#fuckin ripped couch with blood on it

[xxrinnyxrunnyxx]

Dog ate my fuckin couch and extra mattress fuck my life

[buckyalpine]

18+ Minors dni. Buckys innocent neighbor who bakes him cookies and muffins just cause. The girl next door who has the coziest apartment he's ever been in. Shelves filled with books along with plenty of comfy blankets decorating the couches. Bucky has his own place right across but home is with her (even if she doesn't know it yet).

She's the type of girl he's going to take his time with, asking her out on a date, just coffee and a walk in the park. Nothing more than a kiss on her cheek at the end of the night. Another date. Dinner. Another kiss to her other cheek. He wouldn't dare rush anything, especially not someone as soft and sweet as her.

He feels like such a dirty little pervert when he thinks about her afterwards when he's alone in bed, all the blood in his body rushing south, and fuck he's so hard. He tries to ignore it, he didn't want to do something so debauched by thinking of her like that, he even tries to think about his grocery list, laundry, he'd probably wash his arm later, it would probably be fine in the dishwasher-

Nothing worked.

He groans, shuffling and kicking his sweats off, hissing when his hand goes down to tug at his aching cock, relief flooding his veins at the sensation. He lets his mind wander to how adorable she'd be, the way he'd take her apart in the most gentle way. Lay her against the pillows while he holds those soft thighs apart, giving her the most feather light suckles on that perfect clit, basking in all the sounds she'd make. He strokes himself faster thinking about the way he'd get her ready to take all of him. How he'd make it so good for her-shit he was going to blow-maybe if he was lucky, one day she'd let him put his cock in her mou-

"Fuck!!" Bucky threw his head back, spurts of cum shooting from his sensitive head, his post orgasm haze leaving him feeling like a filthy old man. She were here making him baked treats and he was jerking his dick off like a sick fuck.

Then the night finally comes. Bucky is ready to cuddle and nothing else but he's thrown off because never in his wildest fantasies did he expect this.

She is the girl who sends him reeling the first time he takes her clothes off one by one revealing dark ink on her back and hips. He has to suppress a growl, his eyes growing wide at the scantily clad lace that covers her body.

"Like what you see, Sergeant?" she practically purrs in his ear while he lets his han ghost over her bare skin, his chest heaving when his eyes fall to her perfect breasts, hints of silver peeking from under her lingerie, there was no way-

"Can I?" He asks breathlessly, his hand reaching behind to unclasp the bra, those pretty pierced nipples begging to be sucked.

Bucky who turns into a fucking menace, his entire world flipping upside down when she grinds down on his crotch not hiding exactly what she needs from him. He doesn't even have the ability to hide how feral he is, letting all his inhibitions slip.

-

"My little bunny's a slut, fuck, c'mere" He grabs you and tosses you over his shoulder, hauling you over to his bedroom like an untamed beast, tossing you onto his bed with no remorse. You're in nothing but your panties which he rips right off, your thighs squeezing together at the way he stalks over to you, his hungry eyes raking up and down your body without an ounce of shame. He tugs his sweats down to reveal his leaky cock, stroking it at the edge of his bed after tossing his shirt off.

"See this baby? Been fuckin' stroking and touching myself like a fuckin' teenager because of you-" He throws off his pants before climbing onto the bed and kneeling between your thighs, spreading them apart with his knees, "-and you've been here lookin' like God damn sin under those cute little sweaters"

He flicks his cockhead against your clit, humming at the clear beads of his arousal that drip onto your cunt.

"Fuck James, need more, pl-"

"Nuh uh, what was that you called me earlier, sweets?" He lets out a dark chuckle, the veins in his cock throbbing as he tightly holds the base, waiting to hear it again.

"Sergeant" you whine with mischief in your eyes and Bucky is a goner. He'll taste you later and most definitely feed you his cock another day but right now he wants to be nowhere else other than your pussy. He wants to watch you take every bit of him, rolling over to lay on his back while you straddle him, his length slotted against your cunt. He holds it up for you with a cocky look on his face, moaning when his tip breeches your tight pussy, your walls gripping his swollen, pink head.

"That's just the tip baby, c'mon, sit on it, wanna put all of my dick in you, that's it, good girl-shittt"

"Oh fuccckk,s'big" You moan feeling the stretch as you sink all the way down, panting and staying still while you adjust to his size.

"That's it bunny, that's it, ride me, ride your Sergeant" He grabs you by the hips, guiding you to grind down on him, making you feel his entire cock in your stomach. "You're a slut for big dick aren't you baby, acting all cute and shy when all you really wanted was the winter soldier's cock"

Bucky wasn't even sure where all the filth spewing from his mouth was even coming from but he couldn't stop.

"S'that it bunny? Say it baby, tell me how much you wanted my fat cock in you"

"Wanted it! F-cuk Sergeant, wanted your cock s-o-so bad!!"

"Fuck yes!!" His feet plant to meet your bounces, his hips thrusting up, slamming his entire length into you. "M'close, fuck bunny, gonna cum already, I can't hold it-

He doesn't have time to be embarrassed. You feel to good. He rubs your clit needing you to cum all over him so he can let go.

"Please, cum all over Sergeants cock baby, give it to me, be a good girl n'cum, c'mon, cum on my dick, yes, oh fuck yes I can feel it-milk it, shit touch my balls-"

You nearly collapse as your orgasm starts to wash over you, his sponge head hitting the most sensitive parts against your walls while he toys with your clit. His voice is muffled as you start to feel waves of pleasure consume you but you head just enough to reach behind, rubbing his heavy, so full of cum ba-

"FUUUCCCCKKK" He grabs you and wraps his arms around your body while he relentlessly thrusts up, biting down on your shoulder while he lets out the sluttiest, loudest moan with 0 remorse. It feels too good and he's sure the neighbors can hear but honestly, everyone should know how amazing it feels.

-

"I got you pretty baby" Bucky coos as you nuzzle into the crook of his neck, a shiver running through you while you float in bliss. Bucky pulls the covers up, deciding to cuddle up with you for a bit before running a shower, his previous demeanor replaced with the far less debauched version of him.

Anyway, just an idea. Also, it's past my bedtime.

[moonlight-prose]

RIGHT WHERE YOU LEFT ME

➛ 01. IN DREAMS WE REST

a/n: i've been stressed about this fic probably more than any other i've ever written. not because it's logan per se, but because wade wilson makes me want to rip my hair out. i love that bastard, but writing him feels like pulling teeth. i'm in love with this concept solely for the angst, so if you see more throughout and wonder if they will ever get a happy ending, please know i'm dead inside. enjoy!

summary: stuck in another universe and unsure of where he stands, logan expects things to even out as they always did. but when you cross his path and you have no idea who he is, he's in for a rude awakening.

word count: 5.9k+

pairing: logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: not explicit, wade wilson breaking the fourth wall, angst, cussing so much cussing, alcohol consumption, grief, pain, a broken man pretending he's not broken, chance encounters, awkward conversations, hope.

NEXT CHAPTER | SERIES MASTERLIST

He can hear it when he sleeps.

Their screams.

The constant ring of agony that chimes out like a bell, an alarm he never set for himself. A joke once told to him in the midst of World War II, as bullets flew by him and soldiers lost their lives each second of each day. There's no escape from hell. No running from the devil that nipped at his heels the faster he went, the longer he tried to navigate a way free.

There's no escape from the memories that ate away in his mind. Multitudes of them, of the faces he once called family, the people he used to love. They were his punishment. The boulder he continued to roll up the hill, day after day after day. Until eventually...he was crushed by his own self-hatred.

"Logan." The voice whispered long enough for him to grasp who it might be, yet never louder than a mere breath of air.

He clung to it some days. Sunk his claws into what little of his past remained good and allowed it to fill him with some amount of peace. At least then he'd be able to bear this weight, this grief he could never quite name.

Something light brushed across his cheek. Tickling the skin enough to send a flare of irritation down his spine, but the dreams held him in their grasp. What came next never surprised him. He expected it at this point—longed for it. The distant pain of losing what once made him whole; the entirety of his life now defined by one single moment he could never change.

"He sleeps so sweetly. I just want to curl up in his arms and have him read me bedtime stories."

"He's not gonna like that when he wakes up."

"Zip it Al. If I wanted an opinion, I'd go see a Hollywood therapist."

A scoff echoed in the background. "No therapist wants you on their couch."

"Not true. I hear Ryan Reynolds has a great one."

"Who?"

"Not the point." The feather dusted across Logan's face again, soft enough to keep him asleep yet annoying enough to bring a smile to Wade's face. "I wonder if he's dreaming about killing bad guys. They say it's good for the soul."

"Who the fuck is they?"

Wade laughed. "Oh you know. Them. The readers. And boy howdy do they love their blood."

Every day he was forced to listen to Wade's voice became another day Logan dragged his claw through a tally mark of his sanity. "Do you ever shut the fuck up," he growled, gripping Wade's wrist until he heard the satisfying crack of bones.

"Only when I swallow."

"I'll tear your fuckin' arm off."

The smile on Wade’s face only added another tally. "Nice kitty. No need for the claws."

Anger washed across his skin in a familiar wave as he released Wade's arm, watching it go limp. Trying to kill the unkillable walking irritation was like trying to swat a fly that never quite died. It still buzzed incessantly. Until eventually madness was the only viable option of dealing with it. In his case, he seemed to be driving head on with no brakes.

Logan wasn't sure he possessed enough sanity left within him to keep dealing with this. Sleeping on the couch didn't help the way his body never rested; always stuck in that permanent fighting mode. He'd give anything to find some peace. A small sliver of it carved off the past that continued to call him—that begged him to come back and try again.

Swinging his legs off the couch, he planted a swift kick to Wade's chest that sent him across the floor. The lack of caffeine in his system left everything hazy and half coherent. If he focused he might have caught the keys thrown at him, but being exhausted and sober didn't make for a good combination with him. An empty whiskey bottle lay discarded on the floor from last night; the memories of how he passed out barely tinged on the edge of his mind.

He could recall stabbing Wade in the leg.

Nothing beyond that.

Dried blood—now an ugly brown—stained his white shirt. He nearly stripped himself of it, prepared to throw it in with whoever was washing next, but his flannel being chucked at his head caught him off guard.

"Fuck off," he snapped, stumbling to the kitchen.

Wade sighed, following him. "Get dressed, peanut. We have to go do human things today."

"Human–”

"Food," Al retorted. "We're out."

Even in a new universe, he couldn't see himself acting normal. For so long he did what had to in order to survive. Yet now...he wasn't so sure. Accompanying Wade Wilson in order to complete household chores left a bad taste in his mouth. But the thought of fresh coffee and an unopened bottle of whiskey sounded like sweet silver bells in his head.

With reluctance, he buttoned up half of the flannel before he became annoyed with the small size of the holes punched into the fabric. There was only so much he could do with the life he had now. And sometimes shit really sucked.

"Don't scratch my fucking car," Al pointed her words towards Wade, thankfully ignoring Logan's existence for a brief moment.

"Is it safe for her to own a car?"

The door shut behind him with a bang, echoing down the vacant hallway. He was surprised people actually lived here given Wade's antics. They could hear the loud mouthed fucker across the street—if the angry notes in the mail were anything to go by. He didn't bother asking if he should be concerned with any of it. Not when he had no say in how the house was run. And choosing to insert himself where he wasn’t needed, rarely went well for him.

"God no. But I give her the benefit of the doubt. She hasn't killed anyone. Yet."

He yanked the keys out of Wade's hand. "Yeah well I don't trust you either Bub."

The car didn't leave room for his legs as he squeezed into the driver's side. His body practically folded in half as he turned it over—the rumble of the engine rattling against metal. How Blind Al managed to pay for this vehicle went beyond even Wade's knowledge, and in all honesty…he was too fucking scared to ask.

Too much seemed to be happening for him to ever catch up. While this Earth felt similar to his, small things were different. And when they began to add up...he began to wonder if he was drowning.

"Turn left to merge onto the asscrack of traffic."

He barely heard the directions as he drove, his mind drifting the further they went. Part of him sensed the grief from earlier begin to claw up the back of his throat. It begged him to fall, to be swallowed whole by the darkness he'd been stuck in before. And he nearly gave in; could feel his body shift into its constant mode of fight or flight.

The steering wheel cracked under his white knuckled grip as Wade's voice became an afterthought to the war he fought in his mind. Terror trapped itself in his throat and he slammed his foot on the brakes a foot away from a parking spot in retaliation. The car lurched forward, his claws descended. A snarl rumbled in his chest the longer he sat there thinking.

"Woah..." For the first time in days, Wade fell silent. "You alright?"

Logan ripped himself free, shoving his body out of the car before he even threw it in park. He gulped in breath after breath and did his best to wait for this fucking feeling to leave his system. The nightmares only came as he slept. A constant familiar horror show after two centuries.

Yet now he was left like this. Leaned up against a car, his eyes closed shut, and heart racing.

All because he couldn't do his fucking job.

"Logan–"

He snapped, shoving past Wade and his pity that choked him with a vengeance. He didn't deserve anyone's pity. He didn't want it. But people couldn't help but hand it over unconsciously. As if they could see the layers of broken pieces beneath his false expression of strength. Logan never pretended to be okay. Why bother with something people could see right through?

He merely wanted others to ignore he was there. Walk past him, look through him, do whatever it took to pretend that him and all his tragedies weren't standing before them. Because one day he would die and fuck how he couldn't wait for that time to come.

A small hole in the wall dive bar sat in the corner of the shopping center. He barely caught sight of it. But the unmistakable scent of alcohol poured out the door as someone stumbled out—their eyes squeezed shut against the harsh brightness of the sun. He could understand them in a way.

His world didn't have sunlight this bright. Or perhaps he never noticed it ‘til now.

Maybe his body wasn't acclimated yet; unsure of what the fuck was still happening. Everything seemed to be turned up to eleven for him, yet no off switch existed.

The dark hazy glow of the interior sent a wave of calm through him as the door swung shut with a soft thud. Four people sat scattered around the place and a bartender with white and graying hair stood cleaning a glass so foggy it was probably better to throw it out. He found himself letting out a breath that'd been trapped in his chest since that morning. Finally some peace before he had to listen to Wade yap about bullshit he didn't in fact give a shit about.

"What'll you have?" the old man asked, his face screwing up in a wince as he limped towards Logan's spot at the end of the bar.

A quick glance down let him see the brace wrapped around the man's knee. "Whiskey on the rocks."

He nodded, slowly heading towards the center of the wall—a lonesome half empty bottle of Jack Daniels on the counter. Logan shifted, taking the center seat directly behind the man.

"I can't say I've seen you around before son."

He grinned, his finger tracing a random carving that'd been placed in the wood. "I just moved here. Living with a coworker."

"Coworker huh?"

The word didn't sound right to Logan, but he couldn't exactly call Wade his friend. Although they were more than people who fought together, more than men who shared blood during the same battle. That was the thing about Logan though. He'd never be able to put a label on something like that. To him...things weren't one or the other as much as he wanted to pretend they were. There was nuance to his life.

Complications which made living that much harder.

The man turned, surprised to see Logan so close, but didn't make note of it. Logan could see the gratitude in the way his drink was slid carefully to him. The small silent thank you in the bowl of pretzels placed beside it.

"You look lost."

Logan grunted, biting into the salty and dry snack. "Do I?"

"More than some of the others that come around here."

"And who comes around here?"

The man laughed. "No one as of late. You're the first young man I've seen in a while walk through those doors."

He bit back his laugh at the word young. The stories he could tell would leave the man baffled. About wars that no living person had witnessed. About when the world was far different than today—when mutants were freaks of nature and humans were far less forgiving. He could list it all and then some.

But whether or not someone would listen was another thing entirely.

"This place that old?" he inquired, sipping on the amber liquid with a contented sigh.

"Oh you bet." A weary laugh filled the space. "I bought this place in the sixties. When my wife was still my girlfriend. She almost left me because of it."

Logan huffed, his lips curling slightly. "She wasn't a fan?"

The man shook his head, tossing a cloth over his shoulder. "Still isn't. Well she...wasn't." He pressed his thumb to the worn gold band on his left hand. "When she was alive she used to host a book night. Helped bring in the men's wives. Kept them outta trouble."

"Book night huh?"

"She loved to read."

Before he could down the final sips of his drink it was topped off. Logan nodded his head in thanks, his thumb digging into the thumbprint shape of the glass. If he thought about it hard enough, he could almost see himself coming here every night. He pictured a life far different than his own, a past where he might have been happy. With someone who might have even made him smile.

"I'm not much of a reader," he replied, his voice hoarse and eyes fixed on the ice that floated to the surface.

"Ah me too," the man laughed. "I just liked seeing her smile."

A soft remark was on the tip of his tongue before an entirely new image began to take shape. The face of someone lost. Of a smile he'd known better than his own. Hands that once held his face with the tenderness of a lover—a voice that sent the hair rising on the back of his neck. He could see it as clear as he did the man.

You in all your beauty. Lost to a past he could no longer rectify.

He swallowed thickly, beating back every emotion that crawled under his skin. "What's your name?"

"Travis."

Raising his glass, he tipped it towards the man with a tight grin. "Logan." The alcohol went down with a quick and biting burn. A feeling he'd grown familiar with. One he counted on.

"Nice to meet you Logan."

"Yeah you too."

