd find love, but around him you just can't help acting on your inner instincts.

Pairing: Lee Bodecker x reader

Word count: 3899

Warnings: Lee, small town gossip and bullying, neurodivergent reader, slurs\insult of neurodivergent back in the day, no cats🥺, turns slightly non-con at the end, Alpha\Omega

Notes: absolutely loved writing this, got really into it, I hope you'll enjoy it, and make sure to drop me a comment, I would love to hear what you think!💕

Series masterlist

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

He was watching you again. Inside his car, on his lunch break, slurping from his milkshake as his eyes never left your form. Your head was turned down, watching the pavement as you moved, yet you seemed to be aware where everyone else was because you never bumped into anyone. He noticed that about you. How your body moved almost fluently away from others. You didn't like to be touched. You flinched if someone did.

You were alone a lot. Listening to the noises around you, or he would sometimes hear you murmur to yourself. Sometimes you made strange noises if you were excited. He knew what they said about you.

They thought you were weird.

He didn't mind. Everyone talked about him too. Granted, he was a bit shady sometimes, with his secret businesses here and there, but it was something he had in common with you. Both of you fell outside of what was appropriate.

Of course, he was the sheriff, so no one dared to say it to his face. But they did to you. He had watched you for years. With your pretty hair, and that body…

He shuffled in his seat uncomfortably. You always had an effect on him.

He loved your eyes, although you barely look up to him. You do that. You glanced past people, or talked with your face turned a different way. Some people looked at you funny when you did.

But he knows why. Your parents told him once. When you got dared into doing something naughty. You didn't like it, but told him you had said you would do it before they told you what you were supposed to do. And you needed to keep your promises.

He talked to you sternly about how wrong it was of you, and you sat there with tears in your eyes. Head down. Like you had committed the worst crime. You were a good girl. Your parents told him that. It wasn't your fault. It was those kids. They thought it was funny. School talked to them. They left you alone. But you didn't make many friends.

Too different, too quiet, or too loud. You didn't say the right things, you didn't like the right things. You were too honest.

He liked that about you. He didn't need to wonder what you thought. You weren't two faced like all the other bitches. Who smiled at him in hope for favors, or in hope he would turn his eyes away from what they were doing. You were, you.

When you were alone, or thought you were anyway, your shoulders relaxed and he could sometimes see you smiling. Most times you would if you spotted an animal. Talking to it, like it was your friend. And you were good with kids. Really good. They flocked to you and you easily handled them. You didn't like sudden noises, and you were very clear about that, and they listened to you.

That's something people did like about you, they had no problem ditching their kids on you. You were a natural.

It was one of the things he noticed first about you. That drew him towards you. Your natural motherly instincts. He knew you would do excellent with your own. And the idea of you, one or 2 kids by the hand, belly swollen with another, made him rock hard each time.

God, you would be so pretty. He imagined your children; babies with brown hair, maybe a cleft in their chin, like his. The family Bodecker. You, all soft and sweet smelling. A ring on your finger. It made him come so swiftly once he touched himself.

He was happy no one snatched you up. They all couldn't look past your different behavior and see the gem underneath. They were blind to your qualities. What fools. But it worked in his favor though. Such a good, sweet girl. All ripe for the picking.

You were growing and seemed to not be aware of him. That was okay, he was fine with letting you have this time for yourself. Just out of college, young women needed to find their own way. He didn't want you to feel like you missed out on everything once he married you. That led some housewives to turn a little crazy, he saw it all the time, married at 18 or even 16 at times, high school lovers, and by the time baby number 2 was on the way, they looked worn out and disappointed in life.

Not you though. You finished school, you had a nice job, good parents. He gave you that time. He never was far away though. Watching you. Making sure you stayed out of trouble. Or trouble didn't find you. There weren't many boys to approach you, but those with eyes did, those who were too eager to be bothered with your quirkiness. He made sure to scare them off. He didn't need the competition.

He had a good job, a job that gave him power over this town, a nice house. He could afford a family. When the time came, he could convince your parents he was a good match. But most important was he needed to convince you.

📖

You walked into the library to return your books and pick up new ones. You came here at least once a week, often twice, as you loved reading. It was the time that you could disappear in a story and live a life you were never going to get. Experiencing all the emotions and adventures safely from your own home. Romance, and travels, fighting dragons or being a ruling Queen. In real life you liked things simple, but in your head you were free to do whatever you wanted. In your head people liked you. You belonged.

Lately you got very into fairytales again. Consuming every book you could find, rereading classics, daydreaming about the magic that was both wonderful and scary. The Alpha King, and Omega and the false mate, Sleeping Beta…they were all lovely stories and you couldn't get enough. You walked through the rows upon rows of books, feeling calm and like you were amongst friends. Here you were safe. Here you were liked.

