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passengerprincessblog · 1 day ago

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“Trophy Room” Lando Norris x Reader

Warning: smut, NSFW, alcohol, drunk sex, unprotected sex.

Summary: Lando Norris throws a party in hopes of getting closer to Y/N, a girl he’s been crushing on, introduced by mutual friends. Amid drinks, dancing, and flirtation, their chemistry culminates into a moment away from the crowd, hinting at something deeper between them.

WC: 2,000?

Lando’s POV

The two weeks off couldn’t have come at a better time. After months of relentless training, race prep, and following a strict diet, I was ready to relax a bit. It’d been ages since I let loose, and tonight was all about unwinding. But honestly, the real reason I was throwing this party had less to do with relaxation and more to do with her. Y/N.

I don’t know what it was about her—something about the way she laughed or how she didn’t seem fazed by the chaos around her. She’d come into my life through Max and Pietra, his girlfriend, and since then, I’d found myself scrolling through her Instagram, even browsing her Spotify playlists just to feel like I knew her a little better. I was surprised to find out she didn’t have a boyfriend. Not that I was checking specifically… but, okay, maybe I was.

The music was already pumping as people filled my penthouse. My mate Martin was on the DJ deck, setting the perfect vibe, and the drinks were flowing freely. The weight of the day’s workout still lingered in my muscles, but the buzz from a couple of shots was loosening me up. I was taking a shot with Max when I saw her walk in, and—well, let’s just say I almost choked on my drink.

I couldn’t stop myself from calling out to her. “Y/N! Shot?” I grinned, holding up the vodka bottle.

Y/N’s POV

Walking into Lando’s penthouse, I immediately felt a bit overwhelmed. The place was packed, and the music was loud enough to make the floor vibrate. I scanned the room for Pietra; she was the one who convinced me to come in the first place, promising me a fun night and a chance to unwind.

Before I could find her, though, I heard my name being called. I looked over and saw Lando, smirking, with a bottle of vodka in hand, waving me over. He had this look in his eye that told me he was already a little tipsy. The group around him started chanting my name, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Okay, okay… fine!” I made my way over, and Lando immediately started pouring me a shot, spilling a bit as he did. He was definitely drunk, and he was being flirty in a way that caught me off guard.

“Don’t look so scared, it’s just vodka,” he teased with a grin. “Come on, cutie… I’ll pour you an extra large one.”

I laughed, trying to hide the fact that his confidence was making me blush. “I think I can handle it, thanks.” I downed the shot, my face scrunching up as the vodka burned its way down.

He burst out laughing. “Oh, come on, was it that bad?” He watched me, his gaze lingering a little too long, and I felt his eyes sweep over me. It was like he was taking in every detail, from my dress to the way I was reacting to him.

“You never followed me back, by the way,” he said, pouting in a way that was both ridiculous and kind of cute.

I rolled my eyes but smiled. “Didn’t know you were checking, Mr. Norris.”

“Oh, I’ve been checking,” he replied, leaning closer. “Just waiting on you to notice.” His words were playful, but his eyes had a glint that made my stomach flutter.

He poured me another shot before I had a chance to protest, grinning as he held it out. “One more. Think you can keep up?”

I raised an eyebrow, taking the glass. “Are you challenging me?”

“Maybe,” he smirked. “Let’s see if you can handle it.”

I took the shot, feeling the warmth of the alcohol spread through me. The music seemed louder, the lights dimmer, and everything around me just felt more alive. I was definitely feeling the buzz now.

As more people arrived, the party got even more crowded, and every time Lando moved away, I’d find him gravitating back toward me, like he wasn’t content unless he was close. Eventually, he reached for my hand and pulled me toward the makeshift dance floor.

“Come on!” he yelled over the music, his grin infectious.

I laughed, letting him lead me, and he immediately started dancing, his movements exaggerated as he tried to make me laugh. His energy was electric, and soon I couldn’t help but match his enthusiasm. At one point, a few people bumped into me, and he quickly grabbed my hips, pulling me closer. I could feel his breath on my ear as he leaned in.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he murmured, smirking as he looked down at me.

My face heated up at his words, but he was already pulling back, that same cocky smile on his face. “What?” I challenged, trying to keep my cool.

He shrugged, giving me a look that was equal parts daring and mischievous. “Just stating facts.”

Before I could respond, he tilted his head, giving me a mischievous grin. “Wanna see something cool?”

“What do you have in mind?”

He leaned in, lowering his voice. “I wanna show you my trophies.” He held my gaze, and even in his drunken state, I could feel the sincerity in his eyes.

I felt my stomach twist in excitement and nerves, but before I could second-guess, he grabbed my hand, leading me down a hallway. His fingers laced through mine, and I could feel the warmth of his hand, grounding me in the moment.

He opened a door to a room that had a display case filled with trophies, awards, and helmets. The room felt quieter, the music from the party faint in the background, and for a moment, it was like we’d stepped into a different world. He watched as I took it all in, a proud but slightly shy expression on his face.

“You’re really good at what you do,” I said softly, looking back at him.

He shrugged, his usual confidence wavering slightly. “It’s just racing… I dunno, sometimes it feels like people only see this side of me, y’know?”

I nodded, understanding more than I expected. “Well, it’s impressive. But I think I’m seeing another side of you tonight too.”

He chuckled, scratching the back of his head. “You mean the drunk idiot?”

“No,” I laughed. “The Lando who cares, who’s goofy and… real.”

His gaze softened, and he stepped closer. “I’m really glad you came tonight, Y/N.”

My heart pounded as he looked at me, the playful glint in his eyes replaced by something warmer, something… real. He reached up, brushing a strand of hair away from my face, his hand lingering for a moment.

Without thinking, I found myself leaning in, and he met me halfway, his lips soft and warm against mine. It was a gentle kiss, both of us testing the waters, but as his arms wrapped around me, pulling me closer, the kiss deepened, filled with the energy and intensity that had been simmering between us all night.

He pulled me closer, his drunken confidence fueling his actions. With a sudden force, he pushed me back against one of the trophy cases, his lips hungrily claiming mine. I was taken aback, not expecting this level of intensity from Lando. His teeth nipped at my bottom lip, sending a shiver down my spine as he sucked on it fervently.

His hands roamed down my body, finally settling on my ass. He gripped it tightly, pulling me flush against him. I could feel his hardness pressing against my core, evidence of his desire for me. My mind was reeling, trying to process the abrupt change in our dynamic. I hadn't realized Lando wanted me this badly, but I found myself responding to his touch, my body melting into his.

As he continued to kiss me passionately, I felt a sense of excitement and nervousness coursing through me. This wasn't what I had anticipated for tonight, but the thrill of the unexpected was intoxicating. His hands slid under my dress, caressing my thighs, inching closer to my most intimate area. I let out a soft moan, the sound muffled by his lips against mine.

Lando abruptly pulled away from our heated embrace, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. He grabbed my hand and dragged me out of the trophy room, his steps hurried and determined. We stumbled down the hallway, our laughter echoing off the walls as we made our way towards his bedroom.

As soon as we crossed the threshold, he pushed me onto the bed, his body following suit. He hovered over me, his eyes dark with desire and his breath heavy with the scent of alcohol. "You're so fucking beautiful," he slurred, his words slightly jumbled. "I want to devour you, my little puppy."

I couldn't help but giggle at his drunken attempt at dirty talk. "You're drunk," I teased, playfully swatting at his chest.

He chuckled, his hand grasping mine and pinning it above my head. "Maybe I am, but I know what I want, and I want you. All of you." His other hand trailed down my body, slipping beneath my dress and caressing my skin.

I squirmed beneath his touch, a mix of anticipation and arousal coursing through my veins. "Then take me," I whispered, my voice laced with desire. "Show me what you've got, Lando."

With a growl, he captured my lips in a searing kiss, his tongue delving into my mouth with a fervor that left me breathless. His hand continued its exploration, sliding up my thigh and teasing the edge of my panties. I gasped into the kiss, my hips instinctively bucking against his touch.

Lost in the heat of the moment, I surrendered myself to Lando's drunken passion, eager to see where the night would take us.

Lando's lips trailed hot kisses down my neck as his hands continued to explore my body. He nipped and sucked at my sensitive skin, leaving a trail of marks that I knew would be visible in the morning. His drunken dirty talk continued, each word sending a shiver down my spine.

"Fuck, you taste so good," he mumbled against my skin, his hands fumbling with the hem of my dress. "I want to taste every inch of you, my little puppy."

I could feel his eagerness, but I noticed him struggling with my dress. A mischievous idea formed in my mind, and I gently pushed him back onto the bed. He looked up at me with a confused yet amused expression.

"Let me help you with that," I purred, my fingers deftly unbuckling his belt and unzipping his jeans. His smirk grew wider as he watched me take control.

"Little puppy's not so shy now, huh?" he teased drunkenly, his voice low and husky.

I hooked my fingers into his waistband and slowly pulled his jeans down, revealing his hardness straining against his boxers. "Not when I've got you right where I want you," I replied with a wink.

I leaned down, my hair falling around us like a curtain as I pressed soft kisses along his inner thigh. His hands tangled in my hair, tugging gently as I worked my way closer to his aching member.

"Fuck, Y/N, you're driving me crazy," he groaned, his hips bucking slightly.

I looked up at him through my lashes, my tongue darting out to wet my lips. "That's the idea," I whispered before taking him into my mouth, my lips wrapping around his shaft as I began to work him with my tongue.

I continued to suck on Lando's hardness, my tongue swirling around his shaft as I took him deeper into my mouth. His moans filled the room, his fingers tangled in my hair, guiding me as I pleasured him. I was surprised by my own boldness, but there was something about Lando that made me feel comfortable and confident.

As I bobbed my head up and down, I felt a surge of pride when I tasted his precum. It was a sign of his pleasure, and I reveled in the knowledge that I was the cause of it. However, before I could continue, he gently pulled me off and flipped me onto my back, his body hovering over mine.

He moved to check his drawer for a condom, but after a few moments of rummaging, he cursed under his breath. "Can I... please fuck you? With nothing..." he asked drunkenly, his voice laden with desire.

My face heated up at his request, and I felt a mix of uncertainty and need coursing through me. I knew the risks, but in that moment, all I could think about was how badly I wanted him. His lips trailed kisses along my neck, his hands caressing my skin as he waited for my response.

"Lando," I breathed, my voice barely above a whisper. "Are you sure? We shouldn't..."

But even as the words left my lips, I knew I was already lost in the heat of the moment. His touch ignited a fire within me, and I found myself craving more. I hesitated for a moment longer before finally giving in to my desires.

"Okay," I whispered, my heart pounding in my chest.

A triumphant grin spread across his face as he positioned himself at my entrance. "You won't regret this, pretty girl," he promised, his voice thick with lust.

And with that, he thrust into me, filling me completely. I gasped at the sensation, my nails digging into his back as he began to move inside me. The feeling was intense, overwhelming, and I knew there was no turning back now.

Lando continued to thrust into me, his movements fueled by a mix of lust and alcohol. His hands roamed my body, caressing every curve and dip as he lost himself in the pleasure of our intimate connection. I moaned softly, my hands gripping the sheets beneath us as I surrendered to the sensations coursing through me.

Suddenly, his hand slipped between our bodies, his fingers finding my sensitive clit. He rubbed it gently, his touch sending waves of pleasure through my core. I gasped, my hips bucking against his hand as he skillfully brought me closer to the edge.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he slurred, his drunken dirty talk mingling with the sounds of our lovemaking. "I love how you feel around my cock, baby. You're taking it so well."

His words only heightened my arousal, and I found myself clinging to him, urging him on. I could feel my orgasm building, the pressure inside me growing with each passing second. With a final stroke of his fingers and a particularly deep thrust, I came undone, my body shaking with the intensity of my release.

Lando followed soon after, his hips stuttering as he spilled his seed deep inside me. He collapsed on top of me, his breath hot against my neck as he tried to catch his breath. For a moment, we lay there, our bodies intertwined and our hearts racing.

Slowly, he rolled off of me and pulled me close, his arms wrapping around me in a tender embrace. He kissed my cheek softly, his touch gentle despite his inebriated state. "Was that okay, baby?" he asked, his voice uncharacteristically sweet. "Do you need anything? Water, a towel, my bathroom is all yours."

I smiled, touched by his consideration. "I'm good," I assured him, snuggling closer.

As we caught our breath, Lando helped me pull my dress back down, his hands gentle and slightly unsteady due to his inebriated state. He reached up to fix my hair, his fingers combing through the tangled locks with a tenderness that belied his earlier drunken fervor. A smirk played on his lips as he admired his handiwork, clearly pleased with himself for finally getting the girl he had been crushing on.

"Maybe you'll follow me back now, huh?" he joked, referring to the fact that I hadn't followed him on Instagram. "I mean, after that performance, you owe me at least a like or two."

I laughed, shaking my head at his audacity. "We'll see," I teased, not wanting to make any promises just yet.

Lando took my hand and led me back to the party, his arm draped casually around my shoulders.

——————————————

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dwaekkicidal · 2 days ago

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𝖪𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝖻𝖾𝗋: 'Sweetheart' ༄࿔ B.C. & Y.J.

⤷ Spit Roasting | Brat Taming | Manhandling

♱ word count: ~4k (i dont wanna talk about it.)

♱ warnings: *inhales* fem!reader, threesome, frat leader! Chan and frat boy! Jeongin, reader is a teeny bit of a brat, brat taming, some fingering, unprotected p in v, rough sex, light system mentioned but not used, spit roasting/eiffel towering, manhandling, mention of deepthroating, 2 "good girl"s, choking, impact play (1 face slap and like 1 spank), big cock channie AND soft-hard dom channie? (hard to explain but act surprised.), squirting, mention of sharing with other members of the frat (its only the rest of skz in the frat but specifically mean dom minho is named), jeongin films you with his phone and says hes gonna send it to the frat groupchat lol… i think thats it? Idk this was a fever dream

♱ notes: pov: sian getting carried away when she enjoys writing something. also the urge to make this a series is so strong...

mostly proofread, but may be some mistakes/inconsistencies

Kinktober Schedule

DO NOT republish or translate+post my work!

“Y/N… Can you uh…” Jeongin clears his throat and rubs his face with both hands as if trying to keep his composure. “Can I have a cup of water?” You smile and nod, standing on your feet and walking out of your room to get him some water. Once you closed the door behind you, after telling them you’d bring some snacks too, Jeongin looked over to his friend desperately.

“Hyung. I am… not your strongest soldier.” The comment in itself was enough to make Chan burst out laughing, but he tried not to grab too much attention so he chose to snicker into his arm instead.

“Breathe man.” Chan laughed and leaned back on his arms, stretching and taking some breaths himself. “I’m not fairing that well either haha… I don’t think she even realizes what she’s doing.”

The most popular frat’s leader, Chan, and his youngest junior, Jeongin, are in your bedroom. And you, unfortunately, had agreed to tutor them after one long day in the library. They had the other 6 members with them and you were particularly stressed from preparing for a final later that day, so you arguably weren’t very clear-minded when you agreed to it.

Nonetheless, you kept your word and, after exchanging numbers with Chan, you sent them your address as well as a list of what days and times were best. It surprisingly wasn’t hard to find a time that worked for all three of you, and the study date was quickly decided. When the day came and you got a knock on your door and you opened it still in your pajamas, both sides were shocked at what they saw.

They had never seen any skin other than your arms, and sometimes your legs on the rare occasion that you wore a skirt. So when they were met with you in a crop top tank top and short shorts, they felt something awaken in them. Jeongin even more so, considering he had a secret little crush on you that only his frat knew about.

And you were surprised because you had completely forgotten that you agreed to tutor them. But considering they had already seen your outfit, you hadn’t bothered to change out of it. Which ultimately led to your current situation: your notebooks and their textbooks spread across your floor alongside them, with their painful bulges hidden underneath their hoodies.

You return only 15 minutes later with 4 bottles of water and a big plate of bagel bites. Both men drop everything instantly and lunge for the plate, taking it from you to “help” you carry everything, but in reality just so they can demolish the food. You smile and shake your head endearingly, a little too entertained by the childish action.

Through their fiending, Chan still offers you the plate many times and makes sure they leave enough for you to eat as well. Then, once both are satisfied and calmed down a little bit, they allow you to continue the lesson. Everything goes well for another 30 minutes until a slip-up happens with your wardrobe.

Chan notices first, and he feels his fingers twitching when you lean forward to point out something to Jeongin. You slightly lean over him in the process and the hand to hold yourself up rests right beside his thigh. The size difference between his thigh and your hand is enough to make his mind wander, but then he watches very closely as the strap of your tank top slowly falls down your shoulder from the new position.

Jeongin himself feels his own composure completely break at his sight. You leaning close to his face was enough to get him flustered, but the sight of your tank top strap slowly falling makes his cock twitch. Then, as if to add insult to injury, you shift just the slightest amount and your tank top loosens around your torso until it now hovers below your chest, giving him a good view of your tits, and a very slight view of your nipple.

Jeongin’s breath catches in his throat and he snaps his head to his eldest brother. “Hyung..” You hear it and look up at them curiously. The redness in their faces gives away that something happened, but it doesn’t hit you until Chan calls your name breathlessly and tugs at your fallen strap. Both men look at you with dark eyes and you feel your heart skip a beat when you realize that you just flashed 2 members of the most popular frat in the fucking state.

“Uh… Sorry… I didn’t realize-” You quickly fix your posture and your strap, wrapping your arms around your chest and trying to hide it from them. Chan chuckles and looks you up and down, making your face flush even harder.

“It’s ok, baby. But I think we’ve done enough studying today. I think you should help us with something else now.” He leans forward and grabs your arms, tearing them away from your chest and helping you to your feet. He leads you to the bed, leaving Jeongin in awe on the floor left to do nothing but watch the situation unfold.

“You’re so pretty, Y/N-nie…” He starts once he softly pushes you to sit down. He brings one of his veiny hands to your cheek, rubbing his thumb against it soothingly as he talks, “You’ve helped us so much already, but there’s one more thing we both need from you if that’s ok?” His gaze is strong but comforting as he checks for consent, and you find yourself nodding quietly despite the butterflies in your stomach.