He dug out some cash and tossed it on the bar as he stood with a slight grunt. He may heal quickly but the ache in his bones still existed. As if something resisted against how his body moved with each slow shift.

Fighting meant he could ignore it.

Existing is what made it worse.

The sun practically burned his eyes when he stepped out, the heat of the day encompassing his whole body quicker than he would have liked. For some unknown fucking reason, summer here felt worse than on his Earth. Then again the alcohol didn't help. He stood in the shade of the building next to the bar, searching the parking lot for any sign of Wade.

Going into the store wasn't an option and as much as he wanted to leave the annoyance behind, he didn't want to feel like a piece of shit. That is...even more than he already did.

"Fuck," he hissed, leaning against the brick wall. "You've got to be fucking kidding me."

One option would be taking a walk to work off the energy that ran through his veins. At least then he'd be able to sleep at night. And the temptation almost worked. If it weren't for the shop doors that opened to his left, effectively distracting him from the chance of leaving. He could have ignored the person, probably should have given everything he'd been through.

But then his heart dropped to his stomach as you walked out. He'd never seen you in such a soft sundress before, the off white fabric draped off your curves in a way that floored him. As if you were an angel floating by without a care in the world. You were busy shoving a small piece of paper in your purse, your face furrowed in frustration, and Logan smiled. Because he'd traced each line of that face before, he'd kissed those cheeks, your eyelids as you slept.

He'd loved you in ways that would scare a normal human.

And there you were.

"Honey?" he called, unconsciously following you quicker than he intended to. "Honey."

You glanced to the side, completely unaware of the giant lumbering man trailing after you with a soft look on his face and hope in his hands.

That alone tore him in two more than the memories from before.

"Baby, it's me."

The breeze finally went through the air, pushing the skirt of your dress a bit higher on your thighs. Except that's not what he latched onto. Your scent was different. Unlike any he'd encountered before. Honey still sweetly caressed his senses, but flowers overlayed that—peonies if he guessed. Delicious enough to have his mouth watering; his body already aching for you to be closer. To look at him in the way you used to.

He wanted to call out to you—gain your attention properly—but your name wouldn't leave his tongue. Because you were there and you finally caught sight of him and you were looking at him as if nothing bad ever happened between the two of you.

You saw him as a man.

Not a disappointment.

He willed himself to stop and breathe. Take in his surroundings; realize that you weren't who he once knew. You weren't even the same fucking person.

But before he could think straight, he'd already followed you halfway to your car. His eyes were dazed, heart nearly throttling him alive as he stood there dumbly. Waiting for you to finally speak.

"Oh..." Your heart rate spiked quicker than he expected. He couldn't find it in himself to feel bad though. "Hello?"

"Honey," he sighed, the weight on his shoulders lifting ever so slightly.

He caught the way your fingers tightened around your keys, the defense mechanism an instinct by now. And Logan realized what he looked like. A strange man standing too close for your liking. So he took a step back and gave you some space. In the hopes that you wouldn't see him as a threat. That maybe...you'd listen to what he had to say.

"Can I help you?" you asked, eyes darting around the parking lot in case you needed help.

What he wouldn't give for the opportunity to reassure you. To explain that he wasn't here to hurt you. That he'd kill himself before even laying a hand on you. Yet the correct words were lost and all he seemed to get out was an incoherent babble that had him wanting to dig his own claws into his chest.

"You smell different."

You straightened your spine, eyes narrowed into a glare he felt burn across his skin. "Look, I don't know who you are. But fuck off."

Something akin to pride flared in his chest at your tone, your words. But he couldn't show it externally. How would he explain that your fight—your fire—is what drew him to you in the first place? How could he tell you about a version of yourself you'd never know? A person he thought would be with him until his last breath exhaled into the world.

"I'm not here to hurt you." He raised his hands in an attempt to prove his point, but like your variant counterpart you were willing to bite first and ask questions later.

"Yeah. Sure asshole." The shopping bag in your other hand was lifted up, until you had a tighter grip on it in case something happened. You didn't know him. You probably never would.

But Logan had to try. He owed it to you to give it all he had this time around.

Otherwise...what was the point of living?

"My name's–" He made the wrong move stepping forward and knew it the second his boot hit the gravel. With a wince, he watched you stumble back against your car, your arm coming up to protect yourself. "No. Look I'm not gonna do anything–"

"Get the fuck away from me," you spit.

He moved back as if approaching a wounded animal—his body finally on edge in a new way. The fact that you didn't know him wasn't what broke off another chunk of his heart. He could handle that. He'd been through that.

You were afraid of him.

That realization dug in too deep for his body to heal.

That...he couldn't live with.

"WOAH hey!" He'd never appreciated Wade's irritating ass more than in this moment. He jumped between the two of you, the cart of groceries forgotten as he blocked Logan from your sight. "Step away from the nice lady wolf boy." Wade regarded you with a smile. "Hi! Sorry. This is my uncle and well as you can probably tell he's lost eight of his lives. So we're going on little old nine. And well the mind just goes to shit first."

Seconds passed by like minutes and Logan watched you visibly deflate. "Wade," you greeted him, visibly calmer than before. Logan felt his stomach twist violently at the thought. "It's good to see you. How's the job?"

"Oh yup you know. Left that. But I'm really pushing through. I've got an Etsy store where I sell miniature paintings of Michael Angelo's David's penis. So there's that."

Your laughter sent a hole through his chest and Logan bit back the growl that rose up the back of his throat. What the fuck was Wade doing making friends with you? Why were you laughing at his humor?

He couldn't count how many days he'd spent longing to hear your laugh again, the shine in your eyes that always came around when joy flooded your bloodstream. He could smell the honey off your skin, the warmth of what no doubt lay beneath your thin dress. And he wanted to rip Wade to pieces knowing that he was the one making it happen. That you were comfortable with a man who's mouth ran at a mile a minute.

"Did your sister have the baby yet?"

You brightened and Logan felt his heart stutter. "She did! A boy."

"Named Wade I hope."

Another peal of laughter had Logan's claws itching to descend as you ignored he was there. "Theo actually. A cutie."

"Aww." Wade moved closer, head bent to see the small polaroid you pulled out of your wallet. "Wow, he looks like you'd find him in a Gerber's advertisement."

Your eyes drifted up, past Wade's shoulder, until you finally caught Logan's gaze. And he felt like he could breathe. Every ounce of fear was wiped from your face; interest now creeping in as you dragged your eyes down his form. Past the slight peek of chest hair and down to how his jeans hugged his hips. Logan stood taller for your benefit, as if he needed to make a good impression.

He wanted to linger in your mind for days. Until the curiosity ate you alive.

"We're gonna go," Wade announced, after grabbing your bag and placing it in your trunk for you. "Someone has to feed the blind woman in my apartment. She tends to root through everything looking for food." He gripped Logan's arm, shoving him back a good few feet. Even as your eyes still remained glued to his face. "Glad to see the Hyundai is still working. You know you could take the fattest fucking nap in the back of that puppy. Makes you feel like an Egyptian mummy."

"Bye," you said, a dazed look in your eyes as Logan smiled in your direction. At ease with the knowledge that even in a different universe, he could still fluster you with a look.

Dragging himself away from you was hell, but Wade's grip remained unbreakable as they clambered to the car. The groceries stacked in the small backseat.

He could glimpse you driving off and suddenly the nightmare from earlier was the last thing on his mind.

Wade's back hit the wall with a crack before the door could shut properly. The groceries in their hands toppled to the floor. He barely had time to duck before Logan's claws were aiming for his head—a snarl ripping from his throat.

"What the fuck?" Wade shouted, grabbing the paper bag and gently setting it on the table. "Next time just say you need to stay home and find some joy in an empty room and your hand."

"How do you know her?"

Wade smiled, assessing the furious state of chaos Logan was now left in. The tatters of his stability falling to the floor around him. For as much as he held himself together, it certainly remained easy enough to tear him a part.

"Got an eye on someone, do we honey badger?"

Logan grimaced, running a hand down his face. "Would you just fucking tell me?"

"Let me bask in this Logan. I'm about to watch a romcom come to life and need some popcorn." He rummaged through the bag, yanking out some chips. "Salty and sweet. That'll do."

"Wade," he bit out.

"Stick with us girls, we're about to get to the good stuff."

"WADE!"

He tossed the bag to the table, eyeing the way Logan never quite settled. "I'm gonna take a guess and say we know her more than just friendly hellos."

Logan couldn't answer because his grief did it for him. He did what he could to catch his breath, to stop seeing his version of you. The disappointment on your face, the pain in your voice. You'd been so angry with him. To watch the person he loved be reduced to a screaming crying mess wasn't something he wanted to relive, but Wade's question seemed to send an avalanche toppling to the ground.

"She's..." He sucked in a breath. "On my world. I...knew her."

"Knew her? Or knew her."

He reached for the bottle of whiskey Wade threw in with the rest of the groceries and popped it open before he spoke again. "It didn't end well between us. None of it did."

Wade fell silent and Logan found himself loathing the quiet more than the sound of his voice. If he was joking Logan could ignore it. He could pretend nothing happened. That you weren't here, you couldn't be hurt by him again.

You were safe from his destructive tendencies as long as you were in another universe.

"She lives across the street." Logan's head rose and whipped to see the window that faced the building across from them. "The old uncultured shit whistles that keep complaining about WHAM! the greatest thing to happen to music. They're her neighbors. Live right next door."

"Neighbors."

Wade nodded, offering him a chip. "She found their note and angel that she is, she very sweetly threatened to get them evicted. I offered to let her borrow my katanas but was rejected like younger me on prom night. You've really got yourself a catch there buddy."

Logan didn't need Wade to tell him how fucking lucky he was. He knew that the second you walked out of that store. You were everything good in his life at one point, everything he couldn't save. There wasn't much keeping him going on his old Earth, but having you made all the suffering he went through—all the pain he endured—worth it.

If you were waiting for him at the end, he'd do it all over again.

"So you want to take a dip in that honey huh? Taste that rainbow?"

His claws would have sunk into Wade's throat if a knock hadn't sounded at the door. With a huff, he stepped into the kitchen, the bottle clutched tightly in his hand. Whoever decided to give Wade some luck was of no concern to him.

Or so he believed.

"I didn't mean to accidentally take your groceries," you laughed, handing over a overpacked paper bag.

Stuffing the bottle under the sink, he met you halfway to the living room, his eyes drinking in the sight of you still in that dress. Still delicate enough for him to rip if he tugged it right. Heat curled along the base of his spine when your eyes met his, wide and glimmering with your laughter. He felt himself crumple at the sight of your lips parting, the surprise at his size still enough to make you speechless.

"Good to see you again," he greeted you, voice low and soft.

You didn't mean to grow flustered in his presence, but something about the way his gaze devoured you within seconds left you breathless. The swooping sensation in your stomach became too much to handle. Desire and attraction weren't unknown concepts to you. But this felt like more. You could sense him right down to your bones and it scared the shit out of you.

"Oh right!" Wade scooched past you to swing an arm around Logan's shoulders. He did what he could to not stab him in the stomach. "This is Logan. My hunky new roommate."

Logan groaned. "Alright–"

"No, no it's good. You remember when I was declared basically the savior of the universe?"

Your face screwed up in confusion. Logan had never wanted to kiss someone more.

"Marvel...Jesus right?"

"I prefer MJ. Since I've got a Peter." Wade's head whipped to the side. "Suck it Tom Holland." His grip on Logan tightened. "This walking People's Sexiest Magazine helped. We're talking big claws, abs you just want to lick whipped cream off of–"

Logan's elbow slammed into Wade's stomach—crimson slowly tinting the tips of his ears. "That's enough."

"AND the Wolverine."

Surprised etched itself onto your face even further. Until you finally regarded Logan with a look he'd seen once before. Awe. When you first met one another in the halls of the mansion, you stared at him that exact way. As if you couldn't quite believe that iconic figure the X-Men made him out to be actually existed.

He couldn't tell if he liked it. Or if he'd rather you view him as a stranger.

"Logan," he said, offering his hand to you politely. Your skin remained as soft as he remembered.

Warmth bloomed in your body at the feeling of his calloused palm overwhelming yours, the scars across his knuckles old and ancient. Yet you found yourself wanting to trace them over and over, until the sight of them seared in your mind. You fought the urge to press your lips to them, etch your own mark into his skin. Something told you he wouldn’t mind.

Logan could see the intrigue on your face—the distracted gaze he wanted to keep in place. You were still curious. Still willing to learn about him. To pick him a part with soft words and even softer touches.

"Logan," you murmured under your breath, your eyes catching his. He felt his stomach leap at the sound of your voice whispering his name. Memories flooding his mind quicker than he expected. Of mornings spent in bed, your skin pressed against his. Of nights alone in his cabin—your stories lulling him to sleep.

Everything he willed himself to forget, yet could never truly let go of.

"I've got to head back." Disappointment filled your heart at the thought of not getting a chance to talk to him more. He had yet to let go of your hand and you found you liked his touch on your skin. "I'll see you soon Wade."

"Logan will be more than happy to walk you back," Wade replied, waving drastically behind your back. "Can't have you getting hurt now can we? Right peanut?"

You smiled. "I'm just across the street."

"I don't mind," Logan cut in, glaring at Wade to shut the fuck up.

"Okay," your voice was soft. Happy.

Logan would have done anything to keep it that way.

The walk back wasn't long enough for him to explain his actions from earlier, but you seemed to be just as smart as your variant self. Shutting the building's door, you turned to him—your dress fluttering in the breeze. Logan choked on his spit at the slight peek of your ass before you pushed the skirt back down around you.

"Did you know me?" You lead him to the corner, waiting for the traffic to die down. "On your Earth."

He paused, his eyebrows pulling together, and for a moment you wondered if you asked the wrong question. Wade told you bits and pieces of what happened since you last saw him, but Logan's background wasn't a discussion you tried to seek out. All you knew was that Wade acquired a new roommate. Not even a name.

Certainly not that he was Wolverine.

"Yes," Logan muttered, glancing at the change in lights.

You started to walk. "In what way?"

His hands curled into fists—echoes of his past rising to the surface. "We were...friends. You're a professor."

"A professor?" you exclaimed, a smile tugging on your lips. "Am I a mutant?"

He nodded. "You're able to bend time. Or control it." He snorted, following your lead towards your building. "I could never understand it. But Charles did."

The walk up to your apartment was silent, your thoughts filled with the new information he'd given you. And no matter how hard you tried to picture it, you couldn't see yourself as a mutant. A powerful being that held the ability to manipulate time who just so happened to be a professor. Somehow even thinking about it made you wonder why Logan was bothering to entertain this version of you. When the better one existed on his Earth.

"You said were."

Stopping at your door, he nearly knocked into you. "Hm?"

"Were friends. What happened?"

The answer he couldn't give you. The words he wouldn't even admit out loud to himself.

He felt his heart twist as if a knife slowly carved through his spleen. "We uh..." He coughed. "You..."

"I don't have to know." Grasping gently onto his arm, you offered a warm smile he felt down to his toes. A look he hadn't seen in quite some time. Logan could picture the last day you were happy in his head. Laughing with Charles in his office as you shared dinner, working on theories of your powers late into the night.

A week before they came.

"It's good to see you like this," he breathed, his hand reaching out to touch your cheek before stopping midair. "Happy."

Your eyebrows knit together. "I wasn't happy?"

"No." What he wouldn't give to take that information back, but it was out in the open, and as always—he remained too late.

"Why?" you asked, your hand sliding down to his much to his delight.

"I made you a promise." He sucked in a breath, his body begging him to start running. You'd be better off if you never knew. If you never remembered him in the first place. "I couldn't keep it."

I'll always keep you safe.

Words he refused to say again.

How could he promise this version of you that? How could he look you in the eyes and lie again? Breaking his Earth's you would haunt him for the rest of his life. He couldn't fathom doing it all over. It would kill him.

Except you weren't the person in his mind. You weren't the mutant who hated him with every fiber of your being. You were you. A continuous surprise that left his heart stuttering in his chest each time you looked his way. An enigma he found himself wanting to unravel.

"Maybe this time around you can," you said softly, letting him go with a smile as you entered your apartment, effectively opening the wound in his heart so wide there was no saving him.

Although he now knew something he didn’t know before.

He didn’t want to be saved.

[heavenbarnes]

dear god please I’m begging you on my hands and knees for more ghost soap reader action, you do it so right. I’m feral

“you do it so right” is a crazy compliment you’re going to make me AHHH 🫶🏼 (this is afab!reader btw just no pronouns)

simon knows his friend has a crush on you, didn’t have to be a fuckin’ psychic to work that one out.

it was written all over his fucking face from the moment he met you, still there when you wrapped your lips around the head of his cock.

“oh L.T, that’s fuckin’ nice”

you ignored the fact that, whilst you were the one with johnny’s cock in your throat, it was your boyfriend he’d chosen to speak to. you ignored it because you knew if you thought about it too long, you wouldn’t be lasting.

simon was practicing his patience on the other end of the couch, large hands gripping his thighs so he wouldn’t rip you off your knees and place you straight in his lap.

he was practicing generosity.

johnny had been whinging his ear off about how long it’d been since he’d had a good shag and he’d got a little too bold talking about how good L.T must have it at home.

“bet ye’ open the door and yer’ one s’already fuckin’ kneeling”

“that the first thing ye’ do when you get home? empty a couple loads?”