Your hands occasionally picked up a book and read the cover, lost in thought. You didn't even notice the presence next to you, until a voice shook you out of your thoughts.

“Excuse me.”

You froze and looked up. Sheriff Bodecker looked down at you.

“Oh”, you said, stepping away.

He chuckled and shook his head. “I didn't mean for you to leave. I just wanted to grab this book.”

You watched him as he picked up a faded green book. He flipped through the pages. You hadn't expected him to read. You scolded yourself after the thought. You didn't know him. It's just that…he didn't seem the type. You heard stories about him. They said he liked the booze and he loved the ladies who gave it away for free. He had always been pleasant if you ever saw him, devoted to his work, but gossip still followed him.

Gossip was tricky, though. For years rumors went around that you were stupid. That you were rude. That you were mentally challenged. They didn't understand you. And you honestly often didn't understand them. Luckily your parents loved you and stood up for you. They might not always understand but they didn't punish you the way other parents would have. They didn't make you feel bad for not always looking them in the face. Or for being blunt and too honest. How your head was in the clouds at times. Or how people overwhelmed you sometimes. But other people, they didn't get it. And they didn't like what they didn't get.

You watched everyone around you making friends and falling in love. Easily getting through events you struggled with. They got married, and started a family. It was difficult at times, to realize you wouldn't have that, but eventually you accepted it. You were comfortable with your life. You had your family, and one or two acquaintances, and you were okay. It was nice being alone. Quiet. When you were alone, no one expected something of you.

You watched out of the corner of your eye how he assessed the book, before he looked at you again. “Do you know if it's any good?”

You glanced at the title like you had to think about it. “It's a little boring. But I don't know what you're looking for.”

“Just a little something to entertain me in the evenings. I was never much of a reader, but I thought why not read a book once in a while instead of always putting the telly on, ya know?”

You nodded. “What genre are you interested in? Action? Or mystery.”

“Romance.”

You blinked. “Romance,” you quietly repeated. You're eyes gliding past the titles of books and thinking to yourself.

“I don't mind it being a little…naughty, might motivate me even more to be honest,” he chuckled.

Your cheeks heated, but you tried not to show any signs of your discomfort. A heated romance. Of course you could list a few, but it felt awkward sharing that with him. You hummed softly under your breath, more out of nerves than anything, but you grabbed a book eventually. “A little naughty, and definitely romance,” you told him.

He hummed and turned the book in his hands. “Thank you, I didn't know where to start.”

“The librarians are happy to help if you can't find anything.”

“Yes, I'm sure they are, but you seem like you know more about this stuff.”

Maybe you did. Maybe it was easier to approach a visitor than the strict ladies running this place? You continued your search, but he did not leave.

“Don't you have enough books?”

You frowned. How could anyone have enough books? And why was he criticizing you? “I like reading.”

He laughed. “ No, I can see that, but do you really read all these in a week?”

“No. Sometimes I read them in a few days.”

“Oh, really. Okay. That's impressive. I really need to catch up if I were to compete with you.”

“It's not a competition. You can read how you want.”

“Oh I know, I was just joking.”

It wasn't a very good joke in that case. “Oh.” You thought, then replied. “Do you need anything more?”

There was silence, then he answered awkwardly. “No, you helped enough.”

You nodded.

He said your name quietly and when he didn't continue, you looked to the side at him. Your eyes locked and you blinked before you looked away.

“Tell your parents hello from me, will you?”

You nodded. You would, if you remembered.

He walked away and you were left feeling a little weird about the whole conversation. Sheriff Bodecker, reading a romantic book. It seemed a little silly. But maybe he was a little lonely. He was unmarried and didn't seem to be in a hurry to get settled.

He asked for something a little naughty, though. If he wanted anything naughty he should've gone to a different section of the library. They had a few of those, although most people didn't dare to pick them up and give the ladies anything to gossip about. Sheriff Bodecker, with a naughty book. You smiled to yourself. It would be the talk of town.

🤎

You wrapped your scarf around your neck, it was a little chilly today. Maybe you were just tired. It had been a long day at work today, your hands were cramped from all the typing, and your colleagues had left you feeling a little upset. Normally you tried to not listen to their chatter and ignore if they were ever negative about you. But today…they had stood a little nearer and you had more trouble filtering their voices.

They had talked about Marcie, who had found herself a beau. If only it had stayed about Marcie, it would have been fine. But they had looked over at you and pretended to lower their voices.

“Spinster”, they had used. They giggled slightly during it. You pretended not to see them staring at you. Or how they didn't care if you heard it.

“She’s never going to find anyone, I mean did you hear her talk about the different office chairs to mr. Johnson? One would think she had to sit on spikes.