Jeongin rises to his feet eagerly, taking a seat next to you and immediately leaning into you, resting his hand on your lower back. He leans into your neck and breathes in the scent of your body wash, sighing into your ear at the way it makes his cock twitch. Chan laughs and uses the hand on your cheek to lean your head to the side for the younger man.

“Help us and we’ll help you, okay baby?” You nod and look up at him under your lashes, moaning quietly from the lips that latch themselves on your neck. “You gotta tell us what you like and don’t like though, yeah?”

“Mkay…” Your eyes flutter shut and you have to bite your lip to stop yourself from moaning when Jeongin bites down on your neck, his other hand now resting on your inner thigh and squeezing it.

“Can we be rough with you?” You nod. “Haha… Yeah? Can we smack you around a little too?” Your eyes snap open and you nod eagerly when your eyes meet. He smirks and bites his lip, the hand on your cheek sneaking its thumb into your mouth. He opens his mouth to tell you to suck but moans quietly when you do it on your own.

“Good girl…” His eyes flicker down to Jeongin, and the smile on his face widens when he asks the next question. “Wanna get Eiffel Towered? Jeonginnie here is a bit eager with it, he might fuck you silly, but I’m a little too big for you to take this soon. Don’t wanna hurt you just yet.” He winks at the last sentence and pushes his thumb against your tongue.

When you nod, his body visibly bristles and he removes his finger in favor of tugging at the hem of your shorts, silently asking if he can take them off. You don’t bother replying and just lift your hips, just enough for him to pull them off along with your panties. You gasp when Jeongin’s hand immediately returns to your thigh, this time kneading the fat just an inch or two from where you need them the most.

Chan takes a seat opposite of Jeongin, on the other side of you, and rests his hand on the inner thigh of your other leg. He pulls it apart from the one Jeongin was squeezing and the younger man, despite being distracted with your neck, catches on and spreads you open.

You’re exposed to them both and, for the first time since he sat down, Jeongin releases your neck to take in the sight of your pussy. He sighs to himself and rests his forehead against your temple as he finally trails his fingers higher, ghosting them through your wet folds.

Your legs kick and Chan tightens his grip on your leg when Jeongin immediately sinks two long fingers into your hole, curling them off the bat and overwhelming you in all the right ways. Chan’s hand hooks your leg over his lap and moves to roughly play with your clit as Jeongin starts fingering you. He even leans down, craning his neck to land kisses all over your chest.

He lets up on your clit for just a second so he can tug your tank top under both of your tits, giving him better access. Then, he goes back to rubbing rough circles as his mouth ventures lower to your nipple. Your jaw drops and you lean back on your hands as you let them play with you freely, thoroughly enjoying all the attention.

Your moans are quiet and shaky, egging them on further as they work your body towards an orgasm. Chan is busy harshly sucking your left nipple as Jeongin speaks up for the first time in a while, his breath fanning your neck and making you shiver.

“You look so hot… Does this feel good, honey?” He curls his fingers up, digging his fingertips on the very edge of your g-spot.

“Jeongin… up more please-“ You whine and look at him desperately. He listens and shoves his fingers deeper, now angling them perfectly into your g-spot. You respond by furrowing your eyebrows and throwing your head back with a loud moan.

“Haha. There?”

“Uh-huh…” Chan laughs at your response and removes his fingers from your clit, nudging Jeongin away at the same time. You whine at the loss and fix your neck to look between them. “W-Why?”

Chan doesn’t answer and pulls you to your feet, yanking your tank top over your head. He places a kiss on each of your tits before kissing his way up to your neck, then stopping at your lips where he pushes his onto yours. You start to wrap your hands around his neck only to be spun around and held in place by Jeongin.

Jeongin pulls you into him and bites down on the opposite side of your neck that he had marked earlier as you faintly hear Chan undressing behind you. It’s only then that you notice the hardness pushing against your thigh and the bareness of the man in front of you. You wrap your hand around his dick and stroke him eagerly while he sucks more hickies into your skin.

Once Chan undresses fully, he crawls up your bed and rests on his knees near your pillows. Jeongin glances over at the older man and reluctantly pulls away, turning you back around and shoving you onto your hands and knees on your bed.

You grunt at the roughness but are given no time to react further as Chan drags you up the bed. You come face to face with his cock; hard, veiny, and an angry red. Your jaw drops and you look up at him to see a smirk plastered on his face. Yeah… you need him in you.

“Told you I was big, baby girl.” You whine and wrap your hand around him, placing a kiss on his tip as you revel in the sheer weight of him. “‘M not trying to break you today. Maybe next time, yeah?” You nod and his thumb pulls at your bottom lip. He doesn’t need to say anything else because you obey his command before it even leaves his lips.

Your lips wrap around him as the bed dips behind you, but you’re too enamored by his cock to pay the other man any mind. Chan moans loudly and tangles his fingers in your hair as Jeongin, now kneeling behind you, slides his tip through your folds a few times. “Ready?” He huffs out impatiently, but not wanting to force anything. He gets what he wants as soon as the question leaves his mouth because you push your hips back and grind against him.

The action causes his tip to slip into you for a split second and it’s all it takes for him to lose his composure. He curses and digs his fingers into your hips, holding you in place as he shoves his entire length into you at once. You moan around Chan, making him also moan out at the vibrations of your throat. The hand in your hair tightens as Jeongin finds a frantic pace that also fucks you onto Chan’s cock simultaneously.

It's almost brutal the way Jeongin’s hips slam against yours. Even his balls find a way to smack against your folds and it brings your orgasm even closer than before. Your body is still wound up from them playing with your pussy, and you can’t control the constant clenching it provides to the younger of the two. He moans loudly and his hips stutter at a particularly tight hold from you.

“Shit. You’re clenching me like crazy, honey. Gonna cum already?” Your hand tightens around Chan’s base and you moan around him, nodding as best as you can with him half down your throat.

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

Your eyes snap up to meet Chan’s and he stares back sternly, eyes narrowing. A whine leaves your throat subconsciously and he immediately shakes his head, standing his ground. The hand in your hair loosens slightly as you pull off of him, and you have to plead through your moans to get your point across.

“Please! I can’t hold it…” His hand leaves your hair completely and grabs onto your chin instead, roughly pulling you up to sit upright.

“I said no, so you’re not allowed to cum yet.”

He squeezes your cheeks and holds you in place as Jeongin’s thrusts speed up. He’s desperate to chase his own orgasm, and he doesn’t spare a thought to your struggle. He’s fucking into you so fast that your eyes flutter open and closed almost constantly. Chan’s eyes stay on your face the whole time, and the second he sees you go slack-jawed, he growls.

“Don’t make me repeat myself.” The eager cock constantly pummeling your insides was too much, especially at this new angle, but the sheer anger in his voice made some sick part of you happy, inadvertently cursing you to cum. Quiet grunts follow loud moans as you cum, and Jeongin fucks you through it, using your tightness to milk himself dry.

Chan allowed Jeongin to use you to ride out his orgasm up until the second he pulled out. Then he snatched you from under him and flipped you onto your back under himself. Jeongin laughed somewhere behind you at the aggressiveness and you swore you could hear your heart beating out your ass.

“Something tells me you know about the light system.”

Chan’s face was painted with anger, and you could feel that anger seep into the way he slapped his cock onto your used folds. You stayed quiet, a part of you wondering how far you could push him, and you got the reaction you wanted when his hand came down on your thigh when you still didn’t answer. You gasp and clench around nothing. Then, he waits only a few more seconds until you nod your head repeatedly, giving him the answer he wanted. You try to rise slightly to rest on your elbows, but Chan shoves you backward with a tsk.

“Good. Use it, yeah?”

He sinks himself into you before he can finish his own sentence, and you both hiss at the intrusion. He’s definitely bigger than Jeongin, maybe just as long, but the girth of him is enough to have your head spinning already. Your nails dig into the sheets as he shoves inch by inch into you, not slow enough to let you stretch properly, but slow enough to make you grow impatient. He’s not even bottomed out all the way before he’s stopping. Part of you is thankful because you can already feel him in your stomach, but the other side of you wants it all.

“Baby. Give it a second.” You whine and thrash your head around, doing everything in your power to push yourself back onto him. Chan sighs annoyedly and digs his fingertips into your hips to hold you still. Before he has to move another muscle the bed dips and a set of long fingers tightly squeeze your throat.

“Play nice for Channie, Y/N. It’s one thing to piss him off, but it’s another to piss us both off.” Jeongin leans down to whisper in your ear, but Chan still catches onto it. He also catches onto the way your walls flutter around his cock at the implication, and he realizes what the two of them have gotten into.

“Who would’ve thought the school’s resident good girl is a fucking brat.” He chuckles and talks under his breath. Jeongin snickers to himself and backs his face away to watch Chan plant his hands on either side of your waist in order to lean forward.

“Aren’t I right? Your little pussy really liked the thought of pissing us both off.”

Your lips turn into a fine line and you look at him incredulously, lips slightly downturned. Then, as if to dig your own grave, your gaze drops from him and you stare off to the right. He follows your gaze curiously and he can feel the vein in his forehead pop out when you find more interest in your ceiling fan. His tongue pokes into his cheek and he digs his hands farther into your mattress.

“Yeah, nah. That’s fine.” His hips reel back and slam forward again, this time forcing the rest of his length into you. Your demeanor falters and you catch your bottom lip between your teeth to try and keep quiet. You’re bad at hiding it though, and the way your eyebrows furrow deeper and deeper with each thrust gives you away. Both men laugh at the sight of you struggling to stay defiant, and Jeongin finally loosens his hold on your neck in favor of sneaking that hand down to pinch your nipple.

Chan’s hips are bruising, more so than Jeongin’s, as he doesn’t hesitate to hold back. Now that he has a better idea of what you like, he’s not afraid to give you everything. His movements prove that further as he pulls out almost all the way just to sink in fully, and repeating the action constantly all while going fast enough to render you brainless.

When that stubbornness finally gives out and your gaze falls between your legs, your whole body shakes at the sight of his thick cock entering your body. Your eyes slowly trail up, taking in the sweat dripping from his stomach and then the redness that has taken over his chest and his neck. Your eyes finally reach his and he smiles at you sinisterly. “You done?” He tilts his head playfully and rolls his hips deeply, making your eyes squeeze closed for a moment.

“Ff… Fuck you.”

His hips come to a stop and you swear you can see his lips twitch.

“Yeah…?” It comes out quiet and alongside a breathy, in disbelief, laugh. Your lips part to say another snarky comment and his hand comes down on your cheek, rendering you speechless. Your body tenses up and you clench tightly around him. He definitely didn’t miss the way you moaned at it either.

“C’mon, pretty. Be good for me.” His hand wraps around your throat and squeezes it tightly, cutting off some of your airflow. It makes your head spin, especially when his hips start moving again. He’s trying to convince you to play nice before he forces you to. But he realizes real quick that it just isn’t working. And you, instead, just furrow your eyebrows and dig your nails into the forearm of the hand that’s choking you. He grunts and releases your neck, this time wrapping both his hands around the underside of your knees. He pushes them up until you’re folded in half and your knees are by your ears.

“Ah! C-Chan!”

“That’s right, baby. Say my name~” Jeongin sits up on his knees and replaces Chan’s hands with his own, using some of his own body weight to hold your legs down. Now that he’s able to use his hands freely, Chan uses the thumb on one of his hands to spread your pussy lips open for him, giving him a better view of his cock splitting you open.

“Shit! Wait you’re- mmmmfuck! You’re too deep, Chan!” Your hands push against his stomach to try and push him out, but he shoves your hands away with his other hand. That same hand comes down on the side of your ass, making Chan sigh dreamily as your walls squeeze him so snuggly.

“This pretty pussy fits me so well baby. Want me to cum inside and make you ours? ‘Wanna be our frat’s pretty little sweetheart?” He moans loudly at the thought, and then once again when you nod and look up at him with teary eyes. Jeongin himself smirks at the thought and hovers his face over yours.

“That bratty little attitude of yours will get fucked out the window, honey. We got a looot of meanies over there. Minho-hyung will have a lot of fun with you.” Your eyes squeeze shut, already knowing who Minho was and hearing stories about how he was in bed. Most girls agree on the same two words: animalistic and straight-up mean.

“I should film Channie-hyung fucking you like this and send it to the group chat. Maybe even tell them we got ourselves a little toy. What do you think, hyung?” You hear the ding of his phone starting a recording and you’re cumming before you realize it; gushing around Chan and causing loud squelching noises to fill the room.

Chan laughs with his chest and his whole body shakes as he cums, his hands squeezing the flesh of your hips as he bottoms out one final time to cum deep inside. He doesn’t need to fuck you through his orgasm thanks to the way your walls continue to clench around him, almost suffocating him with the aftershocks of your orgasm.

You squeal when he finally slides out of you, every vein on his cock making you even more overly sensitive. Jeongin giggles and slides next to you on the bed, pulling you into his chest and running his hands down your back. Chan leans forward and places a kiss on your temple before swiftly leaving the room, stating he’s just going to get a washcloth to clean you off.

“You okay?” Jeongin kisses your neck softly and trails his kisses to the corner of your mouth. You hum and let your eyes become lidded, heavy with exhaustion. He can see it in your face and he coos, “You can sleep. Channie and I will take care of everything.” He smiles sweetly and tucks your hair behind your head, trying to wipe some of the sweat off your forehead too.

You hadn’t planned on any of this happening, but his fingers ghosting along your arms and all over your back are all too convincing as they urge your eyes to close. In seconds, you’re falling asleep to the feeling of Jeongin caressing your body and his lips repeatedly pushing against your cheek.

Taglists: (red=can't be tagged)

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@dreamingaboutjisung @everythingboutkpop @velvetmoonlght @4l17h4

@felixsangelicfreckles

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golden-ebony · 3 days ago

Note

Omg I adored your 10’s a crowd fic!! What if Logan was with a reader who loved the color pink! Their bedroom had pink everything, even wearing pink! You can make them innocent if you want but imagine how Logan would just find the reader so angel-like coming hard surrounded by bright pink pastels🤭

Handsome in Pink‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

♡ Pairing: Logan Howlett/female!Reader

♡ Word Count: 1.4k

♡ Rating: Explicit 18+

♡ Warning/Tags: SMUT! MINORS DNI, sub!Logan, hand job in the mirror, PRAISE, p-v sex, unprotected sex, a lil cum play (kinda?), a lil orgasm denial

♡ Note: Just a quick lil thing because love a lil sub!Logan and I love the color pink. I specifically envision worst!Logan for this, but do as you please

It wasn't something Logan had noticed about you at first. Pink. Typically, it was something subtle like your nails or just one piece of your outfit like that short little number that drove him crazy. When you causally mentioned that it was your favorite color, it all clicked for him. It wasn't just what you wore.

It was the little coral trinkets and floor mats in your car. It was rose gold key ring. It was the baby pink lace panties that poked out when you reached across his lap to grab the remote. They were all different shades. You saw rose, millennial, salmon, cherry blossom, etc. Logan, on the other hand...

"Hm, the site says pastel but then sends this," you groaned as you eyed the skirt that arrived in the mail.

With furrowed brows, Logan crossed his arms. "Ain't that pastel?"

"It's more bubblegum than pastel."

"But it's pink."

"You don't get it."

Logan would be the first to admit that he didn't exactly have an eye for fashion or design, but when he saw your room for the first time, he knew he had never seen so much pink in his life. There were a variety of pinkish hues were broken up by white furniture and flourishing green plants. The pastel bedding mixed with darker pillows and blankets somehow worked for Logan.

Logan had never seen a room like this. And by god, he had never experienced pleasure the way he did in that rosy room.

Your preference for pink gave people a number of preconceived notions, Logan included. A number of those assumptions were correction. Sweet, romantic, sensitive, tender—these were words that could describe you.

Innocent wasn't one of them. And Logan learned this in the best way possible.

"Look at you, baby," you cooed, feathery kisses lining Logan's shoulder. Both on your knees, you were flushed against Logan's taut back. Logan's large figure towered over yours. Still, you had a clear view of the man in your standing mirror. Your slight hand, wet from a mix of your own saliva and his pre-cum, was wrapping around his throbbing cock. Your nails of your other hand slightly tranced circles onto his back. "So handsome, so big...so good for me."

Logan's chest heaved and abs clenched as you tried to control his breathing. It was overwhelming for Logan. The feeling of your frilled, cerise bralette against his back, your warm hand steadily pumping him, your soft stare gazing at his reflection.

It would be easy for Logan to thrust his hips into your grip, control the pace. But there was something about giving into you, surrendering to your alluring spell.

"Fuck, sweetheart..." Logan's groans came deep from his chest as he tried to ignore every dominant instinct he had. "I need to touch you. Please darlin'."

You relished in his begs and pleads but continued your pace. The deep growls that were emitting from his chest was proof of thin his control was at. Your thumb grazed on his tip causing Logan's hips to unintentionally buck.

Your nails roughly dug into his back, earning a wince mixed with pain and pleasure. "Easy, baby...I think you're doing just fine with what you got, yeah?"

Logan couldn't find the words to respond. The smell of your peony perfume and your soft voice dancing through his head, being under your trance—it was intoxicating. Retraining himself, Logan dug his own palms into the sides of his thighs. He was a mess, and you both were loving every second of it.

It was like a high to watch the indestructible man crumble under the simple weight of your touch, knees digging into the cerise fleeced blanket. With ragged breaths and a twitching cock, you could tell Logan near his climax. You savored the strained breaths and groans that Logan couldn't help but release.

"You're gonna come for me, Lo." Your voice was just above a whisper, but you knew Logan heard you. You weren't asking; you never had to. Keeping your speed steady, you keep your eyes locked on his through the mirror. "Just let it happen, baby. Doing so good for me."

Logan's release was almost immediate as if he was waiting for your divine approval. His body clenched against your, feeling his release tighten every inch of his physique. He'd rather have painted your walls, feel you clench around him. But the feeling of taking ropes of his cum into your palm just to lather his still-hardened cock with it as he rode his high felt like something else entirely. As he watched you lubricate his cock further, his thoughts were completely taken over by your soft moans of approval.