“gaggin’ for it with you, L.T- i bet”

simon had had enough, mainly because johnny was absolutely correct and he needed to go home and deal with it- but also because it was doing his head in.

the man had enough dirty thoughts about you to power the fuckin’ atom bomb and simon thought it might be worth putting it to work. there was gains to be made on multiple fronts.

johnny had one arm along the back of the couch and the other was at your face, fingers softly stroking your cheek as you made the most deplorable sounds.

somehow, you could make choking on cock a bit cute.

it wasn’t lost on simon the way your back was arching as you forced more of his friend into your mouth, your ass shaking a little bit as you stuck it out.

an invitation.

simon was practicing generosity but that didn’t mean he had to practice total altruism. there were gains to be made on all fronts.

so whilst you were knelt with your palms flat on johnny’s thighs, his hands coaxing your head in a rhythm, simon was on his knees behind you with your trousers around your knees.

two thick fingers took one long drag up your slit, prodding at your entrance and making you jolt forward. the sudden motion had you gagging on johnny, his head tipping back with a thick moan ripping out of him.

part of being so quiet meant simon would never say it, but maybe if you asked him at just the right moment he could tell you that, to him? he had the best view in the house.

best view in the fucking world.

johnny looked the picture of ruin as your spit dribbled down the side of his cock, matting his trimmed pubes to his skin. you were rolling your hips back into simon’s hand, reaching back to spread yourself a little for him.

“patience,” strong hand cracking down on your ass cheek. “you’ll get what you deserve”

your mouth was full but johnny could’ve sworn he heard you mumble “yes, si” around him at the order (it very well could’ve been “yes, sir” he was undecided)

when he didn’t think his evening could possibly get better, johnny felt a moan leave your chest and absolutely choke him up. his eyes flew open and he was met with a sight.

your eyes, squeezed shut and spit fucking flying out the corners of your mouth. simon- L.T on his fucking knees with his mouth buried in your cunt.

he thought he might die.

all the blood that wasn’t currently keeping johnny hard went straight to that spot and soon his head was spinning, resorting to closing his own eyes so he’d be able to make it through the night.

simon ate your pussy like a man possessed, two hands spreading your cheeks and tongue forcing its way into your entrance. pulling back only to spit on your clit before he dove back in.

giving it enough time and focusing on the sweet motions of your mouth, johnny figured it safe to reopen his eyes and take a another glimpse.

fucking silly move.

knelt before him was his L.T handling the biggest cock johnny thinks he’s ever seen this side of the internet, and he’s bullying it inside of your tight cunt.

johnny swears he didn’t mean to moan, it just slipped out the minute simon started to speak.

“hold tight, johnny- this one’s about to sing”

[mekakitsune]

stubborn switch!jinx x fem!reader – nsfw - minors dni

you loved jinx, you truly did. she had been nothing an amazing, supportive girlfriend– but you swore you couldnt take much more of her bratty attitude and snarky comments.

her actions in the alley earlier that night? yeah, they led you both here. the nail in the coffin– if you will.

much like her own previous actions, you now had her pinned; back pressed firmly against the old, torn leather of the couch in her hideout, your lips and teeth on her throat.

"get on with it already..." she mumbles, clearly not intending to drop the disobedient act. her hips pressed against yours almost pitifully, desperate for more friction. your hand found her hip and you press down, pinning her to the surface further.

"s'only fair...you were so, so cruel to me earlier." you fake pout at her, lips turning quickly into a smirk as you notice the rapid rise and fall of her chest. "doesnt feel s'good, does it baby?" your eyes bore into hers, seeing her expression faulter at your words.

sure, she was the one being cruel here.

a mix of a whine and a frustrated groan fall from her lips as she sqiurms in your grip, making the feeling of dominance send rushes of blood to your brain. the normally temperate room felt hot, thick with tension and desperation.

"give me one good reason i should help you right now." you spoke low, tone more serious than before. it makes her shiver as she attempts to press herself farther into you.

"because– ahh fuck" she stutters a moan when you grind you hips into her, hands still holding her hips in place.

"hmm, try again with words baby. i asked you a question." you smirk at her, hips rocking slightly. she huffs a shaky breath from her lungs.

"you'll– help me because– hah– because you know you cant control yourself." despite her broken words and moans, she smirks, that challenging glint still ever present in her gaze.

"i dont think m'the one who needs to be controlled here anyways, angel." your teasing words and pet names make her head fuzzy, feeling nothing but the heat rapidly growing between the two of you.

your hands trail along her bare sides, the heat of her skin warming your palms. a shiver rips through her as you drag your nails across her skin, her reactions were making you want to continue to tease her until she was a mess.

"youre awfully sensitive..." you coo at her, her hips continuing to roll into yours. "course i am, youre killin me here, sweetheart." she huffs at you, clearly growing impatient with your teasing.

before she can continue, you slide between her legs– spreading them. shes soaked, the sticky fabric of her underwear stuck to her cunt, and the sight makes your mouth water.

you lean in and press your lips against her clothed pussy, feeling the warmth through the thin cotton as she gasps above you. her fingers lace themselves into your hair, guiding you closer to her. your tongue finds her clit, swirling around against the soaked fabric.

"fuckin– god.." she moans, hips pressing farther into you. "hm, not quite." you giggle against her. you continue to play with her –and as soon as you sense that knot in her stomach was forming, you pull away.

the sight of her makes your heart pound; hair messy and lips swollen from getting caught between her teeth constantly. you lean to catch her lips in a hot, desperate kiss as her arms wrap around your neck. her tongue rolls against yours, small whines sounding from her throat at the taste of herself on your tongue.

breathless, the two of you pull away. "need you s'bad baby....gotta feel ya." she sighs, nails now scratching at your own skin. you giggle at her desperate display and move to pull her underwear down, followed by your own. you take her leg and move it so you can slot yourself between her thighs, pussy lined up with hers. the moment your skin connects feels electric, tingles running up your spine as she soaks you. you roll your hips, groaning at the friction of her clit against yours. jinx moans out below you, shamelessly gushing against you.

"s'messy jinx...youre so wet" you bite your lip, hips moving steadily as she just about loses it below you.

"yeah...fuck– s'all for you baby. you feel so fuckin good." she admits, thighs shaking in your hold. you continue to fuck her, watching her every reaction as she begins to fall apart. her moans pitch as her hips buck to meet your thrusts.

"gonna make me cum baby– fuck.." she sucks a breath between her teeth, thighs tensing under your fingers. you swear you can feel her throb against you as you grind against her needy pussy. your own orgasm builds as jinx pants wildly beneath you, nails digging into the skin of your arms. desperately grinding, the knot between you finally snaps and you are cumming messily against each other. the sounds that fill the room are downright sinful as you bask in the rushing pleasure.

jinx whines out at the overstimulation as you continue to fuck her slowly, her eyes glossy as she stares at you with the bottom lip between her teeth.

"you got another one in you, yeah?" you smirk at her, panting. "s'what you wanted baby, right?" her body melts below you as you linger on pushing her past her limits. her voice is hoarse and strained moans fall from her lips.

"oh my god– fuck m'gonna cum again..." her hips are grinding pitifully into your own, wet pussy mixing with yours.

"shh, i know, give it t'me baby, cmon–" you urge her as your own high approaches again. the room is hot and damp as the two of you fall apart. her orgasm crashes over her, you following shortly in a messy, desperate way.

you grind through the high– only pulling away when your thighs begin to burn. you move down to catch her lips, stealing the breath from her lungs. she sighs into the kiss, her hands finding your shoulders as you melt into one another.

"did so good f'me baby, so good." you whisper to her, hands rubbing at her skin soothingly as she shudders from the aftershock.

pulling away, you shove her gently so you can flop down onto the couch beside her. her arms open, and you find yourself laying on her chest. her heart is still beating fast, a constant, steady pounding against her chest.

"yknow, pissing you off will never get old." shes still slightly breathless, but you can hear the smirk on her lips. you look up at her with a lazy smile, eyes rolling as she beams at you.

"yeah...whatever." you huff, and she giggles; a sound you loved to hear. her hands guide to lay against her again, and she presses a kiss to the top of your head, eyes closing in content.

"just...so you know though, it made me so mad to see that idiot flirt with you. i guess i just, get kinda scared when i think about losing this...losing you." her words make your heart soar. you know she isnt the best at recognizing her feelings, let alone putting them into words.

"if it makes you feel any better, i was trying not to laugh in his face while he did it." you giggle at her, fingers lacing with hers. "i love you jinx, nothin will change that, ever." you squeeze her hand, and she swears she could cry.

"i love you too, always will."

i have been so dead lately i apologize :c working thru my requests tho!

[peachsukii]

— midnight first aid (12:21am) it’s not common for support techs to be out in the field, let alone caught mid-battle with a villain, but there’s a first time for everything.

✮ content. comfort & fluff, pro hero au, reader is a support tech, mentions of blood, wound care, talks of marriage, don’t mind the katsurei selfship influence

Everything hurts. Your head, body, and now…your heart.

“Why didn’t you call me?!” Bakugo cries out from your shared bathroom, rustling through the closet for your first aid kit. He’s grumbling something to himself that you can’t quite make out, but you know he’s upset - understandably so. You should have taken time to call him from the agency when your phone died, but too much was happening and time got away from you.

He returns a few moments later, gripping your wrist and tugging you over to the couch. You settle into your normal spot as he rips open the metal tin, grabbing some cotton pads to soak them with alcohol. Bakugo carefully dabs away the dried blood from your cheeks and chin, causing you to wince at the stinging pain.

“What the fuck even happened, baby? Your shift ended at 9 and it’s past midnight.” His voice has descended from anger to pure concern. He knew you must have a reason why you didn’t call him, why you didn’t bother to let him know you were safe.

“I…got caught up in a villain attack. There was an emergency request for the nearby sector that needed replacement gear, and when I got there, it was chaos,” you explain, exhaustion littered all throughout your speech. “LeMillion’s suit ripped too much and he needed a patch up to continue using his quirk without reprocussion. While helping him off to the side, the villain attacked us. The others did their best to distract him.”

“Christ,” Bakugo grumbles under his breath, biting the inside of his cheek. He pushes your hair out of your face to uncover the lone cut above your eyebrow, three fresh stitches holding it together. The glint of worry in his eyes softens once he sees them, knowing you had been evaluated by a medical team gave him some peace of mind.

“Get up,” he instructs, waiting for you to move out of your spot. And you do, long enough for him to take your place and pull you back into his lap. He does another once over of the damage on your face and collarbone, clicking his tongue against his teeth in disapproval.

“Med team let you walk out all bloody an’ shit?”

You settle into his lap and place your hands on his shoulders. “Guess they thought I’d just wash it off at home.”

“Fuckin’ shitty if ya ask me. They didn’t even clean around your stitches,” Bakugo comments, examining them further before dabbing alcohol around the edges of the gash. When you squeeze your eyes shut at the pain, the wound releases a droplet of blood. He groans in annoyance, reaching for a proper wound cover to prevent anymore damage to your pretty face.

“M’gonna rip that team a new one tomorrow, fuckin’ shitty ass job patchin’ you up. This could get infected if not covered to let the stitches do their damn job.”

You knew this was gonna happen from the second you unlocked the door and Bakugo was in your face about where you were, anxiously waiting for you. Frowning, you shake your head. “Kats, baby, it’s not—”

“It’s a big fuckin’ deal to me when you’re comin’ home in the dead of night and covered in blood!” He cradles your cheeks in his hands, fingers trembling against your skin. The dim moonlight illuminating the living room highlights the glassiness of his crimson stare, making your heart sink deeper into your chest.

“I don't wanna worry about getting a call about you bein' in the hospital,” he whispers, voice cracking as he’s casting his eyes downward to avoid your gaze. “I...don't know what I'd do if I lost you."

"Hey," you soothe, nuzzling your nose with his and placing your hand on the back of his neck to keep him close. “I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.”

Bakugo takes a deep breath, closing his eyes to calm himself down from the anxious thoughts clouding his mind. You’re right - you’re safe and sound, that’s what matters.

“Damn right, you’re stuck with me,” he leans forward to place a soft kiss to your lips, holding the back of your head tenderly. When you part, he stays close before mumbling, “Forever.”

“I dunno, my finger’s looking a little naked for being stuck with you forever,” you joke, giggling maniacally when Bakugo’s face and neck instantly flush pink. “I’m kidding, babe. You know I love—”

He cuts you off with a second kiss, deeper and rougher than the last. He moves his hand from the back of your head to your back for support. In between kisses, you think you hear him say, “Fine, marry me then.”

Now your face is beat red, body growing hot from his words that you’re…not even sure he actually said. You let out a quiet ‘huh?’ in response, speechless as you sit back in his lap. He cackles, shit-eating grin plastered across his face when he teasingly says, “Think you’re hearin’ shit, sweets. Let’s get ya in the shower and to bed.”

You get up from the couch and follow him to the bathroom, his shirt already off by the time you shut the door. You can’t help but wonder if you were hearing things…maybe it’s just your exhaustion.

Or maybe, just maybe…it was real, and you just have to be patient. For now, you’re more than content with what you two have now.

@slayfics @maddietries @starieq @liluvtojineteyam @jays-adventure3 @simp-plague @queenpiranhadon

[gamblersdoll]

hard dom kirishima, spitting, slapping, bondage, degrading etc, porn with no plot

“get on your tippy toes, bitch.” he chuckles, venom seething through his lips. “just had to be a fuckin’ brat!” he sneers, ripping your panties off. the sound of cloth shredding was a rough one, then your ass burning from the slap he landed.

your muffle a cry against the tape on your mouth, him laughing at your squirms. he meanly spits on your right ass cheek, then slapping at the glistening space.

you muffle his name, trying your best to stay bent over the couch. “cant say shit now, can you?” he says, slapping the left harder. “poor needy bitch, arent you?” he spreads your legs, hand palming your cunt.

you muffle, but its not heard. he grabs your hair, pulling you to his chest and whispering in your ear. “something you have to say, slut?” he says, ripping the tape off.

“sorry! ‘m so sorry!”

“yeah, i bet cha are!” he chuckles, slapping your ass again. he pulls his cock out, it brushing against your skin, “you want this, dont you?” he asks, pressing it against your slit. “say it, say that you want it.”

you bit your lip, looking up at him.

“oh, you little nasty bitch—“ he says, slamming your upper half over the couch. he slides himself in balls deep, slamming his hips into your own body. “wanna bite your fuckin’ lip and nod huh?”

you moan, clenching around him as he ravaged your walls, biting down onto your shoulder and drawing blood.

“needed a real man to ravage you—“ he says, groaning against your shoulder as his hot tongue slides around your skin. “— needed a man to claim this whore pussy of yours!”

his hips stutter, him rolling his eyes and you taking every last inch he could ever give you. “ oh fuck, fuck!” he moans, balls slapping against your slit and he digging his teeth deeper. he growls out, “yeah, yeahyeahyeahyeahyeah!” slamming his hips harder into you.

his balls tightened, watching you try and run but knowing your arms are tied behind you. he laughs, pride and lust sweltering in his chest. his face curls and scrunches, feeling his balls now empty inside you. “shit!”

you still, feeling his seed coat your walls and emit heat. he speaks, nervously.

“im sorry, are you okay? did i go too far?”

“no, im okay.” you assure, looking up to him. he smiles, a toothy grin and he kisses his bite. “im sorry, i probably went too far.”

“youre just fine, i love you.”

[jen-with-a-pen]

(In Your) Arms Tonight - 1/2

summary: Hypothesis: If he (Wade) turns off the AC, then they (Wade and Logan) will have no choice but to strip naked and end up sticky and gross and hard together!

That's what he was taught in middle school, right?

pairing: Logan Howlett x Wade Wilson / Worst Wolverine x Deadpool

word count: 1.3k

warnings: MDNI 18+, Wade's POV-ish, blood mention, knife mention, beer mention, Wade's fuckin horny and thirsty y'all, pining, cursing, claws, Wade is looking ✨respectively✨, crude humor and language, slight Deadpool and Wolverine spoilers, no smut (yet, sorry)

a/n: AUGH DONT LOOK AT ME (actually please do I cannot hold this in any longer.) currently part one of two parts. posting the first one now as I am currently traveling for work and won't be back until beginning of September and then part two will be out when i either A. Get home or B. Finish it and format it in between running around like a chicken with my head cut off. Please be patient with me! I will not tolerate "whEreS PaRt Two?¿??" when I literally just told you. Hope y'all enjoy one of the many products of my brain rot. More to come in due time ✨

Not beta'd. Written on my phone and edited via gdocs. Post formatted on mobile because I don't wanna use my work computer lmao

Please let me know if there are any spelling or grammar mistakes!

If I've missed any tags, PLEASE let me know!

gif by @tomshiddles | dividers by @saradika-graphics | warning banner by me ❤️

My AO3 | My Masterlist

Read this fic HERE on AO3

❤️ Reblogs and comments are appreciated, as always ❤️

PART ONE | PART TWO

The abs are great. More than great, actually. In fact, they're all Wade thinks, dreams, and fantasizes about. All day, everyday, non-fucking-stop. The moment replays over and over in his fucked up noodle brain like a scratched record. He knows muscle memory is a thing, but what about salivatory memory?

Christ. He's gotta get a grip instead of getting hard.