You bit your lip. You did not want to cry in front of them. They had changed the chairs two days ago, the old ones too worn out to be pleasant. But you had liked them. You were used to them. And it felt like an old friend had been ripped away from you. So you had talked to your boss if he could make an exception, if you could keep yours, and store the new one. But of course he hadn’t wanted to. And you admittedly got a little upset. Word got out, or maybe they heard you. You had cried on the toilet, but tried very hard to gather yourself and continue like nothing was wrong. It didn’t matter. They knew. And they thought you were crazy.

And now they kept bringing other things up in their conversations. Like they enjoyed your discomfort.

You did your job well, however, so you were pretty sure if you laid low for a while, mr. Johnson wouldn’t fire you. You always made sure to finish all your work, even if you had to stay longer. Got the job done.

But now, at the end of the work day, you felt exhausted. It was tiresome keeping up pretense. The constant noise of the workplace around you. A short break to try and relax and be alone wasn't enough. You knew maybe things would be easier if you sat with them and told them things you heard, so they could gossip about someone else for once. But you didn’t like them. And they were too much. You needed your break to rest before getting back to work. You often sat outside on a bench alone, or took a walk.

You took a deep breath. Tonight you were going to read your new book, and ask your daddy if he wanted to play the piano. He didn’t do it as often as he used to, but you always enjoyed his music. He would do it for you, you knew it.

As a single Omega, you still lived with your parents. It was common to do so. You couldn’t live alone with your designation and it didn’t seem like you would ever move out and get your own home to look after. Your parents were disappointed, no doubt, but they always assured you they loved you, and that it would be nice in their old day to spend it with the three of you. You wondered if they had a different child than you, if they had wanted to get another. Someone easier to handle.

You walked past the shops, occasionally looking through the windows. You liked window shopping. Seeing all the new things on display, even if you didn’t buy much. You didn’t need it. But sometimes you saw something pretty and pondered if you should get it. You should buy a new dress. Most of the ones you had were getting a little old. But they were so comfortable and new dresses felt a little tight and rough. Perhaps your mother would buy some fabric and sew one for you. She knew your tastes.

A car honked next to you and you startled. When you looked around with a beating heart you noticed the car of the sheriff. He had rolled down his window and called out to you.

“Sorry, little lady, didn’t mean to scare you. I saw you walking and thought maybe you wanted a ride home?”

You blinked. A ride with the sheriff. You had never done that. “I’m fine walking.” You replied and tried to smile.

“You just look tired, is all. And it is going to rain soon.”

Was it? You didn’t feel much like getting wet. Still, this was weird. Different. What were you even going to say to him?

He opened the door from the inside though, clearly expecting you to get in, and you didn’t want to be rude. He meant well.

You clambered in, fixed your dress and your hair.

“Long day?” he mentioned. “You look tired.”

“Yes.” you answered.

“I get that, I’ve been busy since 5 this morning myself.” he sighed. “Got a call in for a robbery. Those damn Callen boys always stealin’ them chickens from the Bookers farm. Not exactly the most exciting job.”

You blinked, thought of how to reply. “Did you get them back?”

He chuckled. “Well some of ‘em. They ate at least two, but I arranged for them to work a few weeks at the place to pay them back. And I'll make damn sure they're going to show up and do the work.”

You nodded. The Bookers were cheapskates, but a theft was a theft, and you were sure they enjoyed the free labor. Those chickens couldn't be worth that much.

“You look nice today,” he mentioned suddenly.

You looked down at your dress. A little frayed around the edges. Your hair must've been less than proper because you tended to play with it if you were in thought. Maybe he was being nice. “Eh, thank you,” you mumbled.

He hummed. “That dress is a nice color.”

“Blue is my favorite,” you blurted out. You wore red today, you didn’t know why you said it.

He chuckled. “Is that right? Well I love blue.”

Your eyes looked anywhere but him, at the passing buildings and bushes. What else were you going to say? It was polite to talk back, your mother had told you. Ask about something!

“Ehm, this is a nice car,”

He turned to look at you again, not keeping his eyes on the road and you swallowed. “Well, it comes with the job, but it does its work.”

You nodded.

“Do you know how to drive?”

“Oh no. No, no. I do not.”

“I could teach you.” he offered, and your heart rate increased.

“No!...no. I don't think I can, I get nervous.”

“Well everyone gets nervous the first time, but you’ll learn soon enough, you’re a clever girl.”

You blinked at him. No one had ever called you clever before. You weren’t stupid, you werent, but no one thought you were particularly bright. “I get nervous.” you told him firmly.

He hummed “Well alright, If you change your mind, I'm more than willing.

“I don't mind walking.” you told him.

“Yeah, I see you walking around. You like looking at things don’t you?”

You looked down, ashamed, but his finger lifted your chin. You startled at the contact.

“Wasn't mocking you. I just see you sometimes. Gotta keep an eye on the crowd to make sure nothing happens, part of the job, I can’t help it. So I see you walking and befriending the neighbors cats.”