"Oh, Lo, such a good boy," you purred against his shoulder. The sound of your praise made his cock twitch again. And you knew what he wanted.

You looked ethereal as you rode his cock. The sight of his cock continuously disappearing into your tight cunt—leaving a creamed ring in its wake—it was heaven. Logan was more than happy to watch you control your pace on his lap in exchange of finally being able to caress you. With a slacked jaw, his rough hands massaged your soft skin from your thighs to your ass, all while watching provide him levels of pleasure that he hadn't experienced in years. And he never imagined he'd feel this way with blushed, stringed lights in his vision field and rose, satin sheets smoothing his back.

Even when you told Logan not to come, not yet at least, Logan found that there was a level of pleasure of watching you get yourself off on his lap. Yes, flipping you over and hammering deep into you until you drunk from his cock sounded good. Yet, surrendering to your alluring call was something else entirely.

"Jesus, princess." He words were barely audible as his eyes roamed your figure. "So goddamn pretty."

Your hum turned into a worn gasp as you felt your climax on the horizon again. You knew ordering Logan to hold off on his own climax during your last one was difficult. As your grinds turned into bounces, Logan looked desperate. He needed to finish in you, coat his favorite pink walls white.

"I know, Lo..." You were practically about to come apart yourself, leaning down to pressed your chest against his. Your strained yet firm voice rang in his ear, "I need y-you to fill me, baby. S-so close."

His grip on your hips slightly tightened. His needy eyes looked in with yours, scanning for you permission to give you everything he had. He didn't see it but he sure as hell heard.

"Please, Logan, just fuck me! I need you, baby."

Like flipping a switch, his hips thrusted up into you with reckless abandon. Your cries were soon muffled when Logan's lips meet yourself in a searing kiss, but he needed to hear those pretty little moans of yours no matter how sweet you tasted. Nuzzling his head into your neck, he continued to mercilessly thrust into you, feeling the recoil of your ass against his hips.

The combination of his teeth nipping at your pulse and pounding deliciously close to your cervix made your eyes roll. You knew you were good at getting Logan to fall into a wave of pleasure just from your touch alone, but the both of you knew Logan could easily turn those tides.

"That's it, Lo. No one fucks me like yo—fuck!" Your voice cracked as your orgasm shot through your body quicker than you expected. Your nails dug themselves into Logan's shoulder as he continued to fuck you through your high. The cries of his name was enough to push him to his edge.

"Ah—shit! Thank you, baby, so fucking good!" With three final thrusts, Logan spilled into you, completely enveloped in a rosy haze. He came harder than he did earlier, entirely stuffing you with his arousal.

Clinging to your glistened figure, his mind was cloudy. The rose-colored sheets were definitely closer to cherry under Logan's sweating form. He couldn't conjure a singular thought as you slowly grinded against his, singing his praises. There wasn't a better feeling; Logan was sure of it.

If pleasure had a color, it was definitely pink.

♡ note: i love hearing y'all's thoughts

#logan howlett #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan x reader #logan howlett smut #logan howlett x reader #hugh jackman #x men #x men fic #logan howlett fic #britt fics #logan smut #wolverine x reader #the wolverine #wolverine smut #wolverine x female reader

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stardust-in-my-mind-blog · 2 days ago

Text

I always feel pretty dumpy after getting dumped. Tonight was no different. I decided to walk the grounds one last time, and the tranquil beauty of the gardens seemed extra mean somehow. Like I was walking through something beautiful that I never even got a chance to miss. No chance to enjoy. Just rejection. Again. And the same message, though at least this time they tried to be kind about it.

Please never practice magic like that again. Bards were mages until you were too good at singing. Then things got suspicious to the headmasters. Song could be such a powerful tool and manipulate people across the field the way that death could. Put death and song together and humans always got so uncomfortable. And when it came to humans, nothing was more unlucky than a sweet death. They say the way they want to die is old and in bed surrounded by their families but...it's never true. Every single one of them secretly yearns for some kind of glory in their hearts, and it just rots and rots and rots as they age. I'd know. I'm human too. But I'm also banshee and people can just feel it. Especially those who are academically inclined. In some cultures they saw us as prophets... until they learned that the angels sing in our ears and fall out of our throats. Also people only like the idea of prophets. Tell them enough future truth and they start looking for the matches and rope. Or a crucifix.

Bewitchment. Enchantment. Manipulation. No one wants to invite a banshee to the table where everyone is sweet and happy and alive with rosy cheeks and laughing eyes.

I'm an omen. It's kind of lonely. But I get it. I suppose if I were someone else I'd feel the same.

I found myself in a gazebo near the tallest of the little sculpted waterfalls in this garden. I liked the way the water sang and flowed as it poured itself over the rocks. It was summer, so there were fireflies, and I could get back to being lost in my thoughts a bit as I watched the way they all twinkled around each other. My son used to say they were all teleporting. I laughed at him, kissed the top of his head, and earmarked that for later because that might be something he ends up being keen at. My daughter used to say she had the power of the forest when she was very young, and gods if she couldn't tell you exactly what creatures were thinking when they wanted something. The more specific the better with my daughter.

I shifted, crossing my legs over each other and anchoring my elbows on the wooden railing and letting my chin fall heavily into my palms. I closed my eyes and breathed slowly, trying to catch and understand the direction and pattern to the way the wind blew tonight. The air smelled like roses and jasmine and I looked up to see the little white flowers hanging from their vines right above me. There were lanterns of golden light and everything felt smoky and indigo. A moonlit darkness that was so easy to see around but too misty to see through.

Was it the song, I wondered? I replayed the interview in my mind. I've been learning how to perform on a stage and have gotten to this point where I fall fully into the music. I don't let my mind control the song anymore, but trust my heart to attune and express it authentically. Sometimes my heart sounds drunk or bitter. Sometimes it sounds like delight and perfection. Today... I couldn't remember. I'd found that I could trick people into thinking maybe I was some sort of reformed cleric turned bard if I sang religious songs. Today I considered a shanty because those work too. But in the end I settled on a lullaby and at first everyone looked peaceful and happy but then that look came into their eyes when they realized where they were and what was going on.

Someone told me once that it was frightening to find yourself suddenly disarmed, especially if being vulnerable wasn't something you were used to being with people. I saw that happen in real time today, and suddenly understood what he meant.

Yay, more awareness.

That brought a bit of temper to my system so I stood up and walked over to the stream to sit down. The grass was wet but I didn't care. I took off my shoes and put them into the water that ran clear and cold over a stone bottom. It was deep enough to cover my ankles. I put my palms to the earth behind me, took a deep breath, and let my head fall back as I sighed it out.

I was so fucking disappointed.

But, I'd still done it. I took the chance. I learned something. All of it sucked. I'd maybe built a few sandcastles in my mind about how my life would fit into the routine that school would have brought me. I let myself sit and grieve what was never mine but still felt lost to me. I imagined the tide of this rejection crushing all the sandcastles in one giant wave. I felt my emotions rise out of my heart, making my throat sore, took another deep breath, and sighed as I let the tears release the sadness and flow down my cheeks like the current at my feet.

Fuck, I really really wanted something else to happen. I wanted the outcome I wanted. And I didn't want any other outcome. I didn't want to go to another school. I didn't want to look at other schools. I didn't want to be a bard if I couldn't go to this school. I didn't want anything.

My body shook with a little sob as my shoulders slumped back.

I didn't want anything ever again and-

Suddenly I was laughing, and I just collapsed. I laughed and cried at the same time and rolled around in the grass. If I was going to be a fucking child like this about this I was going to commit and be a child. My heart was broken a little bit and the grass was so wet and awful but it smelled so good. I closed my eyes and cursed as I realized my hair was going to be wet now that I did this and...

There was a cough and a "Ma'am?"

I froze like a rabbit. Then I closed my eyes tighter just in case this was a dream and I could escape the inevitable embarrassment of someone from the school that rejected me seeing me rolling around in the grass like an animal. The moments clicked by awkwardly and I didn't cut to the next scene, so I opened my eyes to face the music.

Security guard. Handsome. I always liked a man in uniform. Flirting was not going to help me escape embarrassment but it could make this story more interesting. As though he were reading my mind, his face darkened with an expression that read plainly don't even try it. Great, a challenge. The only thing I can't resist. His arms crossed as we both seemed to take in each other's character in this particular moment. He scowled deeper.

I sat up like a naughty child and patted at my hair, then shook it out like a dog would. He was watching closely. My head tilted to the side and I beamed angelically. "Sorry, you caught me making grass angels," I chirped merrily.

In order to be admitted to a magic school potential students only need to provide irrefutable proof that they are mages, yet, despite your very obvious abilities, you were rejected with a comment asking you to "please never practice magic again".

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raeinyourdreams · 3 days ago

Text

'call it what you want.' | l.h x reader

pairings: logan howlett x sway!reader

tags: fluff, no established relationship but.. there's something there, mutant!reader (they call her sway due to her mutation.. i love her i wanna talk ab her someone PLEASE ASK AB HER), AFAB reader, she/her pronouns used for reader, no specific petnames for reader (just bub and her hero name.. gets called kid like twice), no use of y/n, written with x1/x2 logan in mind... sigh... save me x2 logan.. anyway, he gives reader his dog tags before a mission in case he.. you know.. so maybe angst? but only til the very end.

wc: 2k!!

a/n: OKAY SO BOOM! this is my first actual work that's not a drabble and i'm so anxious to post AAHHH, i got the inspo from a post i saw a while ago while fried as fuck from someone requesting a fic ab logan giving reader his dog tags, pref fluffy and angsty so i hope i did ur vision justice OP!! tysm for inspo, my reqs are always open 🫶🏻 also i know this is a very burnt card but if something in the wording is off lmk PLEASEE english isn't my first language 😭 anyway enough yapping plz enjoy!! any type of interaction is appreciated

'just know these are yours now.'

you've never seen him without his dog tags, he never took them off, not ever since the first time he came into the mansion. you'd been there the first time, you were a teacher in the school, and you'd seen him occasionally roam the halls and stay by the door, listening in on your class, quietly. but very rarely interacted otherwise, just a simple nod or a 'good morning' that he'd return out of good manners, but he'd mostly keep to himself.

you're a teacher. you're the fun teacher. at least that's what your coworkers seemed to agree upon, seeing how your students appeared to leave your classroom more cheerful than they entered. you'd be lying if you said you didn't use your mutation as an advantage in this situation, being able to read your students' moods every day, how they were feeling and why came insanely handy, especially when it came to giving each student the type of care they needed. which is why you were also a student counselor.

on the days you didn't teach, you'd put that psych degree to work and counsel. in your classroom filled with drawings and fairy lights and stained glass that looked straight from a fairytale, and a door you'd lock for privacy as a student came to confide in you.

obviously despite your title, it wasn't only students who'd come to your office to let a feeling go, teachers too, needed a space to blow off some steam, cry a little sometimes, because they knew you'd soothe them in the end, touch your hand feel the pain dissipate, make it seem as if they'd never felt that way.

up until now, only teachers and students seemed to come to you for help. teachers. and students.

so it did surprise you when the wolverine started showing up in your office after coming back.

"must be tiring. to handle others' emotions like your own all day." he'd say, sitting down on a chair, to which you'd playfully roll your eyes and shake your head. "i don't treat them as my own, i just do what i have to do so they feel better." you'd reply, walking towards the door to lock it out of policy. figured that he was here for counseling as well.

"you treat everyone with so much care it seems like it." he said, which made you stop in your tracks, turning heel to face him, your hair cascading on your shoulders and moving ever so softly as you spun. before you could speak, stunned, he asked again.

"don't you get tired? i mean mentally. it must take a toll on you to be around so many emotions all the time." the way he seemed to read you stunned you, he seemed like a very gruff, cold person from the brief interactions you'd had with him before. truth be told, this was the closest you'd been to logan since he came back to the mansion. it's what other people thought of him, anyway.

but you weren't other people, you were different.

the feeling in your body when you perceive others emotions is strange. you could never put it into words. your mutation was mostly contact based, a small brush of the hand was enough to let you know that person's feelings, the reason behind them, what they needed to feel better and it made it easier to help everyone. you could, however, see and feel the emotions, sometimes even smell them if they were too strong, no need for contact necessary.

with logan, you almost didn't need to be in the same room as him to feel the amount of physical, mental, emotional strain he was constantly under, his superhuman body subconsciously tuning it out, making him oblivious to it. once, after a very dangerous mission, he isolated himself in his room for days, his expression cold and unfazed, but every time you'd walk past an area he was in, the emotions hit you like a truck. so strong you even cried over pain that wasn't yours, a life you hadn't lived.

you looked at him sympathetically, taking a deep breath to concentrate less on the seemingly invisible fog around you two as you sat on the chair, your expression calm and collected. "i'm okay, i promise. thank you, logan."

"like hell you are." "neither are you."

he stays quiet at your retaliation, a weak smile forming on his lips, letting you understand that you were right, not that you needed confirmation.

sometimes, when emotions overpower you, you feel compelled to speak, give words of reassurance, even if you didn't quite know if they'd help or not. "logan, you should let people into your heart, stop living in fear.." you blurted out, unsure of why you were telling him this, but you'd learned to not question it and just speak, because it helped to just hear the words sometimes. it certainly did get you a reaction from logan, as the overbearing feelings you were perceiving faded.. briefly, before they slowly crept back into vision.

it was the faintest of reactions, but a reaction at least.

he nodded, taking in the words silently, as if he were contemplating. you remained stoic, analyzing his demeanor out of pure habit. "did.. you come here for counseling?" you asked, suddenly aware that you were still working, and you weren't even sure if he was here for another reason, or if he did need your help. instead, he shook his head, looking at you as if he were conducting an analysis of his own.

"nah, just came to see you.. sway."

a knock on the door interrupted the brewing tension, a gloomy, childlike presence behind the door, to which you looked at logan apologetically. "i'm sorry logan, i have a student to attend.. but think about what i said." you spoke softly, your warm voice reverberating in his ears like a hug.. something he longed for but couldn't bring himself to ask.

you started seeing him around the classroom more, or rather, he started seeking you out more. in between breaks, before his training, during counseling. it got to a point where your children started greeting him hello and goodbye if he was in the classroom, interacting with him, playing with his hair, always styled like kitty ears. the way he just smiled and let them made something in you bloom, a feeling you couldn't recognize in yourself, but it was pink and warm and fuzzy all over. you couldn't help but wonder if he felt about you this way, too.

slowly, you noticed how, little by little, the gloomy cloud surrounding him would go away when he entered the classroom, how it would be replaced with a pink haze when he looked into your eyes, or made you laugh.. it would quickly fade away, but you'd notice, and noticed how much it resembled that feeling inside you: pink and warm and fuzzy all over.

as time went by, you got used to seeing him around, swinging by your classroom as if it was his haven, a small break from the world he knew, because you were in it. you'd be lying if you said he didn't make you day too, the gloomy atmosphere that once came along with him every time he entered your classroom slowly changing into a lilac haze.

one day, he showed up as the kids were leaving for the day, no colored cloud, but something seemed off. you invited him to sit down as he locked the door after getting in, his expression serene. before you could even speak his hands were on you, pulling you close to him in a hug, and you swore you could feel him shaking slightly. the realization hits you like a bucket of cold water and you just hold him tighter to you, since it feels like the only correct thing to do.

"you're scared."

"no one gets to see me like this, so feel special." said he, almost as if he was confiding a secret in you, which he was.

"oh, trust me, i feel quite special." you replied jokingly, which caused him to let out a chuckle, though it was dull and almost no feeling was tied to it.

you two let go and you asked him what was wrong, and he opened up like it was routine.

"i leave tomorrow. there's a mission out of state and they're asking me to go.. might be off the grid after that for a while." he explained, his voice remained calm but his eyes seemed to reveal to you more of how he was actually feeling.

"i dunno.. thought someone should've known in case.. things go south." your expression changed at that, and logan noticed. "ah, c'mon bub, change that frown, it's just reality. sure, i might be a piece of work to kill but it doesn't mean i can't die."

the silence that fell upon the classroom as you two finished speaking made the words fall with more weight into your heart, it did little to nothing to comfort you as you came to terms with what he said. it shouldn't have been hard - he was just stating a fact -, but it didn't mean that it didn't cut deep for you. you opened your mouth to speak, unsure of what you were even going to say, but he quickly cut you off.

"logan-" "listen, bub, you told me to start letting people into my heart.. i'm letting you in."

slowly, his hands went to unclasp the chain that always dangled on his neck, dog tags adorning his neck with his names, his identities. you looked in awe as he held them out to you. "gimme your hand, kid." and surprisingly, you did as you were told, holding your hand out as he placed the piece on your hand, feeling the cold metal clink softly as it fell and heat up under the temperature of your palm. you looked up at him, unsure of what it meant, of what this changed between you two, but it felt undeniable, even if unspoken.

“now, these.. they’re very special, bub. a reminder of everything that happened that led to here.. and it’s leading me to you right now.” he explained. “feels right for you to have them, i guess.. keep them safe, kid.”

the silence that fell between you two again was more comfortable, filled with a newfound tension that left much to question, but it didn’t feel right to interrupt with all that noise yet. the only sound filling the room was the breathing and a faint humming of the white noise machine you kept in your room, next by the door. you opened up your mouth again, your mind utterly blank and filled with thoughts and questions at the same time, unsure of which one was going to breach through your mind to materialize out in the cold, tense air.

“.. why me? trust me, i’m flattered, but i’m no one special, logan..” you questioned, and it made him frown.

“you are special. you're special to me.” your eyes widened at the confession and you watched as a soft smile settled on his face, one that made your heart flutter with the sheer tenderness he held in his gaze. “call it what you want.. just know these are yours now.” he said it so calmly, you wouldn't have tought he was handing you his heart, placing it in soft, tender hands and pleading you to not break it, not change it, and instead embrace it and accept it as it came, rough around the edges.

with that, he stood up from the chair, took your hand to squeeze it briefly, and walked out of the room, not before looking back at you one last time, the heaviness that he carried as he entered the room seemingly gone, all that you could perceive was a haze, all too familiar, one that left as quick as it came as his eyes met yours.

pink, warm, and fuzzy all over.

additional author's note: BOOM SHAKALAKA I POSTED FINALLY!! i think it's a little rushed BUT!! it's cause i have a (smutty) part 2 planned for this HEHEJEHE i don't like writing (or reading) series bcs i get sad when they end but i just might.... hehehe... anyway pls lmk what u think!! or i kill off logan 🥰🥰 your choice 🥰🥰

taglist: @allen-444

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dearieshima · 1 day ago

Text

winner

feat. what happens if no nut november comes around, and you're almost there at the finish line, and the girl you pined over since highschool, finally wants to fuck you?