But what about when Logan isn't flexing hard enough to rip his goddamn suit off?

Wade notices Logan becoming more relaxed around the apartment as the days pass. Adjusting to his new life, coming out of the bedroom earlier than he has to on days when he gets a turn to sleep on a real bed. It's Sofa City most of the time– which he really doesn't mind, he almost prefers it most of the time (since it's in clear sight of the front door) but Wade more often than not likes to insist they share his 'much-too-big-for-lil-old-me' twin XL mattress that's seen more stains than sex in the last year alone.

Logan's compromise is he'll take the bed and Wade the couch half the time. Alone. They're still working on the negotiations of said compromise, but the jury– Blind Al– is still out on recess.

Once he's more settled in, Logan learns that it's okay to kick off his boots and put his feet up. It's not often, but enough that Wade silently wishes he'd rest those big meaty calves on his lap instead. He's been needing a new weighted blanket and Adamantium-coated tibias and hairy legs are so in right now.

Logan doesn't know it, but Wade secretly plays 'ohmygodhetotallylookedatme' whenever he so much as catches a glimpse of Wade oggling at him in his peripherals. Wade can't help it when Broody and the Beast's ribbed white muscle shirt pulls taut against those deliciously plump pecs that he silently prays it'll burst off again. Or he'll rip it off. Or Logan will rip it off. For him.

A boy can dream.

It's especially hard to win at 'OMGHTLAM' when Logan accessorizes– AKA throwing on whatever flannel is in rotation out of the several he finds at the thrift store a few blocks over. Wade feels his throat tighten like his jeans do when Logan wears the forest green one. Really brings out his eyes.

And smile. And lips. And–

It's still summer, so on the hotter days, when sweat glistens on his brow and Wade desperately wishes to be the back of Logan's hand, the tank top comes off. All Logan's sweaty, gloriously muscular body has on is a wonderfully worn-in pair of jeans with the hem of black briefs poking out behind the denim waist.

Do they have AC? Yes. Because Wade would have to plan a funeral for Al if they didn't.

But when she's out and about, he likes to turn it off and let the New York heat wave run its course. Sure, it leaves him sticky and gross, but he'd rather be sticky and gross and hard when he can help it.

Luckily, Blind Al is gone for the whole weekend. Some girls trip or a drug mule job. Same difference.

Hypothesis: If he (Wade) turns off the AC, then they (Wade and Logan) will have no choice but to strip naked and end up sticky and gross and hard together!

That's what he was taught in middle school, right?

With the push of a button and a sprinkle of patience, Logan is splayed out on the couch in a matter of hours with a lukewarm beer in hand while fighting his eyelids from dozing off to some random war documentary. Sweat beads on his temples and there's a slight sheen to his skin from his biceps to the lower V pointing down to between his thighs. He chuckles every so often, mumbling things to himself between swigs of beer and shaking his head when the narrator gets something 'wrong.'

Wade busies himself in the kitchen but his eyes are permanently glued to his roommate. He doesn’t miss the way Logan's stomach rises and falls gently, the rock-hard six pack softening into rolling hills of muscle with a layer of dark hair covering as much surface area as immortal-like hormones will allow. Grown out beard, chops, and messy hair really throw the whole look together; very 2000s, if you ask Wade. His pecs look just as soft as a pair of titties, if not softer, and Wade knows it. He'd do anything to lay his perfect little head on Logan's chest. Maybe lick it too, if he's a good boy. 

Logan perks up suddenly from the couch.

Oh God did he say that out loud?

"Wade?"

Wade doesn't hear him. Can't hear him. Half-refuses to hear him, honestly. Daydreaming takes up a whole lotta brain power and this show isn't running itself. Economy, budget cuts, unprecedented times. You know the shtick. 

"Wade."

Nothing but a bead of drool comes out of Wade's mouth. 

Suddenly, there's a crash right behind Wade's head and now he's awake. He whips around to the ale-spattered wall behind him and back to Logan, who's now standing with claws drawn and chest heaving.

Wade swears he's blushing. 

Eyes wide and brow standing up straight like his good little soldier, Wade looks down at the counter before him to find a bloodbath of a scene: one hand's on a knife while the other spews blood all over the yellowed counter tops; there's remnants of a carrot that was finished five minutes ago, followed directly by remnants of fingers cut down to the last fucking knuckle and slice marks beginning down the back of his hand.

Wade holds up his spurting stump, gashed artery doing a spot-on impression of Ol' fucking Faithful.

"Oh. Huh. Thought I smelled something," he says, staring at his now-tingling hand. Baby fingers for the rest of the night were so worth the staring contest with Logan's beautiful body.

"Fuckin' idiot," Logan mutters, sheathing his claws and striding over to the hall closet to grab a towel. Wade's already stopped bleeding, but just because they might be immune to bloodborne pathogens doesn't mean Al is.

"Gah– get back, damn mutt." Logan shoos Dogpool out of the kitchen to prevent her from lapping up her papa's bodily fluids. He throws the towel in Wade's face and goes to grab the bleach out of the cupboard under the sink. Logan learned very quickly where to find it the first time this happened a month or two ago.

"Sorry baby, Mommy's got a boo-boo and Daddy's just trying to help," Wade coos at Dogpool. "You're too good to me, peanut. Someone oughta wife ya up before I do."

Logan responds with a scowl as he tosses the carrots out and tries to keep the counter from staining. "Why th'fuck did you do that?"

"It was time for a new hand. Old one was so last season."

Wade mops up the blood from his arm and wraps the towel onto his head like he's just gotten out of the shower. Holding up his regenerating stump, he poses like a cover model for Vogue.

"Whatcha think, peanut?" He strikes another pose. "Is this doing anything for ya, big boy?"

Logan grunts as he tosses a wad of paper towels into the trash can. He turns to leave the kitchen, eyes flicking to Wade. It's the quickest once over ever, but Wade sees it. Commits it to memory while he pulls a Flashdance in a chair from the kitchen table and follows Logan's denim-clad ass as it sways off to the bathroom. 

"'M gonna go shower. Don't wait up,” Logan calls before shutting the door and locking it. 

Sighing, Wade looks down at his crotch, pants tent pitched higher and tighter than a first-timer on Everest.

Good thing he's ambidextrous.

[omensandwonders]

i can't be saved

ghostface!noah x f!reader

(a/n: this is supposed to be a halloween/ bday post for our king even though it's DISGUSTINGLY late (mainly cause my blog didnt exist on his bday lol whoopsie) but BETTER LATE THAN NEVER AMIRITE HEATHENS)

warnings: cnc/dubcon, breaking and entering, mean!noah, knife play, blood play (he carves his initials into the reader lol), impact play, degradation, choking/ asphyxiation, creampie, general feral word vomit things, readers.. kinda dumb

1.3k-ish words

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

it was friday, october 31st, 11.32pm. rain gently drummed against the windows, thunder rolling in the far off distance. it was the perfect night for you to cosy up with a book you had been meaning to get to for literal ages, but never had the chance to. snuggled up on your couch, a vanilla scented candle lit, you got to work.

you barely got 50 pages in before a loud crash sounded through your house, ripping you from the story you had just begun to immerse yourself in. what the actual hell was that? against your better judgement you stood up slowly, slippers quiet on the hardwood floor, and walked towards the area of the house where the sound had come from. you felt cold dread run down your spine as you saw it: one of your windows was torn completely open. the thud had been the window being thrown open and slamming into the wall. somebody was inside. mind and heart racing in panic you started taking slow steps backwards, trying to think of how to escape, when your back hit something. or better, someone. you yelped and turned quickly, now facing a tall, masked man. you couldnt see anything behind his mask, but you could see strong, heavily tattooed arms... and a knife in his hand. that's all it took for your survival instinct to kick in and you sprinted past him, a loud laugh echoing through the halls of your apartment before he took off after you, his heavy boots slamming against the floor loudly.

panting in fear you reached your bedroom and practically threw yourself under your bed. it was cliche, but maybe, just maybe he wouldnt check. you covered your mouth to muffle your breathing just as his heavy boots slid into view, coming to a halt in front of the bed before starting to slowly walk around the room. you could hear him open the closet before closing it again and it sounded like he was leaving. you were about to exhale in relief when you suddenly felt a large hand close around your ankle and yank you out from your hiding place "found you!" you could practically hear the grin in his voice, despite his face being hidden behind the mask. you screamed in fear, fists pounding against his chest until he pressed his knife to your throat "now, pet, none of that. you have any idea how fuckin' annoying that gets?" slowly you lowered your fists, hands shaking in fear. not like you had much of a choice anyways "much better. now... i was going to kill you, but... seeing you like this... that'd just be such a waste, wouldnt it?" you sobbed in fear as his free hand brushed a stray strand of hair from your face "all you gotta do is be a good girl and stay still for me, and ill let you live. isnt that nice?" he moved his knife away a little, just enough to let you nod meekly "good pet"

he barely left you time to process before taking his knife to your clothes, cutting them off of you in a few precise cuts and strong rips. it barely took a minute for you to be completely bare and shaking before him. he hummed contemplatively and let the tip of his knife slowly drag down the valley between your breasts, down to your navel and stopping just above your pussy. his free hand made his way up your soft thigh, giving it a squeeze before parting your legs roughly to give himself more space. with a soft sigh his thumb found your clit, starting to rub in slow but firm circles. he laughed at your pathetic moan "you dirty bitch, youre gettin' off on this, arent you?" he sunk two fingers into your cunt and all you could do was moan out. before you realized what was happening he put the knife down and his open palm met your cheek hard enough to send your head lolling to the side, other hand sinking a third finger into your pussy "when i ask you a question, i expect a fucking answer" "y-yes- yes, im getting off on it-" you all but sobbed out, the pain of his slap making your cunt clench and drool even more. within minutes of him toying with your pussy you were approaching your high, hips grinding against his hand, but just as you were about to fall off the edge, he pulled away, stopping all of his touches "nah, not until i say so" "please, please- fuck, 'm so clo-" he didnt even let you finish before he backhanded you again. he gripped your cheeks harshly, blunt nails digging into your soft skin and pulling you closer to his masked face "you forgetting your fucking place here? im in charge, slut, you do as i say. do i have to remind you? dont worry, i know just what to do with dumb cocksleeves like you" he let go of your cheeks, roughly letting you fall back to the floor. his left hand grabbed your throat to hold you down, other hand positioning the tip of his knife between your breasts. as realisation dawned on you you sobbed, fear running through your veins but you were helpless as he dug the blade in, not too deep, carving his initials into you slowly. NS. once he was satisfied with his work he wiped the blodd off his knife on your thigh before discarding it "there you go. little reminder of tonight for ya, mh?" he let go of your throat to grip your thigh, pressing one of your legs to your chest while the other positioned himself at your dripping entrance, your chest buzzed and ached from the shallow wound, but the scariest part was how much this all turned you on. he hilted himself with one smooth thrust and it punched the air out of your lungs. he was so thick and long, it felt like you were being split open. barely giving you time to adjust, his pace was rough and ruthless from the start, hips slamming into yours fast and hard. your wails and cries filled the room, mixed with his occassional deep groans and the sound of your skin slapping together. one of his large hands wrapped around your throat just tight enough to make your head go fuzzy, eyes rolling back with a loud moan. he was ruining you, ruining you for any other man, splitting you open on his cock and fucking you to tears. it was too good. "gonna cum? 'sokay, you can cum now, such a good fuckin' cocksleeve for me, pussy's so tight and warm- made for me, huh? made for takin' my dick like this- gonna fill you so good-" his filthy words sent you over the edge, cumming with a liud cry. with one last thrust he pushed as deep as he could, cumming inside you with a loud groan.

after you both came down from your high he slowly let go off you and pulled out before pulling off his mask, revealing the dissheveled but handsome face of your loving boyfriend, noah "did so good for me love, thank you for lettin' me try this" "i had so much fun, happy birthday baby" you laughed softly and pressed a soft kiss to his lips which he happily returned before leaning down and licking the blood off of your chest. he sat up and scooped you up in his arms "now to get you cleaned up and pamper you"

[macfrog]

bloodstream cowboy like me chapter seven

part seven of cowboy like me 🤠 feel free to grab parts i-vi (and more!) over on my masterlist for all ur joel miller needs. can you tell i had my period when i wrote this...? it's just a big ol' hormonal, needy MESS please don't take it seriously you'll ruin my street cred as a cynic

pairing: dbf!joel x fem!reader

summary: you’re on your period and want attention, kisses, and pain medicine from joel. that’s all

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) a whole lotta fluff. like, sickly sweet fluff. mention of periods/cramps/blood, one tiny mention of pregnancy, put mdni since there are mentions of sex & sexual themes but no actual sex, age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), bit of cursing, and a pop-tart is destroyed :( rip lil guy

word count: 3.8k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

In an instant, you want to grind into him, drag your hips along the fabric of his boxers, push him. Rile him up. Make him pine. Make him beg. What the fuck would you even do, anyway? Sex? It’s not like that’s your easiest option right now – definitely not a tidy one. But it doesn’t stop you from picturing it, now that you brought it up. Is Joel picturing it, too? He’s tracing every inch of your face with his stare, soft, but knowing. He knows exactly what’s going through your fucking mind. The way his boxers start to swell against the inside of your thigh gives it away that it’s running through his, too.

It’s been a week since you slept with Joel for the first time. Realistically, waking up in a foul mood to cramps should’ve been some sort of tiny celebration. Yay, I’m not pregnant. But the ache in your tummy, the weight of your limbs as you heave yourself around the house, the sobbing at any minor inconvenience, doesn’t feel so much like a celebration as it does a punishment.

You’d dragged yourself from bed, clutching your belly, and hobbled downstairs. Your dad left for work a couple hours ago; the slam of the front door woke you. Does he always have to be so fucking loud? You’d struggled to get back to sleep, knees tucked under your chin.

You take a blanket from the couch and wrap it around your shoulders, bunching it up at your belly to soothe the pain, and begin raking the cupboards for food. For crappy, sugary, junk food.

When you turn toward the toaster and bump your hip into the corner of the kitchen island, sending the Pop-Tart in your hand tumbling to the ground, you burst into tears and dial his number.

He answers on the second ring.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” he coos in response to your wailing.

“Joel, I– my fuckin’ Pop-Tart just flew out of my hand!”

He’s quiet for a beat. “Your– Say that again, baby?”

What you respond with isn’t even intelligible. You know it. It only makes you sob more. Well, that, and looking down at the crumbled pastry on your kitchen floor.

Joel spends the next five minutes calming you down, shushing down the line and trying to get you to speak in plain English. Eventually, you take a deep breath and speak clearly between gasps.

“I – am on – my period. I – got – my – period.”

“Ah,” he muses. “That makes a lot more sense, kid.”

You burst into tears again.

“Hey, hey,” he’s laughing now, “no, baby, it’s okay. It’s okay. Look, I got a free house today – Sarah’s out all day. I ain’t workin’, either. How about you jump in the car and come over? We can lay in bed all day and I can make you feel better. How’s that sound?”

You sniff and mumble a quiet, “Good”.

Joel tells you to head on over once you’re ready. You throw a sweatshirt over your shoulders, slip into comfortable shoes, and get straight into the car. When you pull up outside, he’s already standing at the front door.

Just the sight of him makes you weep. Leaning against the porch post, one hand hooked around his belt. You get out, hunched over with the pain below your belly button, and waddle over to him.

“C’mere, sweet girl,” he whispers as he wraps an arm around you, basically pulling you up the steps to him. “Gonna get you nice and comfortable, okay?”

You lean into his chest and he kisses your head, closing the door softly behind you.

“Upstairs,” he instructs.

You silently obey and make for his bedroom, shuffling your feet along the carpet. When Joel enters the room a few minutes after you, you’re buried in the middle of his bed amongst a sea of pillows and blankets.

“Feelin’ alright?”

“Ish.”

He has a mug of tea in one hand, a box of pain meds in the other, and a hot pack draped over his arm. He sets the tea down on your nightstand, hands you the hot pack (which you immediately lay across your stomach), and offers you the pain meds.

“Water?” you ask, looking up at him with a petted lip.

“I brought tea.” He nods at the mug.

“I can’t take pills with hot tea,” you whisper.

He gives you an affectionate smile and shakes his head. “You’re lucky I care about you s’much.” He leaves the room, calling back, “Put those puppy-dog eyes away!”

You smile smugly to yourself and shimmy deeper into Joel’s pillows. He returns moments later with a glass of water.

“Your highness,” he grumbles as he sets it down for you. Then he pulls a small blue packet from under his elbow.

“Don’t have much round here, bein’ on my own mosta the time,” he admits, sliding it onto the nightstand, “found these in Sarah’s bathroom. They do?”

You smile, eyes scanning over the Always logo. “They’re great.”

The edges of Joel’s mouth lift, proud, like he reckons he’s outdone himself.

You gulp a couple of painkillers down and settle back into bed, heat pad already working its magic.

Joel lifts his side of the comforter up to climb in beside you, but you stretch an arm out.

“Uh-uh.”

“Huh?”

“Not in your jeans. Are we animals?”

He peers down at himself. “The hell am I s’posed to wear?”

“You don’t have sweatpants?”

“I’m supposed to change into my sweatpants just to cuddle?”

“Who the hell lounges around the house on their day off in jeans, anyway, weirdo?”