“Oh.” You didn't know what to think of this. Being watched. You always felt like you were. “I like cats.”

“I like them too. They’re a little feisty. You got one at home?”

You shook your head. “No, my parents don’t want one.”

“I was thinking about getting one. Might be nice to come home to something, you know? House is all empty.”

You understood. You’re parents rules, however, nothing you could do about it.

He sighed “ Yeah…. gets real lonely for a man by himself. You got someone waiting on ya?”

“Eh no. No, no one.” You felt nervous. You knew it was common for a girl your age to settle, or have settled already. It was embarrassing to admit.You had never even kissed before.The thought of it made you anxious though, How to even do that with a tongue, and how to move? It seemed mighty complicated.

“Me neither,” he admitted. “It’s a hard job, and not everyone can deal with being the wife of a sheriff. I’d treat her right, though. Yessir. I’d be a good husband. For the right woman. I always wanted that. A house, a wife, some kids. A nice meal when I get home…”

You hummed, like he had done before.

"You can cook?”

Your eyes moved rapidly over the car interior. “Why, yes?” it came out as a question.

“Yeah I expected you to. You’re a good girl after all. Momma raised you right.”

You felt warmth shoot through you. You didn’t know why. He was being nice. And you weren’t used to that. You actually were a pretty good cook. And you liked doing it. Relieving your mother from the hard work running a household was. And showing you cared. You know you weren’t always good with that. Often absorbed in your own head and your own feelings. So cooking was something you could do.

“Would love to have a home made meal again. It’s been so very long.”

You nodded.

He eyed you. And as the silence lingered he tsked. “Well, who knows, maybe someone will invite me someday.”

“Oh. Yes. I'm sure,” you were quick to agree. It would be nice for him. Someone cooking. Maybe Miss Oleson would, the woman was all alone and about 70, she probably would love the company.

You would ask her, so he wouldn't feel embarrassed. Miss Oleson would watch you sometimes when you were younger, and she was kind to you. She always gave you candy even if your parents had told her not too. You were fond of her.

You arrived at your house soon and you got out. He leaned towards the window again.

“If you want, I can come pick you up again tomorrow.”

You blinked. Why? Was it going to rain again tomorrow?

“You don’t have to.”

“It’s my pleasure.” he grinned. “Unless i’m being called away, but if so, I’l call you.”

“I don’t have a phone.” You eyed the laces of your shoes.

He laughed. “No silly, at your office, I can call the company.”

“Oh. Yeah that would work. I guess.”

“That’s settled then. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay.” you mumbled and turned to walk towards the door.

As you heard him leave behind you, you suddenly remembered you hadn’t said goodbye, or thanked him. You felt your cheeks heat. You were supposed to thank someone for helping. You messed up again. Tomorrow, when he picked you up, you would make sure to thank him then. Maybe he wouldn’t think you rude anymore. And maybe you should find some questions to ask him about. So he didn’t ask you weird ones when there was silence.

You hung up your coat at the door, suddenly smelling a nice scent coming off it.

The fabric had absorbed some of his that lingered in the car. You sniffed carefully and then reared back in shame. It was kind of improper to just smell someone. You only did that to someone you knew better. Like family, or…or a suitor.

Still, the scent lingered in your nose as you walked away, and it was pleasant enough for you to feel a little lighter for the rest of the evening.

Part 2

#dream of a girl comment #lee bodecker x reader #alpha!lee bodecker x reader

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rius-cave · 19 hours ago

Note

This is a Adam character question. Do you think Adam was really a misogynistic? All we see him around is women, his best friend was a woman, he took orders from women, ect. While he did call women the b word, that really had nothing to do with his character since everyone in that show swears.

I don't even personally think he was rude to Lilith because she was a woman. But because the angles told them what their roles were and Adam was probably like. "Alright, do whatever you say!" But Lilith just wasn't having it. 😭

See this is a hot debate, and I feel like not even the writers are really sure about it lol. They wrote him being around a lot of women and, like you said, showing like a decent amount of, I guess respect? towards them. But then I think he undoubtedly comes across as someone who *would* be misogynistic.

There are a bunch of threads on Twitter talking about how no!!! Adam is not misogynistic!!! He says Lute is badass and this and that!! And I feel like we forget that misogyny can look differently and even manifest differently in people.