God had granted him the ultimate temptation– the chance to fuck one of his perfect angels, and it felt like divine retribution for not seizing such a heavenly opportunity.

c.w. cowgirl, breast worship, unprotected sex, loser boy gojo, afab!reader

Gojo Satoru is the kind of guy people talk about. A natural winner in every way that matters.

He walks around campus like he owns the place, because he might as well have, since his net worth was three million by the time of his conception.

He’s the one everyone wants to be or be with—athletic, good-looking, blessed with charisma, and even intelligent. People gravitate toward him as if he’s the sun, and it seems like everything in his life just falls into place.

So it was only natural he would accumulate jealousy brewing among some students. They love to admire him, sure, but secretly, they waited for a crack to appear in his perfect image, eager for it to crumble.

So when November rolled around, Geto and a group of underclassmen saw an opportunity. They set up a bet, daring him to a challenge: for the entire month, Gojo was forbidden from his usual playful flirting and pursuits. A month of self-restraint for a guy who usually had the university’s most admired women hanging on his every word.

He shrugged it off. The only woman he truly wanted was you, from the start, anyway. The only true threat to his virtue was his hand itching to jerk him off to the thought of you. Other than that, he was fine.

…

Well, something happened.

Gojo couldn't remember what triggered it, why your lips were suddenly pressed against his. Perhaps it was the cheesy sex scene playing out on the screen, or the dumb joke he made about the actor's dick - it must have been a particularly good, dumb dick joke to elicit such a response from you.

The specifics leading up to this moment didn't matter. This was what he had fantasized about endlessly since high school, and now here you were, in his arms, your body flush against his.

But as your hand slid down his thigh, brushing against the throbbing bulge straining against his pants, a sudden realization hit him like a bucket of ice water. He had been strong for 24 days, resisting temptation and keeping his resolve. But now, with you so close, so eager, his resolve stood a chance of a house of cards against wind.

"Fuck," he groaned, pulling back slightly, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "Wait… goddamn it."

You blinked at him, confusion flashing across your face, then understanding cleared it all away. "... Did you…?"

“No, no– thank fuck no,” he rasped, wiping a shaky hand over his face.

Your brows furrowed.

He had come so far, resisting temptation for nearly a month. And now, with you in his arms, the only person he had pined for those years back, all he wanted to come so far in, was you.

"I can't,” he said, his voice low and strained, almost as if the words were painful to speak. “It's November.”

“November...?” you echoed, your voice trailing off, searching your mind for any important dates in November that might explain his reaction.

Gojo nodded, his hands resting on your hips, his eyes searching your face for understanding. "Yeah, November. It's… um. Remember that bet I made with Geto and some other guys?”

You shook your head. Gojo let out a sigh, realizing that he would have to explain the whole situation to you. He ran a hand through his white hair, messing it up further.

"Alright, listen. You know how I like to make bets? I had this bet with Geto and some underclassmen… and it's about No Nut November, and–”

You let out a deep groan, dragging your hand down your face in exasperation. Your fingers tugged at your eyelids as you drew out a long, "Nooo, ‘Toru... That's so stupid. You guys are so stupid. Do you guys seriously believe in that?”

Gojo gave a sheepish grin, his cheeks reddening just slightly at your reaction, which was, as expected, not the most enthusiastic.

"I know, I know, it's a dumb bet, but these guys were so convinced that I couldn't make it a month without… you know." He paused, looking away for a moment, his voice dropping slightly.

"And the bet was for a lot of money, y'know.”

You sighed, “'Toru, your family’s loaded. What could money possibly mean to you?”

Gojo flinched, reluctant to admit you had a point. It was true, his family’s wealth granted him a life of ease and luxury that most people could only imagine.

"It's not about the money," he insisted, his grip on your hips tightening slightly. "It's about the… the principle."

"The principal," you said flatly.

Gojo sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly. He knew your disbelief was warranted, but he was in too deep now to back out.

You nodded, pretending to get it, and rolled away from him.

“I don’t know. Six more days, and then…” His voice faded as he watched you settle on the other side of the couch. His body quivered without the heat of yours.

He sighed, propping himself on an elbow, eyes fixed on you as you refocused on the movie.

“Six days isn’t that long, right?”

“Sure, ‘Toru.”

The room was filled with a charged silence, broken only by the breathy moans emanating from the erotic scene playing out on the television screen, taunting him. His mouth opened and closed, searching for words, but none came. How could you be so casual, so dismissive, after just making out with him? He was the king of sass and comebacks, but he was struck speechless by your nonchalance.

"Wait," he said, his voice slightly rougher than before. "That's it?”

You looked at him as the TV screen flashed, illuminating your face where he could see you with a raised eyebrow, slouched on the couch.

Gojo stared at you, disbelief filling his gaze. Was this really happening? Was he really about to miss out on this opportunity because of a stupid bet? His mind raced, searching for any possible loophole.

"But… I mean," he stuttered, "you were all over me just a minute ago. Are you really just gonna turn away from me now?”

You shrugged. "What do you expect me to do?" you asked. "Since you're set on doing that… November thing.”

Gojo deflated back against the couch, a defeated sigh escaping him. You were giving him attitude, and it was both annoying him and turning him on at the same time.

He ran a hand through his messy hair, trying to think of a response that wouldn't make him sound like a whiny child.

"I don't know," he pouted. "I just… I was hoping you'd understand. Maybe be a little supportive?”

You deadpanned. "You can't be serious. Supportive of what?”

Gojo huffed, his eyes narrowing as he glanced at you, taking in your blank expression.

"Supportive of me trying to win the bet! I've been holding back for about 3 weeks, and you make it seem like it's nothing, like I'm being ridiculous for sticking to it.”

"Not just you, but Geto and everyone else you made the bet with," you said, grabbing your Coke. "It's okay, really, 'Toru. If you’re not up for it, let’s just watch the movie.”

Gojo huffed and slid back into the arm of the couch, sulking. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest as he stared blankly at the movie playing out before him, not really seeing or processing any of it. His mind was a tangled mess of frustration and disappointment, replaying the events of the night over and over.

This was not at all how he had imagined things would go. The movie, with its stupid unexpected sex scene, you, offering yourself to him so freely, so willingly, and most important of all, him, refusing you.

As the night wore on, Gojo found himself growing increasingly restless. He tried to focus on the movie, but his mind kept wandering back to the bet and the opportunity slipping through his fingers. By the time the credits rolled, he was practically vibrating with tension. He turned to you, his heart racing.

His hungry gaze devoured your form, lingering on the tantalizing curves of your breasts, barely contained by your rumpled shirt. The lacy edge of your bra peeked out, teasing him with glimpses of doughy flesh straining against the delicate fabric. Each second stretched into an eternity, his heart pounding wildly in his chest as he imagined burying his face between those soft mounds, worshiping every inch of your divine body. God had granted him the ultimate temptation– the chance to fuck one of his perfect angels, and it felt like divine retribution for not seizing such a heavenly opportunity.

His inner monologue was a rapid-fire debate. The urge to forget the stupid bet, to toss all caution to the wind and just give in to the desire that was coursing through his veins, was overwhelming.

But then the image of Geto's smug face popped into his mind, the memory of the bet gnawing at his thoughts. He couldn't just give in, not after all this time. Could he?

God, your face was so adorable, lips swollen and glistening from his kisses, your neck a leopard print of hickies. His hungry eyes trailed further down, to the tantalizing swell of your ass from your tiny shorts riding up, exposing the globes. The loose hem showcased a pair of skimpy white panties, and he could only imagine how drenched they were, just from him. He was a fool. He's been waiting since highschool for the chance to fuck his dream girl, and when offered the chance, he was just going to give it up? To give it to the next guy? Fuck no. You might not give him another chance by then.

In an instant, he was on his knees, closing the distance between you with a swiftness that was almost alarming. His voice was a low, guttural growl as he leaned over you.

"Screw it.”

Your wide-eyed look of surprise didn't deter Gojo, not one bit. His eyes were burning, his gaze practically burning holes through your clothes.

He planted his hands on the arm of the couch, effectively trapping you, his body looming over you like a predator over its prey.

"Fuck the bet," he growled, his hands roaming hungrily over your curves. "Fuck the bet. Fuck Geto, fuck Shoko, fuck Ino– fuck everything else. I just want to fuck you. They don't have a sexy girl waiting for them at home like I do. They can't understand the struggle."

His mouth crashed against your neck, his tongue and teeth working the sensitive flesh as he pulled you down onto his lap, your bodies melding together on the couch. His hardness pressed insistently against your core as he ground up into you.

Gojo tore at his belt, his fingers flying as he unbuttoned his pants. He pushed them down, along with his underwear, freeing himself. His cock sprung proudly, his tip flushed and glistening with pre. Subtle blue veins snaked up the creamy length, pulsing with need.

Hooking his fingers under your shorts and panties, he tugged them down, exposing your dripping wet pussy to his hungry gaze. You lifted your hips obligingly, allowing him to remove the flimsy garments completely. Gojo groaned at the sight of your slick folds, already swollen with arousal.

Positioning himself beneath you, his rigid shaft bobbed against his stomach. The musky scent of his desire filled the air as his fingers curled around himself, guiding himself to your entrance. He thrust up, sheathing himself inside you in one stroke.

You tossed your head back, your pussy clenching around him. Gojo's eyes rolled back as he bottomed out inside you, his cock buried to the hilt in your tight pussy. He let out a guttural moan, his hands on your hips as he started to pound into you at a brutal pace, his balls slapping against your ass with each thrust.

Gojo's voice was a guttural growl against your neck as he fucked you relentlessly. "I can't... Stop... Fuck, I've wanted this for so long... Fuck, fuck, fuck!" His hips hammered against yours, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the room.

"'Toru...!”

"Shh...shh, baby, not so loud..." Gojo panted, trying to muffle his own moans. Despite resigning to fucking you, he remained paranoid that the others may hear you both. Maybe he could salvage himself.

His hips jackhammered upwards, his hard length spearing into you over and over, the couch creaking under the force of his thrusts.

"Oh… Oh god..." You whimpered, grinding against him. "You feel so good…”

Gojo's hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise as he slammed into you, his thick cock stretching you deliciously. He could feel your velvety walls fluttering around him, gripping him like a vice. "You're so fucking tight…”

His gaze was glued to your bouncing tits as he fucked you, his cock twitching inside you with every bounce. He reached up to grab one, squeezing the soft flesh in his hands as he continued to pound into your soaked pussy. "Fuck, your tits are perfect...so fucking perfect..." He groaned, "you're gonna make me cum so hard…”

“‘Toru…! you feel, feel so... mngh," you whimpered out, your hands curling over his as it kneaded your breasts.

"I'm not going to last long after holding back for so long…” Gojo cried, his voice strained with lust and exertion. “Say my name again, baby. Please…”

“‘Toru…!”

Gojo threw his head back with a loud groan as he heard his name on your lips, the sound spurring him on. His thrusts became erratic, losing rhythm as his climax approached. "Oh, shit… oh shit–! I'm... I'm gonna... fuck!”

Gojo buried himself inside you as far as he could go, his cock pulsing. "Ah fuck, ah fuck, ah–fuck!”

With a loud grunt, Gojo pulled you down to bury his face in the valley of your breasts, his cock throbbing violently inside you as he unleashed a torrent of cum deep within your pussy. His entire body shudders as he emptied himself inside you, filling you to the brim with his thick, hot seed. "Nnngh!"

You continued to grind down onto him, prolonging your shared climax. He groaned, his cock twitching with aftershocks as your pussy clenched and fluttered around him, milking him for every last drop. "Fuck...yes… ride it out, baby… ride... ugh…”

As your movements stilled, Gojo moved to nuzzled into your neck, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. He peppered soft kisses onto your heated skin, his hands still squeezing your breasts gently. "Mmm... you feel so good... why'd we wait so long..."

Gathering your thoughts, you sighed, "'cuz you're always doing dumb things. You lost by the way.”

Gojo chuckled weakly, his arms wrapping around you to pull you closer. "Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm just glad it's finally over… and now I get to do this every day…”

He pressed his lips to your neck, a shuddering sigh escaping you, just as his phone buzzed on the coffee table. It was a message from Geto, who lived in the flat above.

New text from MOMMY GETO!

sent 9:48p.m.:

loser.

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endearng · 2 days ago

Text

About you

Pairing: Spencer Reid x ex!reader Summary: You know a place that you go to remember Spencer Reid's face. You never thought you'd get to actually see him again. WC: 4.6k Warnings: brief mentions of Spencer's trauma (childhood, addiction); hints at poor coping mechanisms/mental struggles; miscommunication; running away. A/N: This is a mix between canon events and some things are fiction (mostly when it comes to the timeline of the show) and I picture later seasons Spencer. This is based on many songs from ttpd, but this fic came to mind when I was listening to 'About You' by the 1975. I really hope you guys like it. Feedbacks are always welcome and appreciated <3 masterlist

You sat on one of the park benches. Actually, it was on the park bench, near a tree, you used to occupy with Spencer after getting your favorite treats from the coffee shop nearby.

It was your first date as boyfriend and girlfriend and he had started reading to you once the chatter had died down a little bit. He looked beautiful that day, eyes leaving the book pages every now and then so he could catch a glimpse of you. Every time he did, you smiled at him. You were so enamored by his eyes that you didn't care if you were perceived as desperate or too lovestruck when he looked at you. You felt warm inside and for a moment, you thought it could last forever.

From that day on, whenever you could, you'd always go to that park and sit on that specific bench. You even carved your initials in it.

Now, as you caressed the old indentation, dark from all the time that had passed, you were all alone. A hole in your chest.

You were living in Virginia, about to get your Master's Degree. It was the time of the semester when everything seems to be piling up and you can never get the time to take care of it as you should. As you walked home at night, you witnessed a young couple walking into a dark forest, but you didn't mind — horny kids were everywhere and you were glad they had a nice way to let off some steam, not being one to judge someone’s kinks.

The next thing you knew, the FBI wanted to see you. They sent a cute, awfully young agent to your apartment, who introduced himself as 'Doctor Spencer Reid' and waved at you once you answered the door, telling you you had been the last person to witness that young woman alive. You froze, unable to look away from him, sheer shock crossing your intriguing, mesmerizing features. Spencer Reid took more than a minute to try to calm you down to have you answer his questions. Despite your head going miles per minute, you tried to help out as much as you could and were able to describe the man as you managed to recall some of his features.

Then, you had gotten Spencer's number to keep him posted if anything happened, since that unsub was kidnapping and torturing girls from your university. When they wrapped up the case to go home, Spencer went to your building to tell you they were returning to Quantico. You had grown fond of him, his presence a warm embrace compared to the chaos around you, so when he broke the news, you did feel a little disappointed, even though you knew that he would eventually leave. He was sensible to the matters around him, doing everything in his power and using his intelligence to help everyone around him. It made you grow a sense of hope in other people you haven’t felt in a while.

You took your study break a little earlier that night once you saw him at your doorstep, deciding you'd give him your time. A low "So, you're leaving..." escaping your mouth once he told you why he went to your place. To say goodbye. You couldn't conceal the sadness in your voice.

"Yeah. I just wanted to say goodbye. And to thank you, of course, you helped us a lot." He said, eyes never leaving yours.

"Anytime, Doctor," you joked. "I'm gonna miss you. Even if we've just met. Even if you had to be aware of something so terrible." You confessed. His eyes widened at you in surprise.

His eyes. Big, doe eyes glancing at you like you held the answers to the whole universe.

In that moment, you did. Not his education, not PhD's, plural, not anything he learned from all the books he read and certainly not his time in the bureau. You held the answers.

He chuckled, a little shy. Unable to tell you, verbally, that he would miss you, too. His eyes did the job, though. "Yeah, yeah. It was nice knowing you."

"Yeah, it was," you agreed, coming a little closer to him. You gave him a kiss on his cheek. Soft, warm skin against your lips making butterflies swarm in your belly. He smiled, widely, sincerely.

You wished he was yours.

You also wished he knew that you meant that, 'besides the bad guy and all the terrible things, it was fun meeting you because you are full of light. A masterpiece.'

"Take care, okay, doctor?" You whispered, slowly pulling away from him. “I’ll see you around.”

"Be safe,” he wished, “I hope so, in better conditions."

A few days passed and you got your first call from Spencer, which turned into a second, a third and when you noticed, you were scheduling hang outs. Those turned into dates when you started to go out more frequently to every new place you wanted the other to know. All of that and touching each other more often, more carefully, more passionately than regular friends did.

You simply sat there, your memories the only thing keeping you company, haunting you, besides the tears that pricked in the corner of your eyes. You missed him so much. You missed the time you had with him.

Two years into your relationship, things got more and more complicated. You struggled to keep up with his life and more often than not you seemed to keep much to yourselves instead of sharing things with each other. You never thought you'd share (funny wording) such a distant relationship with someone, let alone one you knew for sure there was so much love and respect. During your time together, you learned about Spencer’s past and some pieces fell into place; he was somehow explained by everything he had faced as a child, teenager and now as an adult — his mother’s condition, his dad walking away, the bullying, being abducted and its consequences. You held him through it all, when the memories and feelings of powerlessness washed over him.

Then, Spencer started to be away more often and the physical distance, enforced by the emotional one that slowly grew between you two, made you feel like you were an intruder in his life. So, you gradually started to hold yourself back from starting conversations. You rarely had his attention and you figured it was because his mind was always elsewhere.

Yours was, too. Back in a time when things were simpler.