He clicks his teeth. “You’re talkin’ awful big for someone meant to be in pain, y’know,” he huffs as he unbuttons his jeans and hauls them down his legs. “T-shirt okay?”

“T-shirt’s fine.”

In just his tee, boxers and socks, he climbs in alongside you, snakes his arms around you, and slots his thigh between yours the way he always does. It calms you instantly: his warmth, the sound of his heart beating into your ear, his chest rising and falling with his breathing.

“You okay, sweet girl?” Joel mumbles into your hair.

“Mhm,” you reply, feeling yourself dropping off. “Sleepy.”

He runs a hand under the hem of your sweatshirt and up your bare back, rubbing circles gently where the pain is. You’re asleep within minutes.

----------

You stir to the distant sound of voices. Still enveloped in Joel’s arms, you flutter your eyes open slowly, and look up to his face, lit blue by the TV. He’s watching ESPN.

His eyes dance along the screen, following the players running. His beard, thick, dark, gray and white spotted along his chin, disturbed as he runs his fingers through it. His skin, marked by the sun, by time, by fine lines and dimples at the corners of his mouth.

The Joel you’ve known your whole life – grumbling, head dipped, brows close together; his rough hands and his worn jeans, his awkward squeezes in place of hugs…he doesn’t exist anymore. He’s replaced by this new Joel: kind, warm, approachable. Like you can finally see him, finally get to know him.

The Joel who doesn’t think twice about taking you in his arms, isn’t concerned with how you’ll react. Just knows you’ll fall into him any which way his hands touch you. The Joel who can have you bent double under him, panting his name, and the same Joel who can lull you to sleep with nothing but his scent and his thumb drawing lazy circles on your skin.

The Joel who makes you want to call him your Joel, like he’s made only for you. He does these things only for you. He’s different for you.

Suddenly you feel shy. Realizing that this is the first time he’s seen you like this – vulnerable, in pain. Hurting. And then realizing that he didn’t miss a beat; just swept you up in his arms and bundled you into his bed. Made you comfortable. Made you safe.

You swallow your heart back into your chest. For a second, you almost felt…something. A shift. Something new. A problem arising.

Joel glances down, notices you watching him, and mutes the anchors’ voices.

“Welcome back,” he whispers, giving you a little squeeze. “Better?”

“Mhm. Thanks.”

“I was gonna order a pizza, if you wanted.”

He reads your mind again. Just the thought of a fatty, greasy slab of dough with fatty, greasy cheese all over it is enough to make you salivate.

“Pizza sounds good.”

Joel, wanting to stay near you, and also not wanting to have to get up, picks up his phone and orders it from bed. You sigh as he pulls you back in and sinks lower into the pillows, turning the volume up.

You snuggle your head into the crook of his neck, where it fits perfectly. Made for you. Joel’s arm cradles around your back, sneaking under the bottom of your sweatshirt to hold your hip, keeping your body pressed against his. Your fingers trace shapes on his shirt, lids closing over with each blink.

Out of every sport in America, baseball is the one you’re interested in the least. Growing up with a diehard Rangers fan for a father will do that to you. Every week: Rangers game. Every conversation he had with Joel: Rangers. Every time the TV was switched on: Rangers talk.

You learned to tune it out when he’d rant over dinner, either to you, or into his phone, or to Joel. You’d sit back in your chair and count the crows resting on Marcia’s rooftop. Couple times Joel would kick your leg under the table and ask how school was goin’, when you’re flying back, but as soon as your answer was done your dad would steer the conversation back to baseball.

It bored you at best. Mostly it just made you huff and turn on your heel, back the way you came. Dodging Rangers talk like it was a bad smell.

This time, you doze in and out of sleep, relaxing with the rise and fall of Joel’s chest, his fingers playing with yours. The anchors push you off, then wake you back up with their raised voices as they disagree on some play, some team, some result.

You could lie here forever and never complain. Well, maybe not forever. You care about Joel a lot, but even you have your limits.

You nudge him with your head.

“Yep?”

“Who’s the dude in the blue polo?”

“That’s a coach.”

“He’s kinda cute.”

“Not my type.”

“Are we gonna watch ESPN all day?”

Joel hands you the remote. “Take your pick, darlin’.”

You begin surfing through the channels, eyes scanning for something to take your mind off the pain slowly returning between your legs. You’re barely two pages through when the doorbell rings.

Joel softly slides out from underneath you and throws his jeans on, heading downstairs where you hear him thank the delivery guy, hand him the money, and shut the door again.

“You still good with your water, or you want soda?” he calls upstairs.

“Soda, please!”

He brings up a bottle for you to share. You pull yourself up to rest against the headboard, and Joel sits the pizza between you two.

“You gotta be kiddin’ me,” he whispers, looking up at the TV.

“Nope!” you reply, mouth full of delicious pepperoni pizza.

“Grey’s Anatomy?”

“You ain’t seen it?”

He hands you a look. Do I look like the type of guy who’s seen Grey’s Anatomy?

You giggle. “Alright, so: Meredith was datin’ this dude Derek – surgeon at the hospital, he’s so hot–” Joel raises his eyebrows, “…but he wouldn’t tell her a thing about his past. Then, she’s waitin’ for him in the lobby,” you take another bite of pizza, “and thish woman walksh over to ‘em,” gulp, “and says she’s Derek’s wife!”

He’s hanging on to every word you say, not ‘cause he actually gives a crap about Meredith and Derek, but because you do. He’s lying propped up on his elbow, watching you with doting eyes as you catch him up on the storyline of the show, smirk slowly growing on his lips.

“You gonna eat the pizza?”

You snap him out of his daydream. “Huh?”

“You ain’t touched it.”

“Oh, yeah,” he says, taking a slice. “Was just listenin’ to you.”

You tuck your chin into your shoulder and he gives your cheek a gentle squeeze, then you both turn your attention to the TV.

You spend the next couple of hours pausing the show to catch Joel up – “So Meredith ain’t into this George?” “No, he’s just a friend.” “But he loves her?” “Yep.” “And they slept together?” “Uhuh.” “That’s…complicated.” – and chatting over the more boring parts.

You’re only a couple episodes in when you finish the pizza. Joel lets you have the last slice, “Seein’ as you’re my little invalid for the day,” he says. He’d have given you the last slice whether you were ill or not, though, and you know it.

When Joel gets up to take the empty box downstairs, you slip out from under the covers to the bathroom. You sit down, underwear between your legs, and freeze.

Fuck.

Your sanitary pad is soaked through, scarlet with blood, the lining of your underwear the color of rust. You run your thumb along the fabric; it’s still damp. Lifting your top, you notice similar stains on the insides of your thighs, at the very top.

Fuuuck.

“You okay, baby?” Joel’s voice calls from the other side of the door.

“I’m…Yeah, I’m good. Uh, Joel?”

“Uhuh?”

“Could you hand me that pack of sanitary pads?”

He mumbles Sure, his shadow retreats, then the door inches open and his wrist sneaks through the gap, holding the pads out. You take it sheepishly and begin to peel the pad from your underwear, stopping when it reveals more blood stained into the fabric, this time a brighter red. Fresher. You groan, shutting your eyes and tapping the packet against your forehead.

“You sure you’re alright?” Joel asks again, this time from further away.

You’re almost doubled over on the toilet, pain back in full-throttle, voice muffled by the sleeves of your sweatshirt. “I’m fine,” you croak.

The door slowly falls open and Joel’s figure stands in the slit of light. “Kid,” he beckons, and you look up. His expression is normal, if a little concerned; but he doesn’t seem embarrassed to ask, “You need a change of underwear?”

Your face flushes and you wince, your head dropping into your hands, elbows resting on your knees. “It’s on the bed, isn’t it?”

“Might be, yeah. Sarah’ll have somethin’, sure she wouldn’t mind if you…you know…”

“Ugh,” you sigh, still keeping your face from him.

Your period was never something you cared about, even growing up with just your dad. When you got your first one at twelve, he went out and stocked the bathroom with what you needed. Ain’t nothin’ to be ashamed of, hell, half the population deal with it. That’s what he’d said.

And you agreed. It’s just your body doing what it does, right?

Still, you can’t ignore the heat on your cheeks from the embarrassment of the guy you’re sleeping with seeing you hunched over on his toilet, underwear stained with blood, the same stain on his bedsheets. It’s just not your finest hour.

But Joel doesn’t seem to agree.

Not when he sets foot in the bathroom and crouches by your side, placing a kiss to your temple.

“Sorry,” you mumble.

He looks offended; his head jerks back to survey you. “The hell you sorry for? You ain’t got nothin’ to be sorry for, baby. Look,” his hand settles on your thigh, rubbing gently, “go find somethin’ to change into in Sarah’s room, get yourself cleaned up, I’ll change the bed. You’re fine.”

“’s not really romantic, is it?”

“I didn’t ask you to come here to be romantic,” he holds your head, “I asked you here to take care of you. Now go.”

He helps you to your feet and you wander off down the hall toward Sarah’s room. You guys grew up together, you’re close enough that she’d probably slap your arm for even asking to borrow her clothes, especially when you need it most right now.

Still, you whisper an apology as you rake through her closet, and make a mental note to be extra nice to her next time you see her.

Once you’ve changed, feeling a lot better, you slip back into Joel’s room where he’s fixing up the clean bedsheets.

“Done?”

You nod, and he takes your underwear from your hands and tosses it onto the pile of sheets by his laundry basket. See? No big deal. He takes your bicep and wraps his arms around you, nose nuzzling into your hair, breathing you in.

You lift your chin and look up at him, a gleam in your eye. Thank you. He furrows his brows and gives his head a quick shake. No need to thank me.

Joel motions for you to get back into bed, where he lays back and holds his arms out for you to relax on his chest again, but you’re staring at his lips. You lean in and kiss him softly, the only thing you can think to offer him after taking care of you and being so sweet all day.

He returns it, one hand coming up to the back of your head, the other finding home on your hip. You roll back and pull his weight over your body, linking your arms behind his neck. Your thighs close around his waist and his hand runs down your bare leg.

The kiss deepens, both of you coming up for air, just to immediately fall back into one another, tongues slipping in and out of each other’s mouths.

As Joel’s hands explore the skin under your top, massaging and rubbing across your stomach, you begin to worry.

In your experience, kissing always leads to more. You’ve never been with a guy who doesn’t expect sex whenever you lay a hand on him. This feels so good, though, and you don’t want it to stop.

Still, you pull back and quickly whisper, “We can’t…you know.”

“I know. We won’t.” Joel is matter-of-fact. This ain’t a thing to him.

“I mean, we can. People do that – it’s supposed to feel better, or something? I think it helps with the cramps. I’ve never done it before, though.” You’re talking too quick, saying too much. Joel’s just watching you, letting you go on, smiling at you.

“Baby. We won’t.”

Your tongue knots. “We won’t?”

He breathes a laugh. “No, we’re just kissing. We’re not gonna do anything you don’t want. Just tryna make you feel better.”

“I’m not sayin’ I don’t wanna, I always wanna– Well, you know. I like it when we do it. I’m just saying it can get messy, you know?”

He’s grinning at you again. That fucking grin. That You’re being adorable right now grin that makes your heart skip.

Your cheeks flush with embarrassment, but Joel reassures you when he lowers his head again and his lips find yours.

Your head tilts as you allow him access to your neck; his favorite place to leave marks. To show everyone, whether they know it or not, that you’re his. You fold, head rolling back onto the pillow as he bites a bruise into your sensitive skin.

Joel pulls away, releasing your neck from between his teeth, and you stare at each other a moment.

Something flickers across his eyes; his jaw jerks as if he’s about to open his mouth and speak. As quickly as you notice it, it disappears. He stops himself.

You run a finger along his bottom lip, and he kisses it lightly.

Between your legs, your center pressed to his, he twitches. Sparks to life. Same thing that sparks in you, though you don’t know where to put it. You don’t know how to undo it.

In an instant, you want to grind into him, drag your hips along the fabric of his boxers, push him. Rile him up. Make him pine. Make him beg.

What the fuck would you even do, anyway? Sex? It’s not like that’s your easiest option right now – definitely not a tidy one. But it doesn’t stop you from picturing it, now that you brought it up. Is Joel picturing it, too?

He’s tracing every inch of your face with his stare, soft, but knowing. He knows exactly what’s going through your fucking mind. The way his boxers start to swell against the inside of your thigh gives it away that it’s running through his, too.

And then his ringtone breaks apart the moment.

“Sorry, kid,” he groans, leaning over to retrieve it. “Hello?”

You recognize your dad’s voice instantly. He has no volume control where phone calls are concerned.

“Joel, you seen my daughter? I got home and she wasn’t here, and I can’t get a hold of ‘er.”

You scramble to find your phone amongst the bedsheets. When your hands find it, you hold it up to show Joel eight missed calls over the course of the five hours you’ve spent here. He scrunches up his nose in response.

“I ain’t seen her. I’ll try callin’ her, she’s probably just out and about.”

“Thanks, bud. She won’t have gone far, just she usually has her cell on her.”

Joel promises to call you before hanging up, and you sit back, slowly closing your eyes with a sigh.

“Now.” Joel leans into you, resting his head against yours. “I’m gonna call you, and you’re either not gonna answer – ‘cause you ain’t been answerin’ your dad – and he’s gonna worry more; or, you will answer me, I’ll call ‘im back, and he’ll wonder why you been ignorin’ him. Or…” He trails off.

“…Or, I go home and act like I ain’t seen his calls, tell him I’m sorry, and he’s none the wiser.”

“Hm.” He nods once, lips folded inward.

“I don’t wanna go,” you whimper, sliding down the headboard and resting your head against Joel’s shoulder.

“I know, darlin’. But we had our fun.” He takes your hand in his, lacing his fingers through yours. “I hope I made you feel better.”

“You did,” you whisper back. In more ways than one; sure, he fed you painkillers and rubbed where you were hurting, but that isn’t all there is to it, right?

The last time you saw each other, he had you propped on the kitchen counter, legs spread, begging for him to let you cum. Today feels as much about making you feel better because of that, as it does making you feel better because of your period. Today feels like Joel telling you he cares about you past the orgasms y’all give each other.

Message received. Even though it makes you dizzy when you think too much about it.

Joel takes your hand and places a kiss to it.

“Hey,” he mumbles against your knuckles, “me ‘n your dad are going to Costco on Saturday to get stuff for this…garden party Sarah’s wantin’. You wanna come?”

“Will you hold my hand and kiss me when I want again?”

He breathes a laugh. “I will when your dad ain’t lookin’.”

“I’m in.”

----------

taglist: @yvonneeeee @subconsciouscollapse @leahlovestwd @peqchsoup @whorror-s @k1ttybean @whichwitchwanda @abuttoncalledsmalls @anner--nanner @jpbplvr @laysmt @ankhmutes @bookishhella @cannolighost @luvrking @mellymbee @yourwinchesterbros @nostalxgic @scottstotts @daiseygriffithx @letsgroovetonighttt @huffle-punk @unbotheredbeeeee @iluvurfather @wildcat116 @godisawomansblog @55vvaa55 @koshkaj-blog @initforthebooks @theywhowriteandknowthings @thatgirljayy@sasakipsposts @casa-boiardi @milla-frenchy @aim-formyheart @taeslarityy @lxstbxyscave23 @joelmillerxapologist @capt-rex @giixo @capricorngf @feministfanboi @fifia-writes @darleneslane @theplumsoldier @sharp-cheekbones-locked @suzmagine @endlessthxxghts @ivebeenflagged @blognametakenn @jessahmewren @nobodycanseeinsidemysoul @earthtogrogu @serenaxpedro @brittmb115 @jediknightjana @mrsquill

(lmk if i’ve missed you out & check my taglist info for how to be added!)

[tange-my-rine]

borrow some sugar || Tangerine × gn!reader

Summary: You were living in the city, on your own. It was your dream though, you'd known it was far from home but you needed the space. Well, wanted the space. Didn't mean it wasn't lonely. The one time you actually met your neighbor, of course, you put your literal whole life in danger.

TW: blood, guns, murder, threats, cursing (it's Tangerine), protective!Tangerine (eventually), kidnapping, threats, and all things bullet train.

[[A/N: love a good normal person × Tangerine, and this is the epitome of that. Except you get way too wrapped up in it.]]

"Yeah, I know," you echoed out, fetching your keys out of your pocket -mindlessly walking through the hallway, "-I'm always safe, you know that."

Pressing your phone onto your shoulder, you heard a sort of bang -a heavy thud really, on the wall.

You furrowed your brows, the neighbor on that side was usually quiet. Like unusually quiet. You'd seen him, maybe once or twice in the hallway -he'd never said a word to you. Always wearing a suit and a super serious face, you'd assumed he was some sort of corporate worker with insane hours.

"Look," you spoke, unlocking your handle, "-I have to go, but I'll call you back tomorrow. I'm home already."

Slipping into your apartment, you sighed, pushing your phone into your pocket, dropping your keys, and taking off your shoes by the door. With the familiar thrum of your fridge, you mindlessly wander up to your couch and drop your bag.

It had been a terrible day at work, your boss was... well, your boss. And your work was exhausting, your feet hurt and your brain was working on the migraine of the century-

You just wanted to eat and watch your comfort TV show and turn your brain off -for an hour, at least. If not for the last few hours before you went to sleep, that was dream case scenario. Finally, when your brain was succumbing to the buzz of the voices, your eyes drifting shut, and the couch seemed so fluffy, there was a noise.