I think Adam has what I'm gonna call (and don't cancel me for this lol) externalized misogyny LOLOL let me explain

I think if you talked more to Adam about the "concept" of women, he'd spout some pretty awful stuff LOL, mostly he would just be reciting back a lot of classic misogynistic comments that he's heard and that he's SUPPOSED to believe, that also align with his fuckboy persona or whatever you wanna call it. And of course, let's not forget how he calls women bitches and, probably worse, the c word LOL so there is DEFINITELY SOME ISSUES THERE I'D SAY

However! Yeah, he definitely seems to at least value Lute and the exorcists, he thinks they're capable killing machines, and he does take orders from his boss who is a woman. But I think that's where Adam doesn't even realize these women break the "mold" he's supposed to believe, and thus, doesn't even think of them as "women". He knows they're women, of course, but in his mind they're "his girls" or "the exorcists" and "my boss/my manager/Sera". It's like he has misogynistic views about the idea of women, but when it comes to the actual women he knows, he sees them as much more than that.

It could honestly also just be that he's a misogynist only to the women he doesn't like lmao, which is a very real thing that happens in the world lol

I think there are arguments for both sides and I have somewhat of a mixed view on it, I'm not married to either position, I tend to write Adam as just a general dick in all ways possible LOL. The only thing I don't think he is is racist because that's personally funny to me LMAO.

Sidenote, yeah I don't think it was him being sexist that drew Lilith away, like you said I also believe that he was just following what Heaven told him to do

#hazbin hotel #adam #ask

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separatist-apologist · 22 hours ago

Note

This … Ferye and Lucien have one of the most realistic friendship and relationship in this books especially knowing their foundation. People are always like Ferye is a bad friend to Lucien or Lucien is a bad friend to Ferye but how about they both had moments where they were bad and good to each other, and that’s okay, sometimes friendships are like that but at the base of it you can tell there is no toxicity.

She ate with that friendship and I think she wants to pull it with Nesta and Azriel but I don’t know if it hits as good.

Also don’t quote me but worst friendship being the batboys😭😂 wouldn’t touch that with a ten foot pole. Also Tamlin and Lucien are pretty close seconds. I don’t think SJM knows how to write male friendships. Power dynamics are always off.

Anon you said the one thing I am always privately ranting about this to @the-lonelybarricade. Lucien saying, "you were always a better friend to me than blah blah blah" is not the author stating it as fact, it is a man riddled with self-loathing and his own failures saying that because he is DROWNING!!! IN!!!! HIS!!!!! GUILT!!!!!!! OVER!!!! THINGS!!!! OUTSIDE!!!! HIS!!!! CONTROL!!!!! what is not CLICKING???? In Acomaf we are LITERALLY in his head via Feyre and she EXPLICITLY tells us all this and then all character analysis flies out the window when it's time to use critical thinking.

He is blaming himself for what happened in Hybern and his inability to stop it!!! For not recognizing what, in retrospect, feels like an obvious trap!! SJM is very much all tell, no show, so I'm not sure why this is always gets pulled out of context to prove Lucien was the better friend.

You're exactly right- they both have intensely shitty moments to one another, coupled with FIERCE loyalty. "Lucien is also Feyre's abuser" SHUT UP. "Feyre was worse than anything Lucien did for making fun of the Boe" SHUT UP. Shes JEALOUS. He's also being ABUSED. Its all he KNOWS, his whole life is dodging and managing being abused.

When Lucien thinks Feyre is being held captive against her will, he TRACKS HER DOWN to try and save her. He BEGS her to come home. And when Lucien realizes Feyre is about to destroy spring, he could have done ANTYHING to stop her. Literally ANYTHING. Tamlin trusts him implicitly- Lucien could have warned him. He literally watches her orchestrate these moments and says nothing.

When he wants to go through Summer vs Autumn for good ass reason, and she explains its too dangerous for her in Summer, he takes her into Autumn despite the inherent risk to himself. Feyre delays her own leaving Spring, when she knows the faebane is about to render her ability to winnow inert, because she realizes Lucien isn't able to free himself from Ianthe and needs her help.

They are complex, their friendship fraught and complicated but they love each other deeply. He didn't leave Spring and Tamlin just for Elain- he left for Feyre, too. He doesn't have to do anything for Rhys's court in order to be near Elain, he chooses to because he also loves Feyre.

#i could go on and on and on and on AND I WILL #feycien forever #their friendship is my favorite thing in these books

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harrysgal · 16 hours ago

Text

I DIG YOUR CINEMA (10)

harry styles x yn aspiring filmmaker — social media AU

About the smau: yn starts posting videos on youtube and is trying to build a career as a filmmaker. Things are going pretty well for her and she starts getting more attention when she creates content about shows she goes to. She’s also a fan of Harry’s music and some of his fans start getting suspicious when his team starts interacting with her.

Disclaimer: The story it’s set in 2021 and it will follow their relationship through the LOT leg in the US. Since this is nothing but fiction, I will be following some of the real timeline but also adding my own stuff. On top of that, I won’t be basing myself on Harry’s actual posts.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

PART 9 // MASTERLIST

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I DIG YOUR CINEMA (PART 10) — NASHVILLE

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liked by bestfriend, harryfan15, gemmastyles and 706,789 others

harrystyles Love On Tour. Chicago, IL.