As time went by, being around him, too quiet and far out of each other’s reach, simply floating in his orbit, felt like a heavy burden you had to carry in order to keep him in your life. He never opened up and since you didn’t either, you felt like you didn't have the right to suggest you two should fix things, so you let him be. Coexisting together in the same space, oceans apart from each other’s lives and struggles, never touching the subject. The result, of course, was that you grew apart.

It all ended, officially, when you decided to move away to get your Doctorate as an excuse to run away from the hard conversations that you knew would take place if you confronted him about where had things, where had you gone so terribly wrong. You were hell-bent on trying to turn your heartbreak and deception into something, into an achievement. Then, you both decided, albeit reluctantly, that breaking up was the best choice for you, since you’d move away. The part that there was already a huge gap between the two of you remained unspoken. You tried convincing yourself that it would be easier, since you’d never have to see him and you'd be okay being in past chapters of Spencer’s life.

Funnily enough, it wasn't that simple.

You see, the heart is a tricky machine. The wording here is not random: it works, of course, to primarily pump the blood through your veins to make sure you are getting enough oxygen around your body and deliver waste objects, like carbon dioxide, back to the lungs, to be removed — Spencer had told you so once when you told him your heart beat for him in a corny deliver of a joke. Despite the fact that he was right, you can never anticipate how the heart will react once it has no access to the aim of its affections, after being cut off from their life. Worse: after being slowly dragged away from the one it was sure it would be able to adore for the rest of its pumping-function life. You figured that, maybe it would continue working for as long as it needs to, but not with the same devotion it once knew and now was deprived of.

That was how you passed the last few years of your life.

After Spencer, you weren't really interested in anyone. You tried to put yourself out there, made new friends, tried dating some people, traveled abroad, discovered more about yourself. Nevertheless, in the back of your hopeless mind and dejected heart, you held the memories you had created with him close to your very soul. When things got too quiet, it was him that you thought of. On a train, on the way home or to somewhere new and/or special, in the lazy mornings you spent by yourself, in the nights that got too lonely to bear by yourself, during your lunch breaks that you always seemed to remember how much he loved sharing those with you — stealing food from his plate, even if you didn't like whatever he was having, just so he could steal your dessert to make sharing equal. He got a sweet tooth after dating you.

Now, though, something felt off. You had spent years of your life pining and longing and hoping that you'd find your way back to each other in the end that now you didn't have the guts to search for him. You kept an eye on his life and could remember a thing or two of all his achievements and papers that were published in science magazines, a brief abstract ready to roll off your tongue if someone asked you about it. You tried keeping up with his professional life in order to feel closer to him, but the thing was, you didn't know if he had someone else, if he had moved on more easily than you (not that you had), if he had learned to cope a little better with the hardships of his job. You always said he needed some rest for his noisy mind.

Even the air in your hometown made you think of him. Felt like him: distant, missed and still plaguing your thoughts. It was the aftermath of running away for some time.

In hindsight, perhaps you had only shared fleeting moments with Spencer and it was a frail affair, doomed from day one, knowing how different your lifestyles were. When you got too fed up with your longing and inner romanticism over this relationship, you would try to convince yourself that you were better off without him. That being alone was better than to be by yourself in a relationship that you only kept for the sake of calling him yours.

Still, there was something missing. You didn't know what it was, but you were tired of wasting your time, waiting for a bus that never showed.

Or maybe it did, and perhaps you had missed it.

From afar, Spencer watched, dumbfounded, a figure that resembled someone he once loved so much, sitting on the bench he used to share with you. He still does love. Or maybe he doesn't. He doesn't know, really. He's been through so much, losing loved ones, losing his mother and enduring several trauma after leaving the FBI, never having the time to properly take in the happenings in his life. Could it possibly be you? He could never forget your form, no matter how many years passed and how hard he had tried to do that. His heart started slowing, oxygen lacking in his lungs. He felt dizzy. Was it a mirage?

Memories started to flood his mind and he was unable to move.

Daylight faded, announcing the beginning of the evening. Spencer listened as you read to him one of your favorite novels, The Hour of the Star, a Brazilian novel by Clarice Lispector. It definitely wasn't romantic, but you always made sure to use the correct tone whenever you were reading the characters' lines, and you paused every now and then to make comments and listened when he had one of his own. Those were precious, rare, quiet moments in his hectic life. He cherished them because of that, of course, but most importantly because you were with him.

Once you finished the chapter you were reciting, you noticed how dark it already was and that the lights of the city were already on, casting a soft glow over Spencer. He looked exceptionally, effortlessly beautiful that night. You smiled at him. "Shall we go home, Spence?"

"Yes," he accepted, helping you up. You thanked him with a kiss to his cheek, which made him flustered.

Years together and he could never get used to the effect your touch had on him, always wishing he could have more, more, more.

As you walked home together, he took your ring, a gift from him that was usually placed in your left hand, and put it on the one people put wedding rings on. Your reply was to kiss him senseless in public.

He felt like the wind had been knocked out of him when you abruptly broke the kiss, looking back with a mischievous, happy expression on your face. He trailed after you, one single thought in mind: I'll never let you go.

The woman — he didn't want to deceive himself if she wasn't you, he was staring at her back, after all, so he thought it was better to be careful with his hopes —, had longer hair, fit better into her clothes, but her movements were scarily just like yours. From the way she looked around to the slight tilt of her head when you'd contemplate the park all those years ago. Spencer felt his thoughts clouding with the need to approach her, curiosity driving him to work on this instinct, but as soon as he moved to walk, he instantly halted his movements. What would he say?

"Hello?", "Is that you?" "Are you back?" "Are you real?" "Have you forgotten about me?"

The questions swimmed around his head like he had no control over his own mind. If there was a monitor to show every single thought running through his brain, it would definitely collapse, smoke clouding the air, telling how overwhelmed he felt. He decided on approaching as a passerby, walking as if he didn't want anything by it, acting nonchalant. He made his way closer to the bench, to the woman.

She heard footsteps behind her, not too close, but still turned to search for the source of the disturbance, out of her daydreaming. You looked at each other for a moment that felt like an eternity — time stopped, the children stopped playing and the passersby stopped breathing.

As you turned around, your eyes found Spencer. The love of your life. You took in his appearance. His hair was long, unlike how it had been when you last saw him, and he didn't care about styling it as much as he did when he was younger, his curls unruly and a little messy, a little stubble growing on his face. His expression looked harder now, more tired, ripe. You couldn't quite know how to describe him properly. For a moment, you considered that he had hardened over the years, opposite from the caring, soft man you've met and loved ardently once.

On a surface level, looking at him made you feel like you've been loving a ghost. A memory, something that could never return.

Your mind suddenly felt empty. You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

"You?" You heard the question, uncertain, leave his lips in a low voice. Was it in your head or did you sense hurt?

Again, you wanted to speak, to say something, greet him, tell him you've missed him, ask him if he was okay. Nothing came out. Everything seemed inappropriate. Again, he beat you to it, coming closer to you, voice firmer. "What are you... I thought you'd left."

"I did."

"I know."

Silence. He got closer, moving to sit beside you.

"Yeah." Silence. Still looking at each other. "I came back a couple of months ago. Started visiting exactly three weeks ago, today." You revealed to break the silence, even though the idea that everything that came out of your mouth was improper still plagued your mind.

Spencer felt baffled. You looked different, more mature, even your style had drastically changed — you once wore colorful, baggier outfits, full of life and bright shades matching your personality (you even went shopping with Penelope and you exchanged fashion tips), but now, you wore more sober, neutral tones. Instead of the usual sneakers, or the Converse you both loved to wear together to match your outfits — his black and yours blue —, you wore black boots with heels. You looked grown. And it fit you. Still, your face was the same: your eyes held the same glimmer in them from all those years ago, your lips still as inviting as it ever was for him.

He licked his own, realizing his mouth was dry. "I come here every now and then when things get too heated." He confided, eyes never leaving your figure.

You smiled. A hole in his chest, desolation invading his being. The simple act still makes his machine of a heart ache and speed to reach its full capacity. Of breaking for you. "It's peaceful."

You knew that he seeked solace from whatever was happening in your memories together in that place. At least, you hoped so. You hoped, selfishly, that he thought of you as much as you thought of him, of his ghost. That he ached for you as much as you ached for him.

"Yeah."

Awkward silence engulfed the two of you. You didn't know where to look, but you could never stop scanning his face, taking in his features with care. "I like your hair. It fits you," you said.

He got closer, less than an arm's length between the two of you. Almost itching for you to touch his hair, eyes pleading for some mercy on your end. You've been awfully quiet and if meeting him maim you, you certainly have improved your poker face skills. "You've changed," he retorted. "I never thought I'd see you so different from, you know..."

You didn’t remember Spencer at a loss of words.

Too close. "I hope for the better."

"Why didn't you call?" He asked, brows furrowing.

Come to think of it, it was an excuse you had rehearsed quite a few times when you imagined this scenario, “I was settling, still trying to contact everyone, still finding my way around…”

“And you didn’t think of me?” His tone was wounded. He certainly dreamed you’d come back and was positively sure that you’d reach out to him. Of course, he was wrong.

“Of course I did. I just thought you wouldn't pick up,” you replied.

He didn’t know what to say. Of course he would pick up, but there was no way you could know about it nor trust him if he said so; why would you? You had left him because he built walls around him, cutting you off from his life, torturing you, slowly dragging the end of your relationship and he couldn’t explain why. Once you left, Spencer delved into his work life like never before. He flirted with women and even slept around, which he was aware was a poor coping mechanism, all to outrun the desertion of you, desperately wishing he could forget that he could feel alive in your presence. He even tried having a relationship. It was nice having someone around, now that he was grown and had made peace with some of his demons, but it was never like you and it was all that she was to him: someone around. He never felt that spark with her like he had felt with you, never again having a taste of the sensation that ran through him whenever he stumbled excitedly into your apartment when you invited him over, seizing the rare opportunities to be with you, happiness bubbling inside him. With his new girlfriend, it was quiet. He mistook it for the calmness he lacked within himself when he was with you, but it was just bland. Needless to say, he felt awful about straight up using a person to keep his mind off of you, but it was nice while it worked. He started longing for something he couldn’t even describe what it was.

One day, you guys met halfway, between the two cities you were both in. It was raining and you launched yourself into his arms once you recognized him. You had kissed him like a soldier's wife, for you sure definitely missed him like one — he had been away on a case which took longer than usual. “Hi,” you greeted, shyly, after giving him the hottest kiss of his life.

“Hi,” he smiled, a little flushed.

“I couldn't wait to get to you, Spence,” you confessed, arms pulling him back to hug you once again, his own engulfing your figure. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too. I miss you all the time.” He said, burying his face into the crook of your neck, wet hair prickling on his skin. He peeled himself away from you, taking a deep breath. “Do you want to be my girlfriend?”

The squealed “Yes!” before you kissed him ardently once more was forever ingrained into his mind.

Amidst his reverie, you stood up from your seat. The wind tousled your hair slightly, so you used your left hand to tuck it behind your ear. The street lights reflected their light on a ring you had on your left hand. He recognized it instantly. “I should go,” you murmured, slightly graceless.

“You still have it.”

You looked at him, still sitting and nodded softly. You were hit with the realization that he also remembered you. It didn’t matter that it was such a small thing about you, relief flooded your veins at the very thought that he thought of you. “I do.”

You waved at him, your lips turned upwards shyly. You turned your back and started walking away from him. Again, he thought. And again, he let you, without putting up a fight, which he was aware that he should have done. The elephant in his chest was a light weight compared to the heavy truth dancing around in his throat. Said truth would become much bigger, a heavier burden for him to carry, once it made its way out of him. Speaking made it real. He knew it because every memory that he kept of you, in a sacred, untouched area of his own consciousness, was full of comfort after sharing uncomfortable truths.

It was like his heart screamed at him to keep searching, to keep trying for the person who made it beat faster. But his brain, foggy with all the logic and terrible, horrid things he had to face, decided it was best to keep himself away from you, to save himself the trouble of being the target of pity, or worse, being another person who left him.

From that day on, you’d casually visit the park, secretly wishing you could see him more. It didn't take too long until your wishes were granted, no matter how private you thought they were. Perhaps they were all over your face and he could still read you so easily. Despite the apparent capacity of reading your wants, you were positively sure that Spencer didn't know what to say, just like you. Everything, including him, felt as distant as you had left it. You weren't sure if you could go back, but running away was just as troublesome: you had to adapt in order to survive, but everyone else surrounding you was already fit to the environment. You stuck out like a sore thumb, unable to connect with anyone but the protagonist from past memories of what once was a happy relationship.

Every time you were there, you sensed someone looking at you shortly after your arrival. It was like an unspoken agreement between the two of you, to try to talk things through without rushing into anything, trying to conquer the other's forgiveness by sharing both ordinary and big moments you had during your time apart. As you sat down and talked and shared, you realized that you'd never stop loving him, not even for a second, not even if you could. You had tried and failed, and kept coming back for more to fall in love with the same person over and over.

These encounters quickly turned into the best moments of Spencer's weeks, getting to be filled in on the things he had missed in your life. You had shown him photos, your new degree, new friends, discussed details about your job and how things were in your family. All of that wrapped in intricate, subtle details on how much you'd turned into a person he was already feeling proud of. You had grown into a strong-willed woman who managed to keep your heart as pure as the day you had met him. You still had the traits that made you fall in love with him.

One day, you two were sitting on the bench and you pointed to your initials on it. “Heh, I remember that day. You kept worrying someone was going to show up and stop me from doing it.”

He smiled. “I'm glad no one did.”

“It's funny, isn't it?” You asked, eyes on the indentation, not expecting him to answer due the lack of context. He frowned. “I mean, us. Acting like we don't know each other just for the sake of spending time together.”

He thought for a moment. With your shameless comment, you were definitely daring him to say something. Daring him to make things real, but better this time. “I like that idea,” he said, getting you to look at him. “Don't you? We get to meet each other again. I get to meet you again and I get to make sure that, this time, I'll never let you go.”

“You still don't know me enough to say that with such sureness,” you said, feeling bashful all of a sudden. It was also one of your behaviors that got him so enthralled, once again. Your capacity of saying something and then act coyly, as if you didn't know what he was talking about. Almost backtracking on whatever you had said that was a little more risky than the usual chatter.

He wouldn't let you.

“I want to.”

His tone made you speechless. Your expression turned into one of sheer, pure enchantment. It told him everything he needed to know.

Everything bad was now under the bridge and you could finally have each other back after being so patient.

He now remembered what it was that he missed so dearly in his life.

You.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #matthew gray gubler #spencer reid fanfic #doctor spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x yn #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #criminal minds fanfiction #mgg

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dekaydk · 18 hours ago

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Unlike a lot of the comments here, I don't accept (or believe Mystal does) that the lesson is "do what the Trumpists are doing."

One important point he was making is that people across the political spectrum either don't care about harm or actively embrace it.

The MAGA right celebrate harm and we must accept that they cannot be persuaded to do otherwise. (All the media and campaign consultant handwringing about understanding them is doubling down on failed tactics.) The center saw Harris and mostly didn't accept her, because along with the reasons Mystal lists above, it wasn't clear what she would do as President.

Among supposedly left/progressive voters there is a very large cohort (estimated in the 10+ million range) who abstained from voting or threw their vote away in a meaningless and unnoticed gesture to a third party candidate…and did so knowingly, in the face of explicit promises by the other side of extensive, serious and wide-ranging harm, domestically and overseas, to named individuals, to specific already marginalized/exploited groups, to the climate, the rule of law, public health, etc., etc., etc.. These so-called progressive voters are bad people because they don't care about harm reduction; just their privileged, personal purity politics.

The lesson is that the left and the Democratic Party in particular had no strategic perspective and message, just an almost nonexistent platform/agenda and endless repetition of "Trump bad". They had no real response to the Gaza abstainers/defectors. The Biden coup abruptly boosted an unprepared and unknown-to-voters candidate at the last minute, with lots of ex-Obama campaign staff who tried running the same vague HopeAndChange playbook. There was almost no message about what a Harris Administration would do aside from some apple-pie platitudes about housing and small businesses. She wouldn't even commit to sticking with or changing Biden policies. For the voters who might have been persuaded to abandon their principled Gaza position, or the (few) fence-sitters, what was there to vote for?

The Democratic Party is, and has been, an incoherent mess for a very long time. Only a return to first principles and communication tactics, both FDR-style, creating, reinforcing and playing to strengths will help it. Unfortunately, too many in the party suffer from learned helplessness, an attachment to failed tactics, and a stupidly pathetic belief that reaching out to the other side will lead to persuading them. To that last belief: "Never try to teach a pig to sing; it wastes your time and annoys the pig."

I don’t know if I’m yet fully here, but something to think about.

#election results

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readerstories · 1 day ago

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When You Touch Me - Wolverine x male reader x Deadpool 6/?

Some light word-building, and a try at explaining a little with reader's thinking/worldview. And of course, a soulmate :3 Next chapter in about a week(+/- a day)! (AO3) (Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5)

Warnings/tags: male reader, canon-typical violence, enemies to friends to lovers, slow burn

Wordcount: 2506

Summary: You’ve heard many stories about how people met their soulmates. Everyone crazier than the last, ranging from typical meet cutes, meeting with one of them at death's door, in war, meeting at your soulmate's wedding to another, and everything in between and outside of that. You had just never expected to add yours to the crazy list, meeting yours in a fight, only realizing after trying to kill each other for at least half an hour. And you certainly don’t expect to have another.

It’s been a week since you saw either of them.

Your soulmates.

You don’t like them being that, you could call them something else you suppose. But calling them their names all the time is more of a mouthful, and though you gave them nicknames before you learned their names, giving them new ones seems worse than just calling them what they are. (Even as much as you hate it.)

The ache in your shoulders and upper back has settled to a near permanent thing now, only fleeting relief for the for the briefest of moments if you massage the area.

You know why it doesn’t fade, but you don’t want to admit that to anyone, especially not Evelyn when you visit her for a check up, this time at home in her and Olivia’s apartment.

You wonder how many other people have to bring brownies to their doctor appointments as you ring Evelyn’s and Olivia’s doorbell outside the building. To be fair, not everyone else’s doctor works as a veterinarian and has a wife that would kill you if you didn’t bring them (not really, but sometimes you think Olivia is certainly capable of doing so).