At first, you ignored it -figured it was your brain or something out in the hallway.

But then, it came back -a clear, harsh knock.

'2:30 am,' flashed across your screen as you looked at it, and then again, seriously, you thought you imagined it. Because who would that be?

You were fully awake now, leaning up on your couch, staring at your door -waiting, testing if it was real.

Knock.

Huh, you stood up -wiping at your eyes, and slowly slinking to the door.

"Hello?"

You don't know what you expected, but it certainly wasn't what you saw.

It was your neighbor, sweaty with ripped clothes (a suit, you think) -was he ever in anything else? His eyes were lidded, nose bleeding, it stained his mustache, and you were pretty sure there was a knife in his shoulder-

"You 'ave any first aid?" He had an accent, a crazy accent that somehow suited him but you didn't expect at all.

"Are you-" you were in disbelief, "-Are you okay?"

He paused, before retorting -frankly, "Did you hear a fuckin' word I said, love?"

"Sorry, sorry," you swallowed, beckoning him inside, "-I think I have one in my bathroom. Just- Just sit at the counter."

"Right, thanks."

You weren't even sure your feet were touching the ground at this point, but still, you were quick -sifting through your cabinets.

A man is bleeding out in my kitchen, your brain panged, -a man is bleeding out in my kitchen.

Blinking, you mindlessly -in an entirely different way now- but directly made your way to the kitchen. A kit in your hand, you pinched yourself for a moment -this would be one weird fucking dream.

As you said, the man sat on a stool -blood dripping down onto your tile. You briskly wondered how to get that out, before sliding all the supplies across the countertop -the clatter filling the quiet air.

Pulling yourself onto the stool opposite him, you licked across your lips -fidgeting with some packaging.

"You couldn't just borrow some sugar?" you mumbled, taking out an alcohol wipe.

"What?" He furrowed his eyebrows, frown still present on his lips -it seemed like it stayed there.

"This-" you motioned to him, "-is the first time we've met. You couldn't do a normal neighbor thing? Like borrow sugar-"

"Sorry, love," he rolled his eyes, "-I'll think of it fuckin' next time, yeah?"

"You should," you scoffed, "-I don't think every neighbor would appreciate bloodstains."

"And you do?"

"No," you stressed out, dabbing at a cut along his cheek -not the worst one but the first one you could handle right now, "-I am barely awake right now, and I'm half convinced you aren't even real-"

"Very real," he tsked, less biting this time.

You digested that information, swallowing dryly. A man, in some business, was on your stool, bleeding.

"Honest question," You pursed your lips, before focusing on another cut above his eyebrow. You were blatantly ignoring the knife, you literally had no idea-

"Go ahead," he huffed out, breaths puffing out of his chest.

"How the hell did you get stabbed?"

The man paused, thinking over his answer (why did he have to think?), "Break-in?"

You raised an eyebrow, tossing out the wipe, "You sure about that answer?"

"Better if ya didn't know, love," he mended -blue eyes slinking over your kitchen.

You hummed, picking through the material -thank god you took that sewing class, "Kind of expected that, mysterious suited neighbor."

"Tangerine."

You flicked up your eyes, confused, "Is that... Is that your safeword, or...?"

"Fuckin' hell," he sighed, using a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, "-'s my name."

"Your name?" you questioned, tone raising.

"My brother-" he began before shaking his head -solidly, "-Doesn't fuckin matter, are ya gonna get to the knife wound or?"

"Listen," you spoke -a little pressed, "-I'm not one to stitch up wounds, Tangerine. I have to remember my sewing class-"

"You gonna stitch up my fuckin' shirt then, love?"

"Oh my god," you exhaled through your nose, "-no wonder you had to come to a stranger."

He opened his mouth -eager to bite back, but you promptly interrupted him.

"I have no experience," you said, taking the knife handle into your hand, "-but I'm pretty sure this is going to hurt like hell."

"Lucky for you, love," he spoke through labored breaths -wrapping his fingers around yours, "-I'm very fuckin' experienced."

And then without hesitation, he tugged it out.

The next few moments were bloody and unreal to you -your hands working quickly but your brain significantly falling behind. You could cross 'stitching up a wound on a handsome man' off your bucket list if it was ever even on there.

Now, you sat on the stool -hands sticky red, and your shirt (one of your better pjs, sadly) stained just the same. With a roll of bandages, you wrapped his shoulder with tedious little movements -eyes focused only on the skin. Only looking up when you'd tied it off, mind finally settling.

"Is that everything?" You asked, careful to not put your hands anywhere except your shirt.

"Yeah," he spoke, softer, "-just some bruisin', I think."

"Let me get you some peas," you echoed, sliding down from your stool -steps slow, you were just tired.

He didn't speak a word, as you dug through your freezer -finding one at the very bottom, of course.

You extended your hand, the cold sensation keeping you up -aware. Right now, your brain was in overdrive, probably ever since he'd shown up at your door, and your body merely just followed behind.

He shifted, grabbing it from you -you saw a kiss of a tattoo that you were curious about but not enough to ask. Your eyes sunk along his shirt, which was not a shirt anymore, all bloodstained and ripped up.

Before you could stop it, you were asking, "Do you need new clothes?"

Tangerine paused, looking at you like you grew a third head. You were past that point, you had his literal blood on your hands -there was no need to be shy now.

"'Had a boyfriend about your build," you clarified, "-I never gave him back like 10 shirts, so-"

"10?" He interrupted and you thought you might've seen a smile quirk onto his lips.

"He smelled good," you offered, before spinning to the kitchen and proceeding to scrub your hands with no hesitation, "-You want one or not?"

"Yeah," he sighed out, a little awkwardly, "-Yeah, thanks."

"While I'm at it," you spoke over your shoulder, "-do you need a place to stay?"

He pursed his lips, hand pushed into the peas against his ribs -you imagined it would be a big bruise in the morning.

"I'm pretty sure whatever happened," you emphasized, "-left a mess. I have a couch if you need it."

"Bein' awfully fuckin' nice to a stranger," he hummed, eyes tired.

"I figured you would've killed me way earlier," you remarked, finally drying them on a nearby towel, "'Had some good opportunities."

He smiled then, you actually saw it with your own two eyes -you almost thought you were hallucinating. His head tilting back, as his shoulder pressed against your counter -he looked kind of like a painting, all twisted angles and sharp jaw.

"What's yours?"

You furrowed your eyebrows, "My what?"

"Your name, love," he answered, soft and attentive -much different than before (you kind of thought he might've lost too much blood).

"You wanna know that now?" You laughed, but even still you told him -there was something about him that made you feel at ease. He really shouldn't have.

He stayed that night, cozied up in your ex-boyfriend's shirt (which he looked surprisingly good in) and freshly showered. You didn't see him when you woke up that morning, and you didn't know why you had expected it.

A few weeks go by, and you were pretty sure that he moved out. Which, in retrospect, made sense, even still something in you felt kinda disappointed. He was the first person you'd actually talked to in months.

Coworkers didn't count.

You shook your head, he was literally covered in blood. In a business he couldn't talk about, and you missed him? You were officially losing your mind.

"Stupid," you muttered, eyes dipping across the TV -some sort of cheesy romcom that you'd never seen before in your life but still felt nostalgic to watch. It wasn't the worst thing you'd ever seen.

Good enough to sit and eat your favorite meal to, it was interesting enough to keep you awake.

When you finally slinked off to bed, and tossed into your fluffy comforter and soft pillows, you were exhausted. Far too exhausted to stay awake any longer. So, you didn't.

The sun was creeping through your window when you woke up, but not a morning sun -a too early sun. You groaned, looking to your phone and seeing without a doubt, it was 4:15 am. At first, you didn't know why you'd woken up so early but then you heard it.

A knock.

Initially, you were not going to move because it was warm here and you were tired.

But then you thought about if it was him, and if in the morning you'd see him dead on your doorstep. That would be suspicious, and you'd probably end up in jail-

You sighed, pulling yourself out of the bed and pattering to the door. And when you swung it open, you were met with familiar blue eyes.

Before you could stop it, you asked, "Don't you have any friends?"

He barked out a laugh -chuckle really, but something in him seemed nervous (like he wasn't sure if he should have come), "Lovely to see you too, love."

"Right," you agreed, before shuffling to the side and letting him in. He relaxed ever-so-slightly.

The first thing you noticed was a split on his forehead, just a cut -it wouldn't need any stitches (thank god, these pajamas were your favorite), and then you dipped to his clothes which were actually in tack. It was a blue suit, really complimented his eyes, and you wondered distantly if he did that on purpose. He seemed the type.

His pants though were dirty, and you could see him limping -only slightly. He was definitely not in as bad as shape as before though; you really wondered why he was here.

"Sit," you motioned to the stool and disappeared into your bathroom.

You got much of the same things and climbed onto the stool beside him, eyes sweeping across his face. Now that you were closer, you could see little cuts along his skin -teeny tiny.

"Glass bottle," he offered before you could say anything.

You hummed, nonchalantly, "Coulda guessed."

Your brain was numb at the moment, still sleepy and you once again thought this might've been a hallucination. He was handsome after all, and you did daydream about handsome men so it definitely could be. And you guessed you could have a saviour thing-

You stopped your train of thought, interrupting the silence as you dabbed at his forehead, "You know I'm not a doctor, right?"

He spoke, frankly, "You talked about a sewing class when you needed to stitch up my bloody fuckin' knife wound, love."

You nodded, fair point, before continuing, "Then why are you here?"

Tangerine paused, and you thought distantly he didn't have an answer, until he answered, "'Hard to do myself."

You thought for a moment, before replying, "What about your brother?"

"Not in the fuckin' country," he answered simply -something frustrated in his tone. But then again, when wasn't there?

"Hmm," you hummed, before rubbing the rest of the tiny cuts -he hissed slightly, "-different job?"

"No," he exhaled, "-just a different... mission."

"'Make it sound like you're a super spy," you laughed, "-but Tangerine isn't a very cool codename."

"Fuck you."

"You are such a joy," you remarked, debating bandaging the top cut, "-Are bandaids too baby for you?"

"Plasters?" He asked.

British, right, you nodded -waving one in your fingers, "Yeah, I think it's all I've got for your wounds. Well, unless you want it wrapped around your head-"

"'s fine," he muttered -low but you still caught it.

"Good," you assured, sticking one to his skin -fingers fluttering along his skin (when was the last time you touched someone?).

"Alright," you leaned back, gathering up your supplies -promptly ignoring the thought, "-all done here. Your leg-"

"Bruised ankle," he clarified -explaining the limp.

"Oh," you spoke, "-I'll get the peas again."

Your eyes dipped to his pants, covered in... something (maybe a mix of blood and dirt?), "And a pair of pants."

He didn't say a word, merely staying seated, as you grabbed the peas -sliding them across your counter. Before stalling slightly, asking-

"Do you even still live here?"

He pressed his lips together, apparently debating telling you -which you were slightly offended by, "No."

"So you're staying?" You asked, neutrally.

"Don't 'ave to," he spoke -not combative, and you really thought you were hallucinating then.

You tilted your head, confused, "You can stay, didn't I say that before?"

He nodded, still so wordless, and you were honestly the most confused you ever could be. Tangerine was quieter, softer, and it was nothing like the time before; he even seemed grateful.

"Honest question," you started.

"Yeah, love?"

"Are you okay?" You decided, careful wording with eye contact strong. You two were kind of close, he left his life in your hands -it was strangely intimate. Your relationship was very confusing, but it felt right to ask.

"Yeah," he answered -furrowing his brows, "-these wounds are fuckin' nothing, love. I have been far, far closer to death."

"No, I mean-" you clarified, "-like mentally. You're being too nice."

He raised his eyebrows, "Too nice?"

"Yeah," you stressed like it was obvious, "-you are like grateful and shit. You've barely cussed at me."

"You saved my fuckin' life, love," he questioned, "-shouldn't I be kind for 'at?"

"You should," you agreed, before contradicting, "-but you don't."

He was quiet then, eyes not meeting yours as his fingers tapped against your counter -seemingly running things over in his mind. It was awhile that he was doing that, but you patiently waited. You suspected opening up at all wasn't his forte.

Finally, still looking around your living room, he mumbled, "'Needed to see someone."

You took him at his word -not dwelling because it really felt like he didn't want to, and the rest of the night was the same. He took the pants, slept on the couch, and was gone in the morning -even though he couldn't have slept more than a few hours.

It started happening pretty regularly after that. You'd fix him up, he'd talk, you'd talk, he'd stay over. You started loosening up, talking about your job, and your life -nothing super specific. He stayed clammed up about his job, but his personal life he did talk about -there wasn't much, but he did talk about his brother.

You felt like that was a big thing.

And then, after quite a few months between visits, you heard a knock at your door. Super late as always, you made your way to it -expectant and in routine. This time though, there were two of them: a familiar Tangerine, and a man with bleached tips and a surprisingly big smile.

"Hello," he smiled and it was very odd -Tangerine hardly smiled, "-lovely to meet ya, I'm Lemon."

You could assume from the name, even still, you felt a little out of place, "Nice to meet you."

"Brother," Tangerine motioned to him -frustration nearly radiating off of him, as he made his way inside.

"Rude," Lemon spoke, "-can I come in?"

"Yeah, of course," you exhaled, letting him in.

Tangerine was relatively well -bruised knuckles, a busted lip, and a mild slice on his collarbone. Lemon was even better with just a black eye, atleast on the surface.

Instead of on the stool, Tangerine beelined straight to the bathroom -slamming the door.

You pursed your lips, turning to Lemon for answers, "What the hell is wrong with him?"

"Annoyed 'im into takin' me 'ere," he answered simply, "-'Wanted to meet who my brother was talkin' about."

He talks about me, you thought for a moment -you fully believed that you were a little miniature part of his life, not something he'd talk about. Especially to his brother.

He must've seen your confusion, because he continued.

"Oh, he never shuts up, love," he laughed, "-'Feel like I already fuckin' know ya."

"Huh," you responded, puzzled.

You thought about it for a second, running over the idea in your mind. What did he have to talk about? Your life? Your boring job, your lack of love life, your favorite cheesy movies? He told that to his brother? His brother with the same unbelievable life?

Why the hell would he do that?

"Please, sit on my couch," you finally spoke, wandering towards the kitchen with intent, "-I'll get you something cold for your eye. And then, I'll deal with the tantrum."

"Thanks," Lemon smiled, tottering off to your TV and without hesitation, popping it on.

He really was very comfortable for not knowing you. How much had Tangerine said?

You stepped into the living room, offering the same peas to Lemon (did you even like peas?) that you often gave Tangerine. He smiled gratefully.

"Do you need any like Tylenol?" You asked, further -eyes swiftly drifting over his eye, it was a nasty sort of yellow, "-that one is a shiner."

"So nice," Lemon hummed, "-no wonder my brother was hoggin' ya. But, I'll be alright, 'ave had worse."

You nodded, before slowly making your way toward the bathroom. Raising your hand, you gently knocked -nothing compared to his on your door in ungodly hours of the morning.

"Tangerine?" You offered.

The door slid open, and your eyes swam over him -taking in his wounds that you had before like in confirmation. He really wasn't hurt bad, not like other times.

Turns out, you didn't care and still wanted to help.

He was leaning against the counter fidgeting with his hands -you think there was blood on his rings. You spoke before you could think about it.

"You want me to wash those?"

He quirked an eyebrow, "What?"

“Your rings,” you clarified, mentally cursing yourself, “-or… do you need help with your wounds?”

He seems to think about it for a moment, eyes dashing across his knuckles -his rings, really. You only watched him for a few moments, half convinced you had dreamt this all up, that maybe he didn’t even exist. Maybe he was a figment of your imagination, he was certainly handsome enough. And his name was Tangerine. This could definitely all be a dream.

“Think I can do the rings myself, love,” he laughed a little -you still weren’t used to that sound, “-and the wounds aren’t ‘at bad.”

You looked at him for a moment, peering along the busted lip and the slice on his collarbone, “You sure? It’s kind of all I do, is it not?”

He smiled, mustache quirking up, “If it makes you feel better, you can clean the cut. But really, love, I’m fine.”

You pursed your lips, taking in his breaths that swirled with yours -the bathroom was small, “I’ll just get you some ice for your knuckles. But if you die from infection, it’s not on me.”

He really laughed at the one, as you spun on your feet back to the kitchen -digging out some other frozen food you hadn’t gotten around to eating yet. With a solid motion, you extended it forward (it was maybe tater tots?), offering it to Tangerine.

“Sorry it’s not the peas,” you spoke, pointing to Lemon -who at the time seemed to be half asleep on the couch, “-your brother stole those.”

“The fuckin’ twat,” he hissed out, a little too personally -you thought it was probably about something far bigger than your frozen peas. He could definitely be that petty though. So, it was possible.

"Woah, somebody's pissy today. Bad day?"

Tangerine seemed to pause, eyes swimming over you -like he was committing you to memory, you briefly wondered why.

"Yeah," he said, solidly -not elaborating. You knew better than to expect him to.

"Well," you spoke, a little awkwardly -not sure where to go, "-I've got... icecream?"

He looked at you like you were insane, but then again, when wasn't he? You said a lot of things without a filter in front of him. Handsome men, what could you say?

"Like..." you clarified, clearing your throat, "-to eat."