View all 75,678 comments harryfan39 EXCUSE ME??? SIR?????? harryfan235 🥵🥵🥵 harryfan991 I WAS WAITING FOR A CHICAGO POST BUT DAMN I WAS NOT WAITING FOR THIS harryfan75 this is hot hot hot hot hot hot hot hot hot harryfan73 did harry basically left the stage in nashville and thought “shit i forgot to post about chicago”? lol

↳ harryfan77 let’s give him a break he was busy in Chicago 🤭 ↳ harryfan73 oh yeah thats right. yn kept him busy.

harryfan29 sooooo…. is there any chance yn took these? lol

↳ harryfan28 is there any chance you people can at least for once acknowledge Anthony’s job? you talk as if he didn’t even exist is so freaking disrespectful to his own talent and experience ↳ harryfan29 …. I wasn’t trying to be disrespectful to Anthony it was just a joke ↳ harryfan28 well then be more careful about the things you joke about

harryfan70 😮‍💨 thank God we have Anthony ! harryfan123 SHOW WAS SO GOOD TONIGHT harryfan99 come back pls Chicago already misses you :( harryfan192 boy you look fine 😮‍💨 harryfan1 where is yn i need to know if she was around when this happened

↳ harryfan35 don’t worry I bet she was ↳ harryfan43 yeah! probably is there after tonight’s show as well 😌 ↳ harryfan1 LMAO guys nooooooo ↳ harryfan1 i asked because i need to know if she got to film this moment so i can ask for the footage!! was thinking about ME not her LMAOOOO ↳ harryfan3 AHHHHH ↳ harryfan3 GOOD THINKING YES ↳ harryfan3 i need a movie of harry taking a bath in my desk by tomorrow pls ↳ harryfan53 ＠yourinstagram please !!!! ↳ harryfan98 FINALLY!!! 😭 people need to understand that i want her to follow him around 24/7 bc i want her to film him 24/7 that’s all!!! idgaf if they’re dating or not!!!!

harryfan96 harry are you ok? blink if you need help ! we are here for you !! we love you !! harryfan345 THANK YOU ANTHONY 🙏 real ones know who the real one is

Sep 29, 2021 •

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liked by harrystyles, bestfriend, annetwist, and 91,819 others

yourinstagram I wasn’t sure whether to bring up my mom’s birthday or not, but I just hung up the phone with her for the fourth time today, and I realized I couldn’t go to bed without shouting to the world how much I love her. The woman who started everything for me. My existence, my passion for filming, and even my career. I wouldn’t be here if she hadn’t carried me for 9 months in her belly, but I also wouldn’t be here if she hadn’t loved & supported me through all these years, if she hadn’t encouraged all my dreams, or if she hadn’t so excitedly agreed to let me film her during such a vulnerable moment and then share it on a YouTube channel for strangers to watch. It is only fitting that her video was the one that changed my life, and maybe that’s why it has been so hard to stay away today. It’s not the first time we spent a celebration apart from each other, but it is definitely the time I miss her the most.

So at the end of the day, this isn’t a post to say happy birthday to my mom, because I’ve said it (and sung it) to her multiple times today. But it is a post to let everyone know that I think my mom is the best mom in the world, that I admire her, and that she inspires me everyday.

And whilst there are a lot of things that I want to keep private about me and my personal life, the love I have for her will never be one of them. ❤️

view all 8,118 comments bestfriend you have me in tears ❤️ bestfriend btw I called her this afternoon and we spent 20 minutes gushing about you

↳ yourinstagram yeah ↳ yourinstagram I’ve heard all about it already ↳ bestfriend really? ALL about it? 👀 ↳ yourinstagram 🙄 ↳ bestfriend hahaha ooooops! ↳ harryfan3 hi! hello! please let me in!! ↳ harryfan9 ohhh now I’m curious!! loll what did you talk about? ↳ harryfan7 for real tho 😩

user25 👏👏 very well written! You’re very lucky to have such a positive connection with your mother, and she’s very lucky to have a daughter that appreciates her. Happy birthday to your mom, and lots of love to you both!

↳ yourinstagram thank you! ❤️ I feel very lucky, indeed!

user1 ahh, i still go back to that video from time to time! love it so much! it isn’t the one that started everything for me, but im proud to say i was already here to see how it changed your life. crazy to think how different things are now! but im happy to see that you have such a beautiful support system to get you through all this madness! im sure your mom is amazing, because she raised an amazing daughter! <3

↳ yourinstagram thank you for being here all along ❤️ it really means a lot!

harryfan5 these pictures!! AGHHH! SO PRETTY! and so aesthetically pleasing!!