Said wife is the one who buzzes you in, and greets you in the hallway just outside their front door with an enthusiastic yell of your name, and a hug that makes you let out a small grunt of pain that you try to hide in favor of hugging her back with the arm not currently holding onto the strap of your backpack.

“Oh, I’m sorry, you’re a wounded man, come in, come in, Evelyn is just setting up.” Her beautiful dark and curled hair bounces as she heads to the kitchen, and you follow her after making sure the front door is closed behind you.

The kitchen table is covered in towels, towels you know are specifically for this purpose, since none of them are the cute patterns Olivia loves. You also know that underneath there’s cling wrap covering the table, for cleanliness and just in case. It hadn’t been often you had been on this kitchen table instead of the clinic table, but the procedure Evelyn has around it isn’t unknown to you. A lot more organized than what Wade’s and Logan’s had been.

You banish the thought of them from your mind as you put your backpack down, dipping your hand inside to fish out the box of carefully wrapped brownies out, and present them to Olivia. She gasps at you, almost yanking the box out of your hand with how fast she takes it.

“Sometimes I swear it’s like you are my second soulmate.” Your stomach swoops at her words, and you make a face. She knows and disagrees with your view on soulmates, so you know it’s a friendly jab, and normally you wouldn’t have cared, but this time it hits something you don’t like.

“Yeah, yeah.” You roll your eyes at her, focusing on Evelyn instead as Olivia goes to put her treasure away. “Ready for me doc?” Seems to be the perfect time to ask that question as Evelyn puts gloves on and pats the table.

“Up you go.” You do as asked, hoisting yourself up. You take your shirt off, balling it up, putting it under your head as you lay down, getting comfortable. “Feeling fine?” Evelyn starts to peel your bandages off, slowly and carefully.

“Yeah. They seem to be doing fine, in my non-medical opinion.” She hums, and you know she’s taking your words into consideration, but it won’t really matter much before she has had a look herself. You let your eyes stay open, watching the ceiling as you hear Olivia putter around the kitchen, and feel Evelyn poke around your wounds.

Nasty couple of things. Well, they had been. You have been surprised nothing had gotten infected, you had no idea how well Wade took care of his swords, how nasty or not they were. But well, to be fair to him, if you had gotten an infection, your makeshift bandages would have been just as likely a culprit.

“Looks like you won’t die anytime soon, but they’ll still leave some nasty scars behind.” Evelyn offers, seeming to be done with her inspection of you, as she changes gloves, and starts applying new bandages. You shrug, you figured out much. Nothing cuts that deep without leaving behind a mark.

Well, unless you are a super healing mutant. Even after you had tried multiple times. Both with a katana and a gun.

Should you even feel bad for hurting your soulmates like that when it was done when in panic but with the knowledge it would heal? And you got more permanently hurt?

And to be fair, Wade had knocked you out before you ever hurt them after realizing they were your soulmates, so it wasn’t like you hadn’t been hurt, but you shot them both. Caused them more pain.

So maybe you are all a little beyond messed up.

Made for each other, like that soulmate shit implies.

You shake your head at that thought, dispelling it into the ether, which gets you a weird look from Evelyn as she finishes with your bandage.

“You alright?”

“Yeah, I just haven’t been sleeping right.”

“Chest pain?” Her hands hover near your chest, but move away as you shake your head.

“No, shoulder and upper back, think I’ve accidentally pulled something.” She frowns.

“I thought I told you to not work out or put unnecessary strain on your body as you heal.” You know what it’s from, and it’s definitely not that.

“I haven’t been working out or lifting anything heavy, I promise. I’m just an old man.” You joke, she rolls your eyes at you as you sit up, taking the glass of water Olivia offers you.

“Let me know if it keeps up, and I’ll see if I can’t figure out what it is, and get you something for it.” She can’t know and won’t be able to get you anything, but still you nod.

“Am I allowed to put my shirt back on Doc, or do you just want to ogle me some more?” You joke, this earns you a slap on the shoulder by a now gloveless hand just after Olivia hands you a chocolate chip cookie.

“Thought you were making pasta?” You get off the table and take a bite out of your cookie as Olivia smiles at you, and Evelyn starts cleaning up.

“I am, but good patients get rewards.”

“What am I, five?” You joke, Olivia reaches out as if to take the cookie out of your hand, you take a step back. “I prefer your cookies over any stupid little toy.” Olivia’s smile is bright, and if you weren’t gay and she didn’t have a soulmate, she could have been your type. She turns around, planting a kiss on Evenlyn’s cheek as she passes her on her way to grab ingredients for the dinner she is going to make for you all.

You lean on the kitchen counter and munch on your cookie, mindful to stay in the background and out of the way for them both as they move around each other with ease. Evelyn cleaning up medical supplies and the makeshift sickbed, Olivia starting to cook dinner.

You don’t want to bring up your soulmates with either of them, since you know their stance on it all is opposite of yours, since they are themselves soulmates. You’ve had plenty of arguments about this both drunk and mostly sober. You think soulmates make one vulnerable and just bring misery in the end, they think it brings strength and that you should enjoy what good you can have in life.

So you know they would just tell you to go to your soulmates, and be with them.

For the rest of your life.

Ugh.

You’re fine on (mostly) your own, thanks.

—---

This time, when the universe decides it’s time for some light fuckery, it’s Logan. On his own. And it’s not while you are working.

Not that it makes it any better.

You are taking it slow, the bar you find yourself in isn’t the fanciest thing, which suits you perfectly. The tables are mostly clean and the floor has seen better days, but they have several types of beer on tap and in bottles, a pool table, and even two shuffleboards. All in all, very casual, somewhere you could sit alone, or join a random group playing one of the games. If money sometimes exchanged hands, both between players and spectators, nobody gave a shit.

You had been a few times before, always enjoying yourself. You’re not even drinking this time, sticking to soda as much as you want to have a proper drink. You had just needed to get out of your apartment, and though you long to feel the burn of alcohol pass over them, you know it won’t heal any faster, so if you can just keep from drinking for a little longer, you can get back to the normal state of things quicker.

Well, as normal as they can get after the universe decided to change the core of your life. You were not one for company, at least not permanently.

Currently you are sitting at a table, watching two long bearded and bald men play pool, making snide comments back and forth. You had made a bet on the man with the scarred ear, but he is losing, pretty badly.

Oh well, 20 bucks isn’t the end of the world.

What kind of feels like it though, is when you spot Logan walking into the bar. He’s wearing normal clothes this time, just some jeans, boots, and a green flannel. He glances around the bar, you duck your head in the hope that he doesn’t see you.

You don’t hope for long though, as a very full glass of what looks like whiskey is sat down next to your soda, and the chair on the other side of the table becomes occupied.

“Logan.” Your uttering of his name in greeting is icy, your name falling from his lips are decidedly less so.

“What are you doing here?” You ask him, feeling your shoulders ease up. Which annoys you so much, he’s just arrived, and he’s already making you feel better. You want to go, to leave, even as your loosening muscles reminds you that staying for a little bit will stave off side effects of your unfortunately shared bond.

“Drinking.” He grunts, taking a sip of his glass. You roll your eyes and look at him for a few moments, head swirling with thoughts. You settle on one, just to have something to say as you stall and try to figure out how much time you need to feel more than just a little less shitty, though you can’t help but be actually curious as you ask.

“Can you even get drunk with your healing shit?” Logan frowns, and you wonder if that’s his default. You don’t ask about that though.

“With some effort.”

“Why the fuck even be in a bar then?” Your tone is still not kind, even as you feel your shoulders ache just a little bit less, like you had just massaged over a good spot. He shrugs.

“Company I guess.” It’s your turn to frown.

“I have no interest in being company. Get away from me Logan, or I will make you go away.” You know you should stay close longer so you can also stay away longer, but you are still stubborn, not wanting the fuckery that is soulmates.

At least if you just stay in the same room, it should help, you think.

You hope. No need to stay close in the slightest.

He takes you in, quickly glancing at you from top to toe.

“I -“ You don’t let him speak.

“What did I just say Logan?” He scowls at you, you glare back at him, but let him speak when he opens his mouth this time.

“I don’t like it.” Logan reluctantly admits as the scowl stays on his face. “This being the way we are going about things.” He clarifies.

“Though shit.” He tilts his head at you, scowl turning into more of a squint.

“Are you always this combative?” You feel like a street dog on high alert, barking in warning.

“Fuck off.”

“Look-” And when barks don’t work……

“You had your warning.” You say as you grab your knife from your left leg. You stab it into his hand, aiming for the skin between where the claws go through his hand, hitting the jackpot as red seeps around the knife and the tip of it burrows into the table. Seconds later there is warm and sharp metal pushing your chin up. You grin and waggle a finger at him.

“Nah ah, mortal, remember?” You twist the knife around once for good measure, making him grunt in pain, and then pull it out of his hand. You already know you are banned from this bar for life, but you don’t care. His claws retract, this time you realize it actually makes a sound. Huh.

“So you are always this combative.” Logan grits out between his clenched teeth, as his hand heals itself, leaving behind nothing but the blood that spilled out where you stabbed him.

“Fellas, time to go.” A bouncer suddenly stands in front of your table now, a t-shirt with security over his chest in big white letters. He’s huge, towering over both you and Logan, arms ready at his sides, eyes flicking between the two of you. You see Logan seize him up, and for a moment you wonder if he is going to fight the man, but his eyes go to you as you get off your chair.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going.” You put your knife away. “Again, fuck off Logan.” You show him the finger as you walk out. He’s just steps behind you, clearly no longer welcome in the bar either, but he keeps his distance as you both go out of the door.

You have no idea where he's going, and you have no plans now, so you start walking in the direction of home.

After gaining some distance, you look over your shoulder. You don’t want to be followed. Logan is standing just outside of the bar, looking at your retreating back, but he takes a step forward as your eyes connect with his. You show him the finger again as you disappear around a corner.

You rub your forehead as you are out of sight, annoyance cursing through you. You think some of it might be his.

Fuck, you wish you could get drunk right now. Well, you could, but it wouldn’t be good for your healing. And you have no idea how bad or good your control over your bonds are when you’re drunk.

Just another thing for future you to figure out, you guess.

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bonesandthebees · 10 hours ago

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im confused sorry but why is everyone celebrating tommy, jack, and phil talking about dream that way?? im seeing a lot of mixed sides on them talking about this so im so sorry if you cant answer

oh boy anon uh. this is a bit like opening pandora's box ngl.

I don't know how much context to give but basically a very very pared down version is: back when the dsmp was in its heyday with cctommy being, yknow, 16 years old, there were some instances of interactions he and dream had that seemed off in certain ways, but given that us fans only saw the public thing + general fandom opinion of dream being very different at that time we generally tended to believe that the interactions were joking and friendly on all sides

over the years, as we've come to learn more about the person dream really is a lot of fans have looked back on these somewhat strange interactions with a more critical eye. specifically with the podcast clip I reblogged, tommy, jack, and phil were referring to a twitter interaction dream and tommy had back in 2021. tommy had made a dumb joke about dream, dream replied basically saying he made tommy's career and that tommy owed his success to him and even posted graphs of sub counts and stuff to prove his point?? I don't remember exactly what the reply was but it was along those lines and was strangely aggressive for an obvious joke tommy was making. so phil replied to dream with his own tweet basically saying "imagine taking credit for another creator's success because you helped guide them a bit" which was such an eloquent and simple takedown that the tweet has achieved somewhat legendary status in the fanbase lol

so yeah, in the podcast tommy, jack, and phil were talking about the behind the scenes of that whole thing basically revealing what most of us figured: tommy was joking and dream took it way too seriously and got aggressive publicly on twitter with someone who was ostensibly his friend, who he could've just dmed to clear things up. the reason phil jumped in is because tommy had dmed him at the time asking phil to help because he wasn't sure if dream was trying to joke as well or if he was genuinely pissed at him.

also on this podcast (which is a bonus episode only technically available on their paid patreon) tommy, jack, and phil all talked pretty openly about their true feelings regarding dream during that time and also now. basically, what phil and jack were both saying was there were a lot of red flags with dream's behavior back then with the way he treated the people around him. it's basically very cathartic for a lot of the fanbase to hear about this because we've all suspected for a long time there was a lot more animosity between cc's behind the scenes, especially after that spilled over to dream's public behavior on twitter.

sorry if that's not exactly coherent I am tired but I hope that explains things a bit

#also i have not actually watched the podcast ep yet this is what ive gathered from clips and friends liveblogging it #ask #anon #dream situation

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darkmatilda · 2 days ago

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╰┈➤ the pumpkin reaper

part 3: the last day of investigation

previous part here

epilogue here

in which you and the BAU are handling the case of a murderer in a small, sleepy town.

tw: decapitation, description of a crime scene etc, mention of a suicide attempt, mentall illness

contents: spencer reid x fem!bau!reader, solving a criminal mystery, angst, slow burn

words: 9 k....i'm insane, i'm aware

Your dad was the one who managed to explain everything to you.

Once, you hated the coldness he exuded. Everything he said seemed so devoid of emotion, as if he didn't have any at all. Probably, if he had ever tried to say "I love you," those words would have gotten stuck in his throat, causing choking and death.

At that moment, you appreciated it for the first time. He told you how your mom had found Jeremy in the bathtub, the water completely stained with blood. If an outsider had heard it, they would have thought he was talking about some stranger's child, not his own son, so composed he sounded. But you heard all the tiny breaks in his voice, the pauses to swallow saliva that slowly dripped down his throat.

You stood with your back against the door, the phone slipping from your numb hand.

For a moment, you felt simply empty. Without feelings or thoughts. What was this room you were in — the bathroom? A bathroom, what even is that? Syllables joined into a longer sound that should have some specific meaning. What meaning? You didn’t know. A loud ringing filled your ears, driving everything out of your mind.

The phone call had ended. The device was still pressed against your cheek, slipping further and further from your grip. After a while — you couldn’t tell how long — it simply fell to the floor, onto the simple black-and-white tiles. You didn’t even hear the sound it made.

You might have stayed frozen there for hours if not for the soft tapping on the other side of the door. You were only just returning to reality, so you couldn’t respond. Then someone spoke your name in a questioning tone. You ignored that too, though not intentionally. For a moment, you had simply forgotten your own name. This unsettled the person in the next room; after a few seconds, they grasped the handle and pushed the door. It met the barrier of your back, and that gentle jolt was what began to pull you out of your trance.

The first breath hurt; the first thought nearly brought you to your knees.

Jeremy. Your little brother.

Moving as if on autopilot, you turned toward the door and opened it. At first, Spencer seemed to exhale with relief, but then he saw the expression on your face, and his slightly hunched posture straightened, shifting to one of concern.

You’d taken over the bathroom as soon as you returned to the hotel, so he hadn’t had a chance to change. He’d only hung up his jacket by the door, taken off his vest, and remained in his shirt with a loosened tie and sleeves rolled up to his elbows. You opened your mouth, but no sound came out.

“W-what happened? I thought I heard something fall…”

“It was...um...the phone,” you managed to choke out.

“I-I was talking to my dad, my dad, but first with my mom, and…and she was mad at me because of…because of…wait, what did you ask?” The words spilling from you were one big jumble. You pressed a cool hand to your forehead, burning as if with fever, your brain throbbing with effort, as if you were delivering a university lecture on nuclear physics.

Spencer was no longer just concerned — he was terrified. Seeing how you were barely standing on legs that refused to cooperate, he caught you just before you fell. You collapsed face-first onto his shoulder, surrendering entirely to gravity.

“Oh…okay, okay, it’s okay now,” he whispered, resting one hand on the back of your head and the other on your back, offering support.

You closed your eyes, only now realizing they were filled with tears. The shock was fading, the barrier that had held back every other emotion finally breaking down. They began to overwhelm you, resulting in a muffled sob against his body.

“He tried to kill himself,” you finally managed to say, the meaning of the words slowly sinking in. You repeated it several times, each time quieter but with more awareness. “He tried…he tried…”

“No, you don’t have to... just... oh god, I’m so sorry...” He stammered. He realized that no words would be enough, none would help you. Instead of wasting energy on them, he poured it all into the embrace, holding you even tighter.

You simply stayed in that position, as time passed by.

"What's with him?" he asked when your breathing finally returned to a steady rhythm, and the pain wasn't as sharp. His voice was so soft, soothing like a lullaby. "Your brother?"

You realized that, because of your secrecy, you had never even casually mentioned Jeremy to him. This was the first time you were talking about him. Under these circumstances

"Dad said his condition is stable." You raised your head, and your eyes met by accident. You quickly looked back down at your hands. You felt exposed in a way you never had before with anyone else, and it was strange, unfamiliar. But you couldn’t say it was entirely negative. "He’s under observation now; he lost a lot of blood. If my mom hadn’t found him..."

You shook your head, trying to chase away the dark visions and scenarios.

"Spencer," you sighed, struggling to put into words what had been tormenting you from the very beginning. "I... I can’t stop thinking about how much of this is my fault."

"I left him with our parents. Fully aware of what they’re like. I told him he could rely on me but I was in another city, only keeping in touch by phone. Irregulary. Since we started working on this case, I’ve spoken to him once…"

Until now, you hadn’t maintained strong eye contact; each time it happened, you pulled away. But in that moment, there was something in his gaze that wouldn’t let you look away. Reid was definitely not one to offer empty words of comfort or general platitudes. Seeing him remain silent, you were certain he was about to say something entirely his own.

“Blaming yourself is a very common, I’d even say natural, part of grief, and I’m afraid that nothing I say will make you stop feeling this way, but I’ll try anyway. You didn’t abandon Jeremy. Even if there was distance between you, you still tried to be there for him, you cared for him like no one else did. You know, even if you usually avoided talking about it, it was still very clear. Sometimes I’d see you from a distance talking to him on the phone. I couldn’t hear a word, but… I wondered a lot who that person was. The one who makes you so happy” He looked slightly flustered, blushing as he realized what he had mentioned, but continued nonetheless. “You seemed so happy and genuinely invested. I can tell that you didn’t stay in touch with him out of guilt or obligation alone. He truly meant the world to you. And… what I’m trying to say is that… sometimes, no matter how much we try, there are things we just can’t control. This is incredibly hard for you, and you blame yourself for all of it, but I hope that someday you’ll see that not everything depended on you, and none of this is your fault."