"Yeah, love, I fuckin' got 'at part. Why the hell would I want icecream?"

There it was. Tangerine in his true form.

You opened your mouth to respond, but someone else cut you to the chase.

"Sorry," Lemon perked up, "-did you say icecream? Because 'at would be really lovely with this movie, a great pair-"

"Yeah," you turned to him -his presence was a lot warmer (why was his name Lemon?), "-I've only got one flavor, but..."

"Fine with me," Lemon responded, with a big smile, "-brother, are you gettin' any?"

Tangerine huffed out of his nose, genuinely frustrated apparently -much different than a moment ago. What was he even angry about? There was nothing-

"No," he spoke through a snarl.

"Ouch," Lemon put his hands on his heart, replying flatly, "-really hurts, mate. Not used to your shitty behavior at all."

You decidedly left the room (not really it was all open concept), waltzing toward your kitchen with a focus in mind. As you were digging around, trying to find the pint you'd hidden from yourself, you were interrupted.

"Do you..." you turned at his voice, Tangerine, he didn't look very certain of his words, "-Do you need any help, love?"

"Help?" You questioned, raising an eyebrow, "-With icecream?"

"Well," he was suddenly very grumpy -probably embarrassed, "-you help me all the fuckin' time, so I just thought- Excuse me for fuckin' offering."

"You..." you started, standing and now facing him, "-You were going to repay me for saving your life, by helping me with icecream?"

"'S hardly saving my life," he grumbled, under his breath -you still heard it.

"You had a knife-" you motioned harshly to stress the word, "-in your shoulder the first time we met."

"Not deadly," he retorted, a bit pompous.

You rolled your eyes, "Look, give me the benefit of the doubt-"

Tangerine quickly said -almost on instinct, "I certainly will fuckin' not."

"-let's call it even," you continued, ignoring his remark, "-I save your life, you save mine."

"That's..." he started, "-That's makin' it even?"

"Well, yeah," you tilted your head, "-a life for a life."

He furrowed his eyebrows, you took it as him not understanding.

"Let's say that I'm getting chased down an alley," you clarified, before interjecting, "-Ooh wait, or maybe I'm getting robbed-"

"Are you fuckin' excited at the idea of gettin' robbed, love?"

"No," you quickly mended, "-it's just a better story. Plus, that's not relevant-"

His lips quirked up into a little smile.

"-What I'm saying is," you started, "-If I'm in trouble, you have to save me. To make it even."

"And how am I supposed to know when you're in trouble, then?"

You paused, pursing your lips -good point, "Uh, I don't know. Do you guys have like a bat signal? Like I hold up a fruit stand sign to the light-"

"Very funny," Tangerine interrupted -flatly, "-Look, just take my phone number, yeah? If you're ever in trouble, you can ring me like a fuckin' normal person."

"You're one to talk," you responded, before furrowing your eyebrows, "-Wait, you guys have phones?"

"Yeah," Tangerine stressed, "-who do you think we are?"

"Well, I don't know," you explained, "-don't phones have trackers? Won't that out you guys? When you're on... jobs?"

"Burners," Lemon quickly clarified, "-well, kind of. 'S on a secret network, basically."

"So," you started, processing, "-you want to give me your secret phone number?"

Tangerine hummed, realizing but seeming to settle, "Well, it's not like you've given me a reason to not trust you, love. Should I not?"

"True," you responded, "-I have not snitched on you. Even with... all the blood, and the knife, and the job you won't talk about-"

"We get it, love," he groaned out, "-just give me your fuckin' phone, yeah?"

You without hesitation gave it to him, he seemed to quickly put your phone number in his, and then his in yours -handing it back to you open on the contact. With a smile, you made his name the tangerine emoji.

"You put me as the damn emoji, didn't you?"

"Oh, yeah," you laughed out, pocketing your phone in one fellow swoop.

You ended up seeing them both a few more times after that with varying injuries. (Once Lemon had a broken nose, and Tangerine had a broken finger. No more knives, thankfully.)

They were starting to be familiar to you -friends even. Despite not telling you about their job, you had gotten to know them well; you hate to brag but you were pretty good at settling their arguments. It made you integral to their dynamic.

You probably should've known one day you helping them stay alive would come back and bite you in the ass.

See, if you were asked, you'd probably assume they had many enemies. They were, at least, fighting people on a daily basis -you don't do that if your job is a positive one. And fighting people, almost regularly, is a surefire way of saying 'somebody hates me'. They probably had an enemy in every other city, if you were realistic.

You don't know why you hadn't thought of that.

That day, it was just a normal one. You worked until the sun went down, and then went home. Or you were supposed to.

Your shift at work was long and exhausting and you kind of wished your bed was right in front of you -so, to be honest, you weren't in your most aware state. It was always dangerous walking the streets tired, you knew this, so you usually had someone walk home with you. This night, in particular, was a lone shift (hell on earth) with a manager you didn't like, so you didn't ask.

And maybe that was stupid of you, but you doubted they would say yes.

Your feet pattered along the sidewalk, street lamps fading in and out of your view. Every few steps it'd get dark and then light again; to be honest, you were too tired to feel scared when it was dark.

And then, right as you stepped into the light, you heard the screech of car breaks (which you were kind of used to) and then suddenly there were hands all over you. Gloved hands, black-gloved hands.

Before you could say a word, you were thrown into the back of a van -no seats by the way, and enveloped in darkness.

It took you a minute to adjust, head spinning and hands shaking against the cold metal underneath you. It kind of felt like when you met Tangerine for the first time, like you weren't really there. Like you were experiencing something so bizarre, it couldn't be real-

Shit, you thought to yourself, Tangerine.

You patted yourself, ruffling over your pockets -trying to find your phone. It was dark and you couldn't even see. You guessed that was why, your phone went clattering onto the metal, away from your hand -loud.

There was something in you that hoped that these guys were stupid. That they'd look over the noise and ignore you until they took you wherever the hell they were taking you.

You weren't that lucky.

The van was distinctly pulled over, tires even scraping along the bumpy texture. And within minutes, the door to the van was flung open.

They were just a shadowy figure, light framing them so you couldn't see any of his features at all. He was just a shadow. You didn't know if that made him any scarier.

"What the hell are you doing back here?" His voice was low and gruff -like a smoker.

"I didn't-" you started, trying to avoid your phone -it was shadowed in the dark. You doubted he could see it-

And then his eyes flicked directly to it.

You literally could not have had a worse day.

Instead of reaching for it, he eyed for you to instead. And for a second, you thought he might've been trying to help you. That was wrong.

With your phone in your hand, the man promptly put a gun to your head. From a distance, yeah, but still trained directly into the center of your forehead. Was he going to kill you? Just like that?

This was suddenly very real, you swallowed back tears and nearly dropped your phone -trying to raise your hands up.

"Please," you begged, slowly and shaky but clear enough for them to hear.

"Shut up," he hissed out, "-listen. Take your phone, and call 'em."

"C-Call who?"

"Don't play dumb with me," the man echoed out, and you heard the click of the trigger pulling back -dear god, "-we know you're close to the twins, we've been watchin' your place for months."

"Okay, okay-" you breathed out, it felt like your lungs were full like you were suffocating-

Tears burned at the backs of your eyes, as your fingers, shaking, scrolled around the contacts app -he hadn't texted you or anything so all you had was his contact. Only for emergencies, he'd said.

You almost wanted to scare him once, but the idea felt so very stupid now.

Clicking call, the man nudged your hand, speaking lowly, "Put it on fucking speaker, now."

You dutifully did so, even if it took a few tries to hit the button -your hands were shaking enough to blur the screen. Your head was spinning, and the only thing your could feel was the cold metal beneath your legs.

Why did you ever think this was a good idea? To get caught up with... with bloody men who had a mysterious job?

You were moving back home if you made it out alive -the city wasn't worth this.

"'Ello?" His voice was spent, and you could hear the raggedy breaths puffing out of his chest -somehow hearing his voice calmed you just a second.

The man nudged you again, so you spoke, "Tangerine?"

He must have not been paying attention, because your shaky whisper -wet from your tears, you were crying, went relatively unnoticed.

"Little busy at the mo-" you heard a solid hit and what sounded like a crack, "-ment, you sure this is important, love?"

The man kept his eyes laser-focused on you, you took it as a sign to keep talking.

"T-Tangerine," you repeated, more inflection -the shake in your voice unavoidable.

The noise on the phone, suddenly got very quiet -you heard him mumble something to Lemon 'you got 'im?' before seeming to pull his full attention to you, "Everything okay, love? You sound... Is somethin' wrong?"

The man looked at you, expectantly. You took it as to tell him what was happening, clenching your nails into your skin -it might bleed. The pain was distracting, even just for a moment.

"I-I'm," you tried, but your voice cracked, and your breath turned into a sob, "T-There's a man, he has a gun to my head, I don't- I don't know why-"

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," Tangerine spit out, something fierce in his voice, "Lemon-"

The man snatched the phone from your hand, voice low and in a growl, "Seems I got something you want, Tangerine. It's only fair."

"Who the hell are you?"

"Doesn't matter," the man deflected, "-all that matters is that I have your little nurse, and you have no idea where we are."

The van, suddenly without warning, started up again -swinging back onto the road. You braced yourself against the wall, mindlessly blinking -this isn't real, this isn't real, this isn't real.

You could hear the pounding of his footsteps -rushed, like he was trying to get somewhere, "If you lay a hand on 'em, I will fuckin' rip you apart, piece by excruciating piece. Slow and fuckin' steady, for hours-"

"You say that as if you know where we are," the man responded, "-as if you have a chance of finding them in time."

In time? your brain chimed, and everything felt so far away now.

"I swear to fuckin' god-" he spit out, venomous, "-if you hurt 'em-"

"Yeah, yeah," the man retorted -confidence in his tone, "-I got that part, fruit."

You breathed out, swallowing back tears, and wiping your eyes so hard that you were seeing spots; maybe this was all a dream, maybe you had just fallen asleep at work-

"Hate to do this to you," the man echoed out, "-but we have to go. Let's hope we see each other later, for your sake."

Tangerine nearly yelled through the phone, but that didn't stop him from hanging up.

At the next stop, the man moved back to the front -taking your phone with him. You sat alone, in the back of a van, in complete darkness.

Would this be the last thing you ever see? Really?

It was just like you were in the city, so incredibly alone. At least you had a chance then, to remedy it. Now... Now you weren't even sure you'd be breathing in a few hours.

"Oh god," you breathed out a big exhale, a sob bubbling up your throat -you had so much left to do, "-oh god."

The van didn't stop for what felt like forever, bumpy roads and quick turns -they were speeding the whole time, and you had no idea how they weren't pulled over. But maybe it was because of the hour, it was fairly late.

The door swung open before you could think about anything else, two men rushing in and grabbing you by the shoulders -dragging you out.

"If you scream," you felt cold metal to your neck, "-you're dead."

"Aren't you going to kill me anyways?"

"Only if your friends," the other man retorted, "-don't behave."

They tied something around your eyes, leaving you completely in the dark -gloved hands squeezing your shoulders so tight, they were definitely going to bruise. Three sets of feet pattered along what sounded like concrete, as your mind went numb -the cold, bitter air filtering over your skin.

It was echoing now, after you heard the swing of some heavy doors opening -must have been a big place. Your mind was reeling, you felt like you weren't even really there.

Then, without a word, they threw you forward directly into a brick wall -seemingly latching a door behind you. Your head spun for a moment as you tried to reorient yourself -blindfold still on, as you pulled it off you felt a stickiness on your forehead.

Pulling your hand in front of your face, you realized it was blood. How hard did you hit your head?

Your fingers flitted across it again, and you hissed. Apparently very hard.

You tried to look at your hands, see how much blood, but it was all shadowed -the darkness didn't change much from what you saw in the blindfold.

Hands shaking, you leaned yourself against the wall -tears steadily making their way down your cheeks. You could cry now, freely, as you finally were brought back down to your body.

This was really happening. You were in some dingy old room, and there were men outside who wanted to kill you to get at someone else. You were expendable, a pawn.

Any moment, any feeling, and they could just kill you. You'd die here, and nobody would know what happened to you.

You'd be one of those news stories you couldn't believe.

The brick scratched against your head, but it was kind of numbed by your headache -pounding where you knew the split of skin to be. Or where you could've guessed it was anyway.

That couldn't mean anything good.

Your breaths were starting to hollow out, low and slow, your body coming back to the cold concrete floors. You were grappling with your helplessness, what the hell would you do? What could you do?

You were... you couldn't do anything. You were done. This was it, all that work for... for you to die in some dingy old room alone.

And then, you thought of something you hadn't thought to. Something you'd never let your mind dig into, not really, because at the time it seemed stupid.

Tangerine.

You'd always known there was something there, something bubbling under your skin. Even with everything, you still... there was something.

Something warm in your chest at the idea that he came to see you. That it wasn't just for the help anymore. And he was handsome, and he promised to save you and his eyes and his arms and his hands-

Before you could think about it for too long, something interrupted you.

Boom.

It made your ears sting, the noise bouncing along the walls -you flinched where you sat. Breath sudden in a gasp, you stilled. Almost like as if someone could see you, like you were hiding.

There was some shuffling outside, someone messing with the latch on the door -they were struggling. Maybe because their hands were shaking? They were trying to get in-

And then, right outside the door was an even louder-

Boom.

It makes your head sting, squeezing your eyes shut so hard that you see spots. You swallowed, trying to calm the pounding in your head, rubbing at your temples.

Gunshots, you recognized, suddenly, they were gunshots.

Your heart stuttered in your chest, they were right outside the door. With a gun. With a gun-

Before you could think of anything to say, the rattling at the door started again -the scratch of metal against metal. It sounded more frantic now, somehow, and your whole body froze. Maybe if you didn't move they wouldn't hear you?

The door swung open, light pouring in that made your eyes sting. The door pounding against the wall -loud and opposing.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you held your breath, staying completely still -hoping the shadow hid you against the walls. One hand covering your face, waiting until a figure steps into the room.

And when one did, cast in shadow, you sat very still. Watching their head twist around the room, back and forth -looking, searching.

You bit back a sob, let me live, let me live.

Then, they spoke.

"Love? Are you in 'ere?" He echoed out, "-Or was that fuckin' twat lyin'-"

"Tangerine," spilled out of your mouth as you rushed forward -wrapping your arms around him in a huff, "-holy shit, Tangerine-"

He stood frozen for a second, unfamiliar with the affection, you assumed. You inhaled a shaky breath in, the whiff of his cologne keeping you stable, there. You were safe-

His arms slowly met around you, unsure, but settling comfortably. Holding you for a second, just a second.

"Are you alright, love?" He pushed back a little bit -blue eyes scanning over you, "-Did he fuckin' lay a hand on you?"

"No, just-" you breathed out, pushing through the pain, "-he slammed me against the wall, I hit my head pretty hard, but that's-"

"Your head?" He asked, grabbing your wrist and pulling you into the light, "-Come out 'ere, love, so I can see."

"It's not really-"

Tangerine let out a big sigh, turning back to you, "Let me help you, yeah?"

You pursed your lips, eyeing him for a moment -he was relatively unscathed, just a blood stain on his shirt and maybe some busted-up knuckles. His hair was still in place and his suit jacket uncreased, he felt composed -sturdy. Stable, really.

"Okay," you whispered out, letting him guide you out the door -you hissed at the little light you did see, almost instinctively squeezing your eyes shut.

"Sorry, love," he spoke, soft and gentle, "-can't control the sun for you."

"You could block it," you remarked, "-god made your shoulders insanely broad for a reason."

He laughed, moving in his place so less light shone on you -hands moving to hold your face (tilting the wound into the light), "You think my shoulders are broad, then?"

"Duh," you responded, something in your head woozy -you stumbled a little in place.

"Shit," he reacted, hands smoothing to your shoulders, holding you up, "-Can you 'ear me? Stay fuckin' awake, yeah?"

"Okay," you blinked heavily, trying to see him clearly.

When you did, he stood there eyes desperately searching yours -looking at you, concerned. They scattered all over you, settling on the split on your head for a bit too long -it was still pounding in your head, made you flinch a little.

"Do you think-" you started, "-Do you think I need a hospital?"

"No," Tangerine breathed out, fingers dusting along your wound, "-just need someone to watch ya overnight. And to clean you up a bit."

"Wouldn't..." you echoed, "-Wouldn't a hospital do that?"

Tangerine met your eyes, his lips quirking into a smile (just barely), "You think you're fuckin' funny, yeah?"

"I'm just making a point," you deflected.

"Just-" he sighed out, before connecting your eyes again, "-let me help you. I want to, yeah? I really fuckin' want to."

"Okay," you echoed out, relaxing into his touch -relaxing finally, "-fine."

"Good," he tsked, and without hesitation wrapped his fingers around your wrist, "-now, let's get out of 'ere, shall we?"

You did so, eyes squeezed shut tight because all the light did was hurt. But Tangerine soothed you, hand still on your wrist, ("Close your eyes if it hurts, love, I've got you.") and guided you along, even sitting you down in the car and pulling the seat belt along your body.

"You know I could do that myself, right?" You spoke, eyes squinted open -the car was much darker.

He didn't dignify you with a response, sliding into your side and shutting the door behind himself. He silently settled into the seat beside you, like the passenger seat was taken. Which it decidedly was not.