↳ yourinstagram right? always thought she had the coolest pictures, and im pretty sure thats what pushed me into this path haha thanks, Emma! ❤️ ↳ harryfan9 !!!!!!! girlllllll ↳ ynharryenthusiast not the “Emma” at the end 😭 ↳ harryfan5 😭😭😭 ILYSM

harryfan60 am I the only who saw Harry calling yn out during the show tonight? the man had to ask a million times for her to film the gender reveal LMAO harryfan60 imagine your boss not trusting you do to your job I’D FOLD user5 What a beautiful, emotional post! harryfan22 now that you proved you know how to properly spell words why don’t you stop writing so many stupid captions? annetwist Happy birthday to your mum! ❤️ harryfan11 yn interacting with us????? did we go back in time??

↳ user2 lol tell me about it! I miss the old times every time she posts now ↳ user13 yeah :( then the trolls arrived and once again ruined all the fun ↳ harryfan17 istg these people can’t even respect her mother’s birthday… ↳ harryfan19 it blows my mind bc yn didn’t give them ONE SINGLE REASON for them to act like this!! AT ALL!!!

harryfan45 ＠HARRYSTYLES YOU KNOW WE CAN SEE YOU, RIGHT? 🤨

↳ harryfan45 why don’t you just follow her? lol ＠harrystyles ↳ harryfan44 because he doesn’t want to ↳ harryfan45 boohooo!! and yet here he is liking her post anyway, isn’t heeee ↳ harryfan44 how do you know it’s him? it could be anyone behind his account ↳ harryfan45 sure thing hunnnn 😚

lookitsnyoh 🦥❤️

↳ paulithepsm 🦥❤️ ↳ pillowpersonpp 🦥❤️ ↳ mitchrowland 🦥❤️ ↳ _basselin 🦥❤️ ↳ glenne_azoff 🦥❤️ ↳ jefezoff 🦥❤️ ↳ mollyjane_x 🦥❤️ ↳ harryfan3 i loveeeee when they do this!!! ↳ harryfan15 i want to be part of this toooooooo 🦥❤️ ↳ harryfan9 all here but harry guys? did you forget to let him in? LOLLL

harryfan44 How does your mom feel about your latest post? Bet she wouldn’t be proud of you as her daughter if she saw it ! Bet she’s embarrassed of you !

↳ harryfan5 omg wtf???? this is so disrespectful??? ↳ harryfan44 Yn was the disrespectful one when she mentioned the o word! ↳ user14 the “o word”? lmao how old are you? ↳ harryfan27 wait whats the o word? ↳ harryfan25 orgasm? i think? ↳ harryfan27 HAHAHAHA ↳ user16 i have a theory that if you’re not comfortable enough to say the word orgasm then you’re not old enough to be online interacting with +25yo ↳ harryfan27 orgasm ↳ harryfan27 orgasm orgasm orgasm orgasm orgasm orgasm orgasm orgasm orgasm ↳ harryfan29 orgasm!!! ↳ harryfan31 🤣 ↳ harryfan27 orgasm ↳ harryfan27 orgasm orgasm ↳ harryfan11 ORGASM!!! ↳ bestfriend orgasm ↳ bestfriend also, please fuck the fuck off ↳ bestfriend 🖕

Sep 29, 2021 •

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liked by someone and 203,154 others

popgossip HELLO LITTLE ONES! DID YOU MISS ME? POPGOSSIP AT YOUR SERVICE AGAIN!

Hours ago I was gifted by a follower with a one-time only opportunity to get back into business, so I immediately reached out to my favorite human (that shall forever remain anonymous to you) and gathered some fresh and exclusive info for you.

And as you’ll see, I am not only coming back after the longest state of hibernation, but I am also coming back with the yummiest popstar of them all: HARRY STYLES! 😍🤤

YES, YES, YES! THAT’S RIGHT! For once I got to play detective in a story involving him, the one and only, Harry Styles!

I barely got a taste of it, but things got so interesting and fun already that I’m determined to dive into these mysteries with all I have!

For now, these are the screenshots that I gathered, but the digging isn’t over yet so follow me if you want to get updated on every detail about Harry Styles’ life 📨

FINALLY, the info I have for you is 100% exclusive and fresh, so buckle up guys!

Sincerely,

🕵‍♂️🔎🕵‍♀️.

view all 20,909 comments someone1 OH MY GOD I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU’RE BACK someone2 shit I forgot how much intell you used to share with us harryfan49 STOP THIS IS ABOUT HARRY AND YN!!!!!!! harryfan77 is this from tonight? 😲 are we supposed to believe in it?