You stared at him in silence, not knowing what to say. His words… they touched you, pierced your skin, and lodged deeply within your body. They soothed you, like a lullaby sung to a child before sleep. You realized just how incredibly grateful you were that you both shared this room.

"I don't know what I would do if you weren't here," you answered softly, feeling the area around your eyes tighten, signaling the tears that were about to come.

Without hesitation, he simply embraced you.

With his chin resting on the top of your head and your forehead pressed against his collarbone.

"You would manage. You’re strong. But you deserve to have someone by your side in a moment like this."

You whispered that you were afraid you wouldn’t be able to fall asleep. He offered you one of the sleeping pills he had mentioned in the car, though it would take a little while for them to take effect. You lay on your side, with your knees curled up. It wasn’t until the morning that you realized you were on his bed, surprised to find yourself so far from the window. That was your first thought, still not fully sober.

The room was drowning in darkness, the only sources of light being the faint glow of the moon sneaking in like a thief through the imperfectly drawn curtain, and the alarm clock on the nightstand between your beds, showing the time as 4:47.

You stretched your sleepy eyelids open and rubbed them with your hand, not moving from your spot. You felt a little embarrassed that you had fallen asleep in Spencer’s bed, but then you noticed his silhouette in yours. It turned out you had simply swapped places. Since it was only your second night in this hotel, it hadn’t yet absorbed his scent. Not that you were looking for it. You were just curious, which is why you pressed your face so firmly into the pillow.

Spencer was lying with his face turned toward you. However, he didn’t seem completely relaxed, almost as if even the sound of dust floating in the air could wake him. This turned out to be a very accurate observation, as the moment you opened your eyes, he did the same.

"Hey, how do you feel?" he asked. His voice was quiet, hoarse.

"I'm too awake to go back to sleep for another week. Unfortunately," you muttered, turning onto your back. Of course, it was sarcasm. You couldn’t sleep for too long, you had to... you weren’t even sure what you had to do. You urgently needed to find out what had happened with Jeremy over the past few hours. Was his condition still stable, or had it improved significantly overnight, or…

The thought of another conversation with your father drained you. Or, worse yet, your mother. They were, however, your only source of information about your unconscious brother.

So yes, you needed to make a call, then get up, pull yourself together, maybe eat something… it all sounded more than overwhelming.

"I'll talk to Hotch, if you want. He’ll let you go back, even today."

The mention of the boss’s name hit you like an ice cube dropped under your shirt. Despite everything that had happened yesterday, you were still at work. In the middle of hunting down a seven-time murderer who had discarded his last two victims just yesterday. A murderer who, from the very beginning, had stirred your intuition, suggesting that the answer to this puzzle lay somewhere at the back of your mind.

On the other hand, you felt obligated to be by Jeremy’s side when he woke up. Who else would be there for him? A nurse? An emotionally absent father? An unstable, bipolar mother who had probably stopped taking her meds again?

As if against your own will, you lifted yourself into a sitting position, a certain thought suddenly entering your mind.

"I'll stay," you decided.

"Are you sure? If you don't want to talk about it with the others, I’ll do it for you," he offered, propping himself up on his elbows. His hair was a mess, eyes gleaming with worry. "You know Hotch, he may not seem like it, but he's very understanding..."

"Really, I can handle it," you reassured him, but he didn’t seem convinced. "Reid, I need to finish this case. I think I’ve realized something."

He sat on the bed, furrowing his brow. The sudden change in the tone of your voice must have intrigued him; you sounded almost determined.

"What is it?"

You opened your mouth, ready to rush out a chaotic response, but stopped yourself at the last moment. It was so early in the morning, and your mind wasn’t exactly firing on all cylinders — how could it be, when you’d only just woken up? It made more sense to wait, to go over the latest findings with the team; maybe they would fit perfectly with your newest theory.

And that’s exactly what happened.

“The victims found on the pumpkin farm have been identified,” Hotch announced instead of a greeting when you met just an hour and a half later. Everyone looked slightly dazed; the coffee they were sipping hadn’t yet kicked in. Likely, only you and Reid had been up this early—physically, you seemed the most alert, yet it was plain to see that your thoughts were still rooted in the previous day, struggling to keep up with everything happening around you. You sat close together, shoulder to shoulder, entirely on instinct, as if an invisible thread connected you, tightening painfully around your wrists whenever you tried to drift too far apart.

From time to time, he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, as if checking to see if you were okay. Twice, he gave a slight nod in Hotch’s direction, reminding you that you could still talk to him, ask for permission to go back home. You silently reassured him that you were feeling relatively fine and didn’t want to bring it up with the boss. Just as you broke eye contact, ending the wordless conversation, you noticed Morgan and Prentiss watching the two of you, their heads tilted at the same angle in an almost eerily synchronized way.

You took a breath, feeling slightly embarrassed. Your sudden closeness with Reid must have seemed at the very least… suspicious to them.

“Their names were Denise Grant and Alexa Miller, and listen to this,” Garcia began, her voice quickening as her face appeared on the laptop screen. “Both of them worked at the same orphanage. And what's more — it's the very same orphanage where one of the earlier victims worked.”

The atmosphere thickened as everyone absorbed the significance of the information.

"What are the chances this could be a coincidence?" JJ asked rhetorically.

"Well..." Reid began. His friend raised an eyebrow. "I get it, no large numbers. But small ones. Smaller than the chance that the asteroid..."

"Were the remaining body parts of these women found?" Rossi asked matter-of-factly.

Hotch shook his head.

"Unfortunately, no. The forest is so heavily guarded by the police that it's unlikely the unsub managed to dump them there."

"But he has to be doing something with them," Prentiss said, biting the inside of her cheek thoughtfully. "Doesn't it make you wonder where he's committing all these crimes? He gets rid of the bodies quickly, and there were no signs on the victims suggesting they were held captive. Do you think he could be killing them in his own house?"

"That's possible," Morgan replied. "He wouldn't be the first. And unfortunately, he won't be the last."

"If that's the case, they're going to start smelling awful soon. He'll have to get rid of them, and with so much police presence around, it won't be that easy."

"Let's hope he makes a mistake in the process," Hotch summarized, scanning your faces carefully. Finally, his gaze landed on yours. "You’ll go to the orphanage with..." He swept his eyes over everyone around you, finally settling on Derek. Reid, sitting next to you, shifted uncomfortably.

"I'll go with her," he offered a bit too abruptly.

This shifted the focus of everyone’s attention onto you. You tried to act as if it didn’t matter who would go with you, but deep down, you were hoping it would be him.

You stared at your boss, waiting for his decision. Finally, he nodded and began assigning other tasks to the rest of the team. You couldn't help but smile, barely perceptibly, feeling grateful to Spencer.

It wasn’t that you minded the company of the others; it was simply that none of them had any idea what had happened the day before. They might ask questions about your more withdrawn-than-usual behavior or your subdued mood, and you didn’t want to talk about what had happened with your brother. You knew that with Reid, you would feel the most comfortable.

For a while, you continued discussing the farm workers, who turned out to be employed without contracts, and of course the owner who was hiring them off the books. But with each new statement from your colleagues, you became more and more detached. Your thoughts kept drifting to Jeremy and his behavior over the past few weeks. He had seemed down during your conversations, but you had chalked it up to just the usual busy period at school. On top of that, there was the family situation. Living alone, you'd almost forgotten what a typical day with your mother used to look like. You started to berate yourself, feeling guilty for not being more concerned about his state.

Eventually, everyone dispersed, ready to get back to their tasks.

You went to the car alone, as Reid had been stopped by Derek, who had asked him something with an unreadable expression. His eyebrow had raised suggestively, and you could have sworn you saw it even from several meters away. You stared at the two of them, leaning against the open passenger-side door, intrigued about what the conversation might be about. Normally, you weren’t the curious type; you didn’t like it when people asked you too many questions, and you avoided prying into others’ affairs. But this time, you couldn’t take your eyes off Spencer’s face, clearly embarrassed—maybe even… blushing?

Derek laughed at his reaction and gave him a pat on the back before walking away. Your companion sat in the driver's seat without a word, avoiding your gaze.

"Where is the orphanage?" he asked.

You turned toward him, brow furrowed.

"You remembered the whole map," you reminded him.

"Oh, right..."

You fell silent for several minutes, but your curiosity grew so much that you thought you might not be able to hold it in any longer.

"What were you two talking about? With Morgan?"

"Oh... just some stuff," he replied evasively, overly focused on the road. As if you were in the middle of a busy city during rush hour, rather than on a nearly empty road in the morning.

"You know Morgan and his... sense of humor."

"Yes, I know. Did he tell some great joke?"

"Not really."

"Go ahead. I'm curious."

"I’m telling you, nothing worth repeating... Besides, I've already forgotten it myself..."

"Reid, for God's sake, you literally have a photographic memory...!"

"Okay, fine!" he finally blurted out, removing one hand from the steering wheel and raising it in a defensive gesture. His voice went up a quarter of an octave. He then took a deep breath and put on a seemingly calm expression. "Morgan wanted to know if our... well, unusual... peculiar... definitely different from the previous days... behavior means that..."

"That what?" you asked encouragingly.

"That we slept with each other”

You blinked in slow motion, too shocked to respond. Spencer couldn't resist glancing at you, trying to gauge your reaction. For a moment, you sat frozen, then you burst into laughter.

"And what did you tell him?"

"What did I tell him?" he repeated in disbelief. "The truth, what else was I supposed to say?"

You realized how stupid your question was.

"Anyway, even if it were true... you know, that we... slept together... I wouldn't have mentioned it to him. I mean, don’t get me wrong” He quickly added the last part.“It's not that I’d be ashamed to admit it or... anything like that, I just would’ve preferred to sort it out with you first..."

You watched his growing embarrassment and... simply smiled.

"Sorry," you explained your reaction, letting out a slight chuckle. "I just thought... Well nevermind. Or…Fine, I was thinking about how strangely Emily was looking at me and how Derek probably wasn’t the only one who came to that conclusion. Look, we share a room with each other for the very first time and then suddenly we become so close... and then there's the fact that you asked to come with me..."

"That's because I wanted... I wanted to keep an eye on you after what happened yesterday."

"I understand that, and... I’m incredibly grateful to you for it. Really, Spence. But to others, it might look really suspicious."

He paused for a moment, thinking about your words. Ahead of you, the orphanage building came into view. Made of a mix of red and cream bricks, it resembled a small private school. Behind the fence, there was a small playground with a pink slide, its surface now covered in brown leaves.

"Wait," Reid asked with a slightly hoarse voice as you were about to get out of the car. "Does this mean that... you’d prefer we saw each other less?"

You were momentarily speechless.

"What? Of course not. Let them think what they want. Especially those two…lacherours, Morgan and Prentiss. It doesn’t change anything between us."

The air hit your face in waves, occasionally accompanied by a stray raindrop, but overall, the weather that day wasn’t terrible.

You made your way to the orphanage doors, trying to adopt serious, professional expressions fitting for your line of work. However, you couldn’t help but let those fleeting, secret smiles slip through. You felt a tight knot in your stomach loosen.

But back to business, no staff member at the orphanage wants to see two FBI agents on their doorstep at eight in the morning. Well, no one wants to see FBI agents on their doorstep. Regardless of the time. The woman who opened the door greeted you with a slight look of confusion. She was shorter than both of you, with thick blonde hair, wearing a fluffy lavender sweater. At first glance, she seemed friendly, but… incredibly downhearted.

"Can I help you with something?" she asked, clearly forcing a smile.

You looked at Reid and took a small breath, holding back a sigh. It dawned on both of you that… she probably didn’t know yet that the heads found on the farm belonged to her two coworkers.

Everyone in the town knew about the discovery, that was beyond doubt. The fact that these two women hadn’t shown up for work in several days should have made her realize it. But sometimes, as people, we prefer to deceive ourselves right until the very end.

You hated informing people that their loved ones had died, especially in such a horrific way. However, you knew you had to do what was required of you, reaching into your pocket for your badge.

"We're from the FBI," you said after introducing yourselves, trying to keep a gentle expression to spare some nerves for the already frightened woman. "Do you work here? We’d like to have a word with all the staff and the director."

The woman took a deep, nervous breath.

“Yes, I work here. Florence Terry. I’m… I’m a psychologist.”

She opened the door wider, letting you both inside. You quickly glanced around, immediately noticing how well-kept the place was. In your line of work, you’d surprisingly often found yourself visiting orphanages, and many — even in larger cities — were in far worse condition. In the spacious hallway stood a staircase made of light wood, leading to the upper floors. On one of the steps, someone had placed a teddy bear so that it looked like it was gazing down.

“Do you think it’s afraid of heights?” you whispered to Reid, careful that the psychologist couldn’t hear.

“I think it’s an inanimate object and therefore incapable of having fears,” he whispered back, leaning slightly toward you.

“I think you’re —”

“We’re just having breakfast,” Florence interrupted, leading you into the dining room, where a long table stood at the center. At the sight of you both, the adults seated there — likely other caregivers — put their utensils aside. There weren’t that many kids here; they could almost pass for an unusually large family, if not for the fact that nearly all of them were around the same age. There were no little ones — you noticed mostly teenagers. One boy spilled his tea on the table and wiped it up with his sleeve, his black bangs brushing against the glasses perched on his narrow nose. You weren’t sure if it was his appearance or his mannerisms, but he immediately reminded you of Jeremy.

Reid immediately noticed you staring. Of course he did. You gave a slight smile, reassuring him that everything was fine.

Your arrival didn’t cause much of a stir; most of the children didn’t even look up. It probably would have been different if they knew you were from the FBI. The expression on the psychologist's face, however, alarmed the adults. They exchanged tense glances, but tried to maintain appearances in front of the children.

The woman with the tight black ponytail stood up, introducing herself as the director.

“We can talk in my office,” she offered, shaking your hand.

“We’d like to speak with all the staff,” Reid informed her.

“Oh, of course. Then please, follow me…”

She led you to a small room on the ground floor, with the word "DIRECTOR" written on the door in colorful crayons. Three more people followed you, including the psychologist.

"Not everyone is here today," the director noted. "Some employees simply work different hours, while others..."

"That’s something we wanted to discuss," you said slowly.

The women and one man exchanged glances. They knew.

"Is… is this about Denise and Alexa?" Florence dared to ask.

To their horror, you had to confirm it. It was incredibly difficult to watch someone take in the news of not only the death of colleagues, but likely close friends as well. You lowered your gaze, staring at your shoes, giving them a moment before they were ready to continue with the questioning. Together with Reid, you had to ask them countless questions, probing to understand why these particular orphanage employees had become the killer’s victims. Or perhaps, whether they remembered any former resident who had long since left but whose behavior had raised suspicions. There was a strong likelihood that the unsub had come from there.

But before you began the questioning, the doorbell rang.

"That’s probably the volunteer. A teenager from town who comes by to help from time to time, sometimes she brings friends along," the director explained, her trembling hands pressed against her chest. "Their help has been especially valuable these past few days since… since Denise and Alexa… disappeared."

"I’ll let them in," you offered, glancing at Reid. It would be worth asking these teenagers a few questions as well.

He nodded, and you headed toward the entrance of the building. One girl pulled back quickly into the dining hall at the sight of you; she must have been eavesdropping. At first, you felt like smiling, but then sadness took over. These kids didn’t know yet about the death of their caretakers. How would the staff tell them? How would they react?

Worried by this thought, you opened the door and raised your eyebrows in surprise at the sight of… Charlotte.

“Oh, hi,” she greeted you, equally surprised. She wore the same white jacket you’d seen her in yesterday, with a colorful scarf covering half her face, her pale cheeks flushed from the cold. You glanced toward the parking lot, where the sheriff's car was just pulling away beside yours. He must have dropped off his daughter before heading straight back to his duties. The town needed him more than ever. “Dad told me who those women were… the ones I found yesterday. Is that why you’re here?”

You confirmed, lips pressed tightly together. She stepped inside, unzipping her jacket.

"My partner is talking with the staff right now," you said, stopping with her by the stairs, not wanting the children in the dining hall to overhear. "I had no idea you volunteered here. That’s really, really kind of you. How long have you been doing this?"

She hesitated, her cheeks flushing slightly.

"Just a few months," she replied, but there was something incomplete in her tone. As if she wanted to say more but held back. You replayed your conversation from the day before in your mind, analyzing it moment by moment, trying to deduce what might be behind her behavior.

"My dad, surprisingly, isn’t too thrilled about it. I live on the other side of town, so he has to drive me here, and he also says I should be studying instead…” She lowered her voice to an embarrassed whisper. “…wandering around with the poor."

You were taken aback, even outraged, by the sheriff’s behavior. As a parent, he should be proud that his daughter took the initiative to get involved in charity work! Yet, as you looked at the girl, who was avoiding your gaze, you felt there was something she wasn’t telling you.

“I’m glad that despite his… forgive me for saying it, but rudeness, you’re still determined to help here,” you said, choosing your words carefully. Charlotte gave a shy smile at the compliment. “Out of curiosity, was it your idea? Or maybe your friends’, and you just got… drawn into it?”

The girl hesitated before finally sighing in surrender.

"My boyfriend grew up here," she admitted. "He told me a bit about this place, and… hearing his stories, I felt a need to help these kids. I started coming here, tutoring them, playing with them, teaching them to draw. You know, typical volunteer stuff."

Her answer didn’t surprise you much. Since she’d mentioned her boyfriend yesterday—describing him as someone who opposed rules and was the complete opposite of her father—you’d subconsciously known this topic would come up again. You didn’t hide the fact that the way she described him had raised concerns, making you question whether he was truly a good match for such a sensitive young girl.

"Does he know about this? Does he come help with you?"

"N-no. He doesn't have the best memories of this place... but he's really happy that I decided to do this."

You didn’t want to turn the conversation into an interrogation, but you felt you needed to ask these questions to get the full picture.

“How long ago did he leave the orphanage?”