His blue eyes kept darting to you, and you could feel his leg pressed against yours.

"You know that I'm fine, Tangerine," you exhaled, looking to him, "-don't you?"

He didn't respond, so you continued.

"You looked at my wound, I'm alright-" you laughed a little, "-I can sit in the backseat by myself."

Tangerine seemed to think for a second, before speaking decidedly, "If you go to fuckin' sleep, love, you won't wake up. I'm 'ere to keep you awake."

You could feel his breath fan over your face, and you swallowed. You could hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears, as your eyes stayed on his (blue, blue-). With another intake of breath, you snapped them away -eagerly looking out the window.

Well, you thought to yourself, you're doing a really good job, Tangerine.

The city blurred by, as it made way to more familiar silhouettes but not... not yours. Not ones near your home.

"Um," you spoke, particularly to Lemon (who was driving) "-are we not going... home?"

"You serious, love?" Tangerine offered, blue eyes decidedly matching yours.

"Are we not-"

Lemon interrupted -catching your eye in the mirror, "You were kidnapped, mate. Do you not remember 'at?"

"No, I do," you huffed out, eyes dashing between the two of them, "-they didn't get me at home though, they got me off the street."

"Doesn't mean anythin'," Tangerine countered, jaw twitching ever so slightly -he really didn't like talking about them, "-'Ey 'ave eyes on your home, 's how they made the connection to us."

"Tangerine-"

"He's got a point," Lemon responded, fingers tapping along the wheel, "-takes too much effort to prove 'im wrong, trust me."

"Lemon-"

"Why do you even want to go home, love?" Tangerine interrupted, eyebrows furrowed -genuine curiosity.

"Because it's my home," you reiterated, "-it's familiar. I know you guys may have forgotten the feeling, but it... it would make me feel a lot better to be home."

Tangerine sighed, a deep heavy sigh, "How about a compromise?"

You pursed your lips, eyes flickering across his face (god, was he pretty), "I'm listening."

"We stay at the hotel a few nights until they cool off," he offered, "-and then, you can go home."

You sighed out in relief.

"But," Tangerine clarified, "-me and Lemon need to stay with you for a while. There's not a fuckin' chance you're goin' alone after this. Especially so soon."

"What so-" you started, "-you guys are going to constantly be around me? I have work, and I... I need to get groceries-"

"We 'ave to be, love," Tangerine spoke in almost a whisper, soft, "-these people, they're not goin' to be as fuckin' nice next time. Lemon and I know 'at."

Right, you thought to yourself, mysterious jobs. They've probably done something like this before.

You involuntary shuddered, thinking about the darkness and the gun and your life-

Tangerine looked at you, eyes darting around your face -a slosh of concern sliding over his features, flickering in his eyes. It was no wonder those thoughts had come to the forefront of your mind, he was so protective of you. There's only so much you can resist feelings for someone who so very much values your life.

A handsome someone, your mind tsked.

Before he could open his mouth though, you turned your head back to the window. A familiar swirl bubbled into your stomach, you couldn't chance looking at him. Afterall, getting flustered with him was surely a dead giveaway and there was no way in hell Tangerine felt anything remotely the same.

And that was plain embarrassing.

You felt suddenly like you were in school again, and were crushing on a jock -that never even looked your way. It felt pretty hopeless, and even though it did, it didn't stop you from going to every game -just to pretend for a little while.

Was that what patching him up was? Your own sort of way to be close to him, to pretend for a moment that everything was different.

Shit, you thought, that is embarrassing.

Luckily, you severely doubted Tangerine would ever know. You were pretty good at keeping secrets. Hence, well, the whole reason you were even here in the first place -you regularly housed assassins.

It took only a few minutes after that (feeling blue eyes boring into your side the whole time) when Lemon pulled into a parking spot and you arrived at the hotel. Lucky for you, it was far from a dingy old place on the side of the road.

This place was way above your paygrade. You had never even dreamed of living such a luxury; all golden accents and marble floors. You hardly even knew this place existed in your city.

"I take it back," you whispered to Tangerine, as Lemon strode up to the front desk to request a room change, "-we can stay here forever."

You saw the woman point to you, clearly in concern and you suddenly remembered the wound on your head. Your fingers smoothed along it, and you grimaced, Lemon seemed to come up with some sort of explanation, though. And she promptly looked away.

Tangerine laughed at your words, a quiet little chuckle, and fell rather silent. You peered over at him, wondering why he hadn't said anything back; and when you did, he seemed to be stealing little looks at you -silently fidgeting with his rings.

You pursed your lips in thought for a moment, debating asking him about it.

Before you could, he opened his mouth to say something -eyes lingering on your face, like he was trying to memorize it (something in your chest fluttered), "Love, I-"

"Sorry, mates," Lemon interrupted, eyes dashing between the two of you for a moment, "-rooms are booked tonight. Lady says we can try again tomorrow but she doubts it'll 'ave changed."

"So," you swallowed, "-just two bedrooms?"

"Yep," Lemon popped the p, "-and hate to say it, but I'm gettin' one by myself. You lot can figure the rest of 'at out yourselves."

Something was gleaming there in his eye -something mischievous; you frowned -heartbeat stuttering in your chest.

Maybe there's a couch, your mind chimed -a little patheticly.

As fate would have it, there was. And an entire kitchen and living space -an expensive kitchen and living space. You were truly floored by this place.

"This is a hotel, right?" you questioned, eyes lingering on the high ceilings (you decidedly did not have those).

"For rich blokes," Lemon clarified, "-the kinds 'at hate to 'ave anythin' besides luxury."

You spun around, eyes darting between the two of them, "Like you two?"

Tangerine frowned, and Lemon snorted -disappearing off into the kitchen; leaving just you and Tangerine alone in the living space. That being said, each room was actually divided, with no open concept -just archways.

You slung yourself onto the couch, inelegantly (but when were you ever elegant) and were pleased to find it felt like clouds, "Why, if you could pay for this, did you ever come to my apartment? They probably have an on-staff nurse you could page, good god-"

"Eh," Tangerine mended, voice calm and confident, "-like the company better 'ere."

You smiled to yourself, small and quiet, heart fluttering in your chest. You are not making this easy, fruit man.

You cleared your throat, about to shift the subject because you frankly could not address the fondness in his eyes. Instead, Lemon came to your rescue with a smile.

"Well," he spoke, "-I'm fuckin' exhausted, I'm off to bed. If you need anythin', ask Tangerine."

And then, with that, he left -disappearing behind one of the doors down into the hallway.

"You can't sleep," Tangerine said suddenly, "-your head... We've got to get you to a doctor in the mornin', so they can look at it."

"Why not tonight?"

"I truly fuckin' doubt anyone of credit would be open this late," he explained, sauntering up to your side and sitting down (when he had the whole couch).

"Tangerine," you spoke, "-the emergency room doesn't just... close."

"I just," he sighed out, leaning back into the couch "-I want you safe for tonight, yeah?"

"I doubt they'd show up to a hospital," you reasoned, weighing your words.

Tangerine frowned.

"Look, I just-" you paused, "-you don't have to be on watch duty. You need sleep. Just take me to the ER, and I'll-"

He scoffed, repeating, "There's no fuckin' way you're going alone, love."

Swiping the keys off one of the tables near the door and shooting Lemon a text, he grabbed your hand and guided you outside.

The night was a surprisingly quick one, as you were taken into the ER and looked at. They quickly bandaged and stitched your wound, even sending you in to get your brain looked at. Tangerine was dutifully by your side, all night, even when they told you they'd rather keep an eye on you tonight. Something along the lines of what Tangerine said, keeping you awake.

He did, however, end up getting some sleep -slouched over in a hospital chair. One of those plastic ones that really could not be comfortable, and you knew his back would ache in the morning. But when you asked him to, he straight refused to leave ("No fuckin' way, love"); so, you were sort of glad he had gotten some sleep after all.

Then, the next morning, they set you on your way. Quickly reminding your husband (it was the only way Tangerine could stay overnight) of all the bandage changes and consistent eye he should keep on you; he seemed rather serious when listening -eyes intent, and almost as if he could, he would take out a notepad and write each thing down extensively.

You were touched, something in your chest swirling widely.

Was this how he felt when you took care of him?

Well, you sort of doubted so, because they were different circumstances. Despite the closeness and the fingertips on the skin, it was less protective and more domestic. Something very different in the closeness there, and the presence of him now.

Even now, as you leaned onto the couch, scrolling through channels -you felt his eyes solidly on you.

"Tangerine," you tsked, bandage smoothed across your head, "-I'm fine."

He blinked, as your eyes swam over his face and a pink dusted along his cheeks, "That's not what I- I was just... just lookin', love."

You furrowed your eyebrows, curious, tilting your head, "Why?"

Tangerine paused, blue eyes bubbling along your skin -like he was considering his answer, or maybe deciding on one. You thought for a second that he wasn't going to say anything -wordless, as always.

"Need to change your bandage," he deflected, getting up, grabbing some supplies, and roaming over to you on the couch.

You groaned, leaning your head back against the cushions -so soft and cloudlike that you almost couldn't stay frustrated, "We just did that."

"'At was yesterday, love," Tangerine hummed, smiling ever-so-slightly, "-the doctors said-"

"The doctors said," you mocked his accent, shaking your head with the words, "-spare me the speech this time, Tan."

He smirked, face so close to yours now (peeling the old one off, rough fingertips dusting along your forehead), "Fuckin' argumentative today, yeah?"

You swallowed, eyes darting between his -back and forth, responding shortly, "Maybe."

Tangerine furrowed his eyebrows at the quickness of your response, dabbing at the wound quickly -cleaning it. He was gentle, with tiny little movements; it was hard to imagine these were the same hands that hurt others. He was so soft with your wound, why-

"You alright, love?"

He was a breath away, blue eyes (upon finishing the bandaging) matching yours, intensely. Tangerine just had an intense stare, like you simply held the world in your hands. It was like he didn't blink, even though you knew he did.

You swallowed, for a moment, eyes dashing along his face -it really was totally unfair. Your cheeks grew a little hot at the closeness, you saw his eyes dart to it -eyebrows furrowing together.

Good god, it really was like high-school again.

"What, yeah-" you laughed, awkwardly -eyes darting away from him, "-why would I not be?"

Tangerine hummed in thought for a second, and you could nearly hear the gears in his head turning, "Love... you're actin' really fuckin' odd right now."

You fidgeted with your fingers, watching them in your lap -you couldn't think straight right now. This was all new in your brain, and when was the last time you had feelings for someone-

"I'm not," you answered, finally -a bit like a toddler who was getting in trouble but the meaning all the same.

He sighed out a breath, seeming to settle on something and you could almost feel his eyeroll.

And without another second, you felt his fingers on your chin. Rough fingertips brushed against it, as he tilted you back to face him.

You blinked.

His blue eyes flickered along your face, slow and tedious, "You know you're safe with me, yeah?"

"Tangerine," you exhaled.

"I'd-" he started, eyes dipping away before coming back to yours -so genuine, "-I'd save you without the deal, you know 'at? Anytime, anywhere-"

"Tangerine, that's not-" you faltered, he was so broken open, vulnerable, to you right now. Something in your chest heavy, and your heart ready to spill on your tongue.

"I'd shoot 'im over and over again if it made ya feel safe, love," he continued, fingertip brushing along your skin like he was cradling your face, "-I'm sorry I ever let 'im put a fuckin' hand on you, you 'ave to know 'at."

"Tangerine," you sighed out, soft, "-That's not your fault."

"It is."

"Tangerine-"

"You're afraid now, aren't you?" He echoed out, a soft sort of whisper but filled with intent, "-How does 'at not mean I'm responsible? I never should've-"

"Tangerine!" You exclaimed, resorting to using your hands to cup his face -bringing him back down to earth, "-I'm not... afraid."

He paused.

"Well, yeah, I am, but it's not-" you tsked, before sighing, "-I know you'll keep me safe. I don't know how I know, I just... do."

He furrowed his eyebrows, "Then why-"

And then, as normal, your brain stopped functioning, words coming out before you could think them over, "You're very pretty."

He opened his mouth, a smirk smoothing onto his lips. You didn't let him continue.

"And I'm not immune to a pretty man caring about my well-being," you clarified, swallowing -somehow maintaining eye contact, "-I'm not... good at handling it."

"You're..." he started, a quirk of a smile on his lips (not that you were looking), "You're fuckin' flustered, love?"

"Mortifyingly embarrassed," you corrected, your voice squeaked out.

Tangerine laughed a little, "Ya sure you didn't hit your head too hard?"

"Ha ha, laugh it up, mustache," you responded, rolling your eyes -much more comfortable. The banter was easy.

"Well," he tsked, and you were suddenly very aware of how close his face is to yours, "-you apparently fuckin' like it, love. What's 'at say about you?"

You swallowed, "Didn't say it doesn't suit you."

"Hmm," he hummed, and there was a flicker of something in his eye -mischievous, "-guess not."

"Nope," you popped the p -awkwardly. Your eyes darting between his frantically, you felt something building in the air a moment -heavy as your eyes sat on his, and his on yours.

It was almost as if, a look, one glance held your entire being in the balance.

"I think you're quite pretty too, ya know," he echoed out, low and gravelly -you could feel his breaths scattered across your face. He was suddenly very close to you again, the fuzziness that banter provided snatched away.

Something twisted in the bottom of your stomach, as you opened your mouth -letting out a very quiet, "Thank you."

He seemed to take those words, just absorb them in the heavy silence that had bestowed upon the room. There was a part of you that wished Lemon was still here, that he could pull you apart but he left early that morning. And now, here you were, and all you could think about was his lips and that stupid fucking mustache-

You blinked, clearing the fog, and clearing your throat -backing up and standing to your feet.

Tangerine slowly came to the realization, the haze drifting out of his eyes, as they came to default onto yours -still intense but not as close. You could handle this.

"Anyway," you bit your lip, "-I'm kind of starved, do you... want anything?"

"Do I fuckin' want anythin'," he mumbled to himself for a moment -hands carefully putting the old bandage on the table and arranging all of the supplies so they wouldn't fall off.

And with a slow measured breath, he rose to his feet -steps teetering closer to you. His hands found solace in his hair as he rifled it up a bit, and on the cuff of his shirt -you saw a little blood. Was that from you? From your bandage-

"I've got somethin' in mind," he finally said, a little distant from you, but nothing like before (maybe just a few steps away from the closeness of the couch).

"Yeah, um," you cleared your throat, but it still felt dry, "-what do you... want? I think we've got like some... fancy tortilla chips and salsa, which... is a good one, or-"

He laughed a deep sort of low chuckle, erasing those steps you talked about before. You swallowed, words trailing off; there was a little spark in his eye when he noticed that you had -pride.

"You are really un-fuckin'-believable, you know 'at, love?"

"I think you've told me before."

He laughed at that, shaking his head, and you felt the breaths of each one scattered along your face -brushing onto your lips. You snapped your mouth closed at the thought.

Deep breaths, you thought to yourself, deep, deep breaths. You can do this.

Tangerine grew rather silent, before words seemed to bubble out of him without thinking, "You."

"What?"

"I want you, love," he clarified, "-in particular, I'd really love to fuckin' kiss ya right now, is 'at alright?"

"I didn't think you were the type to ask," you quipped, before you could really think about it, again.

He furrowed his eyebrows, a bit in defense.

"No, I mean-" you scrambled for a minute, "-you feel like the kinda guy that does it-"

"It?"

"-in like an emotional rush. You know? Like no words, just... just..."

Tangerine sighed, but you could see the quirk of a smile on his lips -you hadn't scared him off yet apparently.

"Sorry," you squeaked out, and you definitely saw a smile smooth across his lips.

"I'm fuckin' askin' ya, love. Say yes or no, yeah?"

"Yes," it came out in a rush of breath, a little like it clawed up your throat with desperation, "-yes."

Tangerine didn't hesitate a second longer, pushing forward with a force unmatched -big hands coming to cup your face at the hinge of your jaw. It was desperate, almost like he'd been waiting to do this awhile and the idea of that, made your breath catch.

You briefly wondered when it started, before he pushed into you further -hands righting themselves just below your ears on the back of your neck. He made you bump into the wall behind you. Tangerine promptly swallowed your squeak at the sensation, as easy as breathing.

Of course he was good at kissing too, your mind chimed, so unfair.

And then a more coy voice spoke up, but hey, he does want to kiss you though, I'd count that as a win.

Yeah, you decided as his mustache scratched ever so slightly at your upper lip and his hands dropped to your waist, definitely a win.

He pulled back a moment, breaths ragged and slow -eyes darting over yours, "Was good, yeah?"

You decidedly didn't answer him, pushing forward to kiss him again -this time a little slower, less rushed. He was just as slow, fingers holding your waist just slightly tighter like he didn't want you to leave.

Why the hell would I leave?

Tangerine was the one to part that time too, eyes slow to open like the kiss had affected him just as much. Your heart beat a little faster at that.

"Take that as a yes, yeah?"

"Oh, definitely," you laughed, hands coming to rest between his chest and shoulders.

He's strong too, your mind unwillingly retorted.

He didn't move, like he was simply absorbing your breaths and to be fair, you were pretty sure you were doing the same. He was nearly panting after all.

Words slipped out before you could stop them, "When I told you to borrow sugar, this was not what I was expecting."

Tangerine paused for a moment, gears