↳ harryfan3 I wouldn’t pay too much attention to it ↳ harryfan11 even if they’re saying yn was crying??? ↳ harryfan3 yes, because actually it’s not up to us to know if/when she cries or not.

ynharryenthusiast this is actually so disrespectful to harry and yn. please leave them alone. harryfan44 are you telling me this isn’t exactly what yn wanted? harryfan44 if she didn’t want anyone to know about her crying, then she shouldn’t have cried in public space !! harryfan77 at least they left yn’s picture out of the screenshot

↳ user7 after exposing her like this it’s the least they can do

harryfan196 ＠popgossip remember when you used to do that thing of reading people’s theories and fact checking them?!! 😉😏

↳ harryfan196 so my theory is that yn saw the comments on her last post and got upset so she went outside and called her friend or maybe her mom then someone from the band told harry about it and that’s why he chased her and why he wanted to talk about it and she didn’t !!!!!!!! why she didn’t want him to see her crying !!!!!!! ↳ popgossip On it, babe! 🔎

Sep 29, 2021 •

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liked by harryfan13, harryfan99, harryfan71, and 3,321 others

harryupdates More lucky fans just met Harry in Nashville! He also took some time to facetime their cousin (who’s also a fan!).

view all 507 comments harryfan88 WTF GUYS?? 😭 am I the only one who isn’t in nashville meeting harry right now?? harryfan17 harry spending the day with tyler and meeting fans is so soft harryfan17 dont ask me why i cant explain it but i think it is okay. it really is harryfan20 was anyone brave enough to ask if Yn was actually crying and sobbing like a baby last night? lollll harryfan5 THAT’S LUCYYYYY GUYSSS harryfan5 LUCY IS THE SWEETEST OMG harryfan5 SHE DESERVES IT SOOOOO MUCH! :’) harryfan25 the way harry always makes people feel special and heard and seen <3 harryfan24 👏👏 harryfan24 i stand by what i said: the day is better when yn isn’t around!!

↳ harryfan32 i noticed that, too! ↳ harryfan24 yeah!! look how many fans got to meet him bc she wasn’t there ↳ harryfan9 whyyyyyy are you guys so obsessed with her omg!! ↳ harryfan24 i’m not obsessed i’m just happy harry got rid of her 😚 ↳ harryfan7 lol sure hun! let’s see what happens tomorrow for show 2 in nashville, then ↳ harryfan24 at least you admit he only cares about her during shows LOL

harryfan31 i cant love this man any more than i already do 😭 my heart srsly cant take it harryfan139 he doesn’t look ok :(

↳ harryfan6 🙄 you can’t even see his face ↳ harryfan139 i know… but something in his eyes doesn’t seem right :( ↳ harryfan48 he’s worried because his fake gilfriend’s friend was rude to his fans. he doesn’t want to be with her anymore but it’s being forced to anyway! ↳ harryfan5 holy molly now THAT’S a way to tell the story lmaooooo

harryfan42 CAN WE PLEASE STOP IGNORING THE ELEPHANT IN THE ROOM? harryfan42 YN WAS SEEN CRYING LAST NIGHT AND HARRY CLEARLY HAD SOMETHING TO DO WITH IT AND NOW SHE WASN’T SEEN WITH HIM ALL DAY EVEN THOUGH SHE NORMALLY IS FOLLOWING HIM EVERYWHERE 24/7

Sep 30, 2021 •

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liked by bestfriend, user1, harryfan5, and 191 others

ynupdates 👀🔥

Anthony Pham (Harry Styles Tour photographer) just posted on instagram and tagged ＠yourinstagram.

She then reposted the story and added a caption to the picture: “hey mom, i hope this will make you proud”.

I think it’s pretty safe to assume they’re hanging out together, and that Yn’s words are a dig to some of the comments she got on her last post.

Now the question that remains is: is that Yn’s ass? 😅

view all 31 comments user5 you have absolutely no idea how much I love this user5 like I swear I respect her silence and privacy to death, but ngl it’s been so hard to watch lol harryfan5 DAAAAAMMMNNNN YN harryfan11 respectfully, 💋💋💋 harryfan23 hey cowboy ＠harrystyles bestfriend i can 100% confirm, that’s her ass! bestfriend i can also 100% confirm that’s her mom’s new background now

↳ ynharryenthusiast THANK YOU ↳ harryfan23 you’re the real queen babe ↳ harryfan17 please never leave us

Sep 30, 2021 •

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liked by user5, harryfan7, user13 and 97 others

ynupdates Good morning guys! Anthony and Yn are at it again lol

Tonight Harry Styles performs in Nashville one more time, meaning Yn will be there filming and doing her job!

We’re loving to see she’s speaking up but also handling things with humor, and we hope she knows there are a lot of people supporting her, too ❤️

view all 11 comments user9 not them making fun of people who say she doesn’t know how to do her job LMAO harryfan3 she really said i’m done holding back didn’t she :’) harryfan7 I LOVE THIS SIDE OF HER user11 everyone around him loves her and people just cant handle that!!

Sep 30, 2021 •

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