Charlotte seemed increasingly tense during the conversation, glancing around as if expecting someone to come and rescue her. You couldn’t help but cross your arms over your chest, a gesture that may have seemed threatening or stern. Quickly realizing that you’d frightened her, you softened your posture, taking a deep breath to calm yourself.

You were almost certain that this was a similar case. Charlotte was only sixteen, struggling with the death of her mother, a sensitive soul with an incredibly strict father—who also happened to be a cop. An older boyfriend might have given her a sense of escape from the heavy hand of her father’s authority, a feeling of freedom.

"Sorry, Charlotte. I didn’t mean to be so intrusive. Just a professional habit," you joked. She smiled faintly, still clearly on edge.

The way she spoke about him—the hint of fear, her earlier request for you not to mention him to her father, and her avoidance of answering how long ago he left the orphanage—made you start to seriously suspect that he was older than her. It wasn’t unusual for teenage girls to seek out older partners, and in most cases, it wasn’t a bad thing... but sometimes, those older partners turned out to be much older men. Manipulators.

Before you could say anything more, Reid appeared in the doorway of the office, casting a curious glance between you and the girl, whom he surely remembered from yesterday.

"Uh...Can I have a word with you?" he called you. Charlotte greeted him so quietly that he probably didn’t even hear it. "I think I’ve found something interesting."

"Oh, sure," you replied, remembering you shouldn’t leave him alone with the work for too long. Before leaving, you smiled at the sheriff’s daughter. The topic of her and her boyfriend was still nagging at you. "I’d like to talk to you later, okay? Either after we finish talking to the staff, or... you have my number, right?"

The girl nodded, murmuring a quick goodbye before disappearing into the dining hall, where a child squealed with delight at the sight of her.

"Did you find anything out?" you asked Reid. He had been watching the girl with obvious interest, which was piqued by your almost agitated stance. However, you didn’t have time to explain everything to him yet; you needed to get back to the main investigation.

You both returned to the office. The staff were standing in the same spots, looking as if they hadn’t moved an inch since you left.

"I asked a few questions that might help us figure out why the unsub chose three people who worked at this particular orphanage," he began. You noticed he was starting to speak faster, which meant a breakthrough had occurred, at least in his reasoning. You watched him, holding your breath. "And I found out that none of the people here have worked here for more than eight years. Just like the victims."

You furrowed your brow, not sure what that meant. The director quickly offered an explanation.

"Eight years ago, there was a huge scandal involving this orphanage," she explained, swallowing hard. "It came to light that the caretakers and the director at the time were abusing the children. Seriously abusing them. What’s worse, the case was reported multiple times, but no one in the town’s leadership did anything about it. The mayor stayed silent... They say he was afraid to do anything, so as not to lose the funding the orphanage was receiving. It wasn’t until eight years ago that the truth finally came out, the staff was convicted, and they were replaced by us."

"The town’s leadership didn’t react," you repeated her words, your mind working at full speed. "The earlier victims were part of the town’s leadership. This is the connection we’ve been looking for, Reid. The unsub must have been a victim of abuse right here in this orphanage."

"We need to tell the others," Reid decided. You both headed toward the exit, and then you remembered that you hadn’t even said goodbye to the orphanage staff.

"Thank you for your help, these are really useful pieces of information..." you said quickly as you passed them.

In the car, everything felt like it was spinning.

"Look, the unsub isn’t directly killing the people who abused him. If that were the case, the old staff would be the ones dying, not the current one. Remember, one of his victims was a teacher, completely unrelated to the orphanage. I think it’s not about punishing those people, but more about a symbolic revenge, one that doesn’t have to be logical. It doesn’t have to make sense to us, but it seems logical to him," Reid shared his thoughts as you drove toward the police station, where you expected to find the rest of your team. "He’s struggling with trauma. He’s been managing it somehow over the years, but now he’s unable to control the rage building up inside him. Decapitation is another symbol. It strips these people of the power they once had over him when he was a child or a teenager, and no one listened to his cries for help."

You straightened up in your seat, all the information starting to fall into place.

"Do you remember this morning when I mentioned that something came to my mind? That’s why I didn’t want to leave?" you asked. "At first, we were puzzled that some of the victims were treated with a different level of cruelty, specifically the women. Others, the ones from the city council, only had their heads cut off, with no other injuries. The unsub believes these innocent people are directly responsible for hurting him, he’s delusional. Sometimes he blames the city authorities for not reacting. The anger he feels toward them isn’t as intense as for the orphanage staff, which is why he harms them to a lesser extent. I think... he’s experiencing manic episodes, where all his feelings and paranoia are stronger. That’s when he kills with much greater cruelty."

“Mania?” Reid repeated, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “You mean borderline?” You nodded. For a moment, he thought over your words, then his eyes lit up. “That... that’s very possible. There have been cases where borderline murderers nearly changed their modus operandi. During a manic episode, when someone with borderline personality disorder experiences heightened energy, a sense of grandeur, and excessive impulsivity, they may act more aggressively, brutally, and ruthlessly. In a depressive episode, on the other hand, the person may act more coldly, with calculated precision, focusing on their goal without emotional outbursts, but carrying a heavy load of negative emotions. It all fits.”

You nodded eagerly, feeling that familiar rush that came whenever you were close to solving a case. Your heart raced, and warmth crept over your neck, like a fever. You and Reid burst into the station, practically supporting each other like two converging whirlwinds, nearly colliding with Hotch in the process. He was initially startled, then his eyes narrowed as he took in both your faces, his expression becoming more focused as you explained everything.

For a moment, he was silent.

“Let’s call Garcia,” he finally said. “Have her find all the men who lived in that orphanage eight years ago.”

You took a deep breath. This was really happening. You were so close to catching the killer...

After filling Garcia in on everything you knew, she immediately set to work compiling a list of men who might fit the profile. Meanwhile, you and Reid headed to the coffee and snack machine. You bought yourself a drink and a chocolate bar, feeling the rush of adrenaline start to subside.

Taking advantage of the brief moment of calm, you checked your phone for any missed calls.

“Neither my mother nor my father called,” you said, slipping the phone back into your pocket. Sharing personal details with anyone on the team still felt strange—especially when it came to your family. You wondered if it would ever feel normal. You noticed Spencer giving you a concerned look. “It’s a good thing,” you added quickly. “It means Jeremy’s condition is stable. Or maybe even improving. If it were bad, I’d have twenty missed calls from my mom—and one from my dad.”

You tried to turn that last line into a joke, but it came out sounding more bleak than funny.

“I hope everything will be okay with him,” Reid said, as his cup filled with coffee from the machine. He reached for it, his gaze fixed on you. “You remember that you can come to me if things get tough, right?”

“I try not to forget,” you admitted, hugging your arms around yourself. “But it’s not something I’m used to.”

For a moment, he looked at you silently, holding a steaming cup of coffee in his hand. His eyes seemed so gentle and understanding that it was hard for you to look away.

"Hey, lovers!"

Spencer jumped and cursed as coffee spilled onto his hand. Startled, you both turned to see Morgan grinning at you with a playful smile.

"Come over here for a sec."

You felt the urge to cover your face at the sight of the entire team, who had all heard what he'd called you.

Some unknown force held you back from nudging Emily when she shot you an amused sidelong glance. But soon, your focus shifted to Garcia's face on the laptop screen, ready to share her findings.

"Tell us what you found, babygirl."

"So, I managed to pull up quite a long list of former orphanage residents. Surprisingly long, for such a small town. Hotch helped narrow it down a bit… I found twelve men who would now be between twenty and forty years old. Five of them still live in town, but one of them caught my eye. Well, actually, his story did. He was placed in the orphanage at ten years old after his mother, struggling with bipolar disorder, attempted suicide."

You already knew it was him.

"His name is Logan Osborne, currently twenty-four years old. He has one minor offense on record for selling weed, oddly enough, in another town. Here’s where it gets interesting—though not in a good way. His mother actually survived but passed away less than two years ago, and he inherited her house and apparently moved back into it."

"Returning to the town where he was abused must have been the trigger that pushed him to murder," said Reid.

"That would fit with my theory about bipolar personality disorder," you summarized. "Genetics alone doesn’t determine the disorder, but the fact is that in families with cases of this disorder, the likelihood of it appearing in other individuals is higher."

At one point, you had read a lot about it due to your own mother. An unpleasant shiver ran down your spine. Reid looked at you intently, surely noticing the sudden shift in the tone of your voice. God, he must have been that observant?

"What's the address of his house?" Hotch asked.

You waited in readiness as Garcia provided the information. Once she did, you all gathered and headed out.

If you had found him there, everything would have been so simple. Almost too simple.

But there was no sign of Logan Osborne at the house, nor any indication that it was inhabited by a serial killer who decapitated his victims. Instead of immediately securing the building, Hotch ordered a stakeout. Inside, several agents, including Morgan and Prentiss, waited for the moment he might show up.

The rest of the team had no tasks assigned. You waited at the precinct, hoping something would happen. Meanwhile, Garcia sifted through thousands of bits of information about the man. Some were more important than others, but unfortunately, it only seemed to fuel a growing sense of dread among you all.

Since inheriting his mother’s house, he hadn’t paid taxes or most of his bills. He didn’t have a steady job, though he picked up odd jobs here and there. You checked with the local police, but most didn’t recognize his name. One officer who did recall him said he didn’t have the best relations with the authorities. With anyone, really.

"A little anarchist, huh?" Rossi muttered.

You felt the vibration of your phone in your pocket. Reaching for it, you saw a message from an unknown number.

hey it’s charlotte. you said we could meet and talk when i needed to please can we meet? i can’t handle what i saw on the farm yesterday and my dad isn’t helping with his behavior either

A few hours had already passed since the ambush was set, and still nothing had happened, though the darkness outside was settling in.

“Would it be alright if I disappear for a quarter?” you asked. “I promised something to the sheriff’s daughter, and it looks like I’ll need to meet with her.”

You didn’t receive any opposition. If anything happened, you would be immediately informed by phone. Reid offered to go with you, but Hotch needed him for something. You wouldn’t have minded his company—on the contrary, you would have been glad for it—but on the other hand, Charlotte might not feel too comfortable with it. After all, she had arranged to meet only with you.

As you drove toward her house, you spent a lot of time reflecting on your earlier conversation. It was the first time you really had the chance to think about it seriously. Her mysterious boyfriend, whom she had been so reluctant to talk about and with whom there was probably an age gap. And who also grew up in that orphanage...

You didn’t know why it hadn’t occurred to you earlier. Maybe because of how well-behaved Charlotte seemed? Her big, bright eyes full of kindness. She herself seemed like the perfect teenager—sensitive and eager to help. Plus, she was the sheriff's daughter. For God's sake, you were about to go to the house of another cop.

You only realized how foolish you had been when, as soon as you stepped out of the car, something hit you in the back of the head.

You were woken up by nothing but the pain in the back of your head.

You opened your eyes, struggling to hold back a groan. Everything around you was blurry, as if you had a terrible vision problem and were forced to go somewhere without your glasses. The image, however, began to sharpen with each passing second, causing your heart to beat faster.

You were in…

It was hard to say what kind of place this was. Incredibly dark, the only weak light source was somewhere behind your back. It was possible it was a battery-powered lamp. You couldn’t confirm your suspicions, however… because you couldn’t move. You realized this with horror.

You were tied to the chair with rope. It wrapped tightly around your body, making it hard to breathe and pressing painfully on your ribs. Some of them might even be broken.

Wherever you were, the whole situation looked far from promising. Fragments of memories swirled around your head, randomly flying into your mind and helping you recall what had actually happened.

Of course, working for the FBI, you knew how to behave in the event of a kidnapping. The most important rule was: don’t panic. The problem was, it was damn hard to follow that.

Inhale, exhale, something jabbed at your ribs. You couldn’t stop another soft groan from escaping.

As if drawn by the sound, a young man appeared in your line of sight.

“Good morning, did you sleep well?” he asked, leaning over you as if you were an infant. After a second, he straightened up, the smile completely replaced by a serious expression. “I don’t like killing people when they’re asleep.”

Garcia had sent you his pictures, and even with the poor lighting, you were able to recognize your unsub in them.

"Logan Osborne?"

"I see you've done your homework."

"Where’s Charlotte?" you asked, a sudden rush of panic flooding through you. Maybe she was behind you, somewhere you couldn’t see? Was she involved in your abduction? After all, it was her who sent the message...

"You think I know where she is every moment of every day?" he sneered, suddenly angry. The room was small, but to your left, there was a rotting bench with metal objects arranged on it. You had to turn your head sharply to confirm your worst suspicion. Knives.

It was getting harder and harder not to panic.

"Knowing her, she's probably painting. My work on the farm really inspired her."

There was a sound. Like a drop falling from the ceiling.

"Where are we?" you asked.

"None of your business."

"Is this a bunker?"

"Did you hear what I said?"

"What difference does it make if I find out? I'm tied up," you shrugged meaningfully, emphasizing your position. This caused a wave of pain to course through your chest.

For a moment, there was silence. The man was wandering around the surroundings, and all you could do was watch as he wiped each blade on his flannel shirt. The bile began to rise in your throat with every move he made. Pessimistic thoughts started flooding your mind, so tragic that you barely managed to hold back the tears.

First, everyone on your team thought you went to meet Charlotte. Meaning, it would likely be your prolonged absence that would eventually seem suspicious.

Second, you were in such a mysterious place that everything pointed to the fact that no one would find you, even by accident. Well, alive.

You knew you couldn’t give up, even though there was little you could do in such a situation. The only real solution in such a hopeless scenario was… convincing him to let you go. A scenario that was damn unlikely, but since death was already threatening you, why not give it a try?

"Logan," you said, your voice trembling. In your mind, you replayed his profile, reminding yourself of facts that could give you an edge in your conversation with him. "Killing me won't help you. It's not me you want to hurt, it's those who hurt you in the orphanage. And those who didn’t react."

"Fine, it’s a bunker," he replied, as if he hadn’t even heard most of what you said. "Back in the Cold War, people built them by the dozen. They didn’t even inform the authorities. We found this one once with the kids from the orphanage, and we didn’t tell anyone, you know what that means, agent?"

You were painfully aware of it.

"Logan," you tried again. "My people know you killed those people. They'll find you the moment you step out into the open. Killing me won’t change anything..."

"Not killing me won’t either."

"They’ll look at you more favorably..."

"Favorably?" he exploded in a manic laugh, suddenly right in front of you. You flinched at the sight of his crazed face so close to yours. "They’ll look favorably on a seven-time murderer? Are you joking? Since I’m already screwed, I might as well cut off your head too..."

Fuck the fake calm, you were terrified.

You trembled, the pain in your ribs intensified, and the first tears began to fall from your eyes. You thought about how you’d never see Jeremy again. How he’d wake up and your death would probably be one of the first things he’d find out. What would he do then? God, your team would think you were an idiot. Of course, no one would say it out loud, but that’s what you were. You got yourself into this situation. Under these circumstances, they shouldn’t even particularly mourn, though they probably would, just a little.

Spencer would probably grieve a little more than the others. Those two nights in one room had brought you closer, you couldn’t deny that. Before, you had thought of him as just a regular coworker, the genius boy, sometimes amusing in his awkwardness. The way he supported you at the worst possible moment made you realize just how valuable he was.

Wherever you end up after death, you’ll miss him.

You didn’t know what motivated you to speak up again. Was it the thought of Jeremy and Spencer, or perhaps the sound of Logan sharpening some kind of weapon, probably an ax?

“Please," you pleaded simply, no longer knowing what else might reach him.

"Don’t cry. I hate it when girls cry. Charlotte does it all the time."

"Charlotte," you repeated. "Did she... know?"

You wanted to know if the girl you had tried so hard to help had played an active role in your murder.

"Of course not," he sneered. "She didn’t help me with anything, if that’s what you’re asking. But she told me about you, the nice FBI agent who snoops around a lot. She thought I was just some rebellious guy, attractive to a teenager like her. You know, with a tough cop dad. I won't lie, it turned me on, sleeping with the sheriff's daughter, knowing I was being hunted by him. And not just by him. Even by the damn FBI."

He seemed proud of himself. Maybe that’s what you should do? Appeal to his ego?

"You were really a tough case," you said, pretending to be impressed. "Seriously. Hours spent analyzing, we sat in silence, none of my colleagues knew what to say..."

“Spare me, I see what you're doing. You're trying to manipulate me... because... you feel superior." After saying those words, a sudden fury ignited in him. He knocked over the rotting table, the knives on it scattering to the floor. You took a breath, clenching your fists tightly in pure panic. "Just like they did. They thought they could hurt little kids, abuse them... because their position allowed it. After all, they were older, their word against a child's word. They say children have too vivid an imagination, have you ever heard that?!”

You closed your eyes, he was screaming it right in your face.

"No, Logan, that's not true... they were monsters, but I would have helped you if I... if I could."

"Then why didn't you?!"

"I... I... I..." Tears tore through you, and you got lost in your own words.

Logan opened his mouth again, but suddenly fell silent. His earlier screams were completely drowned out by a sound from above. You stiffened, recognizing it. Footsteps.

"They're here," you whispered, like a prayer. Tears began to flow down your cheeks.

The man, jaw clenched, stared at the entrance to the bunker. He suppressed a scream of rage, turned around, and grabbed his head, not knowing what to do. But suddenly, he bent down to pick something up from the floor, one of the knives he had knocked over when he flipped the table.

"W-what are you doing?" you asked. Something urged you to struggle, even though you knew it was pointless, the ropes were too tight. "What are you doing?!"

The footsteps mixed with voices, even a shout, and the room was soon flooded with a tsunami of daylight.

"Since they’ve got me anyway, I might as well slit your throat..."

You couldn’t stop the scream as he approached you with the knife. A firm grip on your shoulder, keeping you from squirming. The cold metal on your neck, grazing the thin skin.

And then a shot.

NOTE:

I HATE THE ENDING THE READER IS SO STUPID....!

but in my defence i got kind of lost in my plans and i had to change many things in the last moment

but i want to say that im very grateful for reading 2 previos parts and all the notes under<3 i didn't expect so many likes and comments

epilogue for this story will be posted tomorrow!

taglist: @nightfullofparadox @miriamnox @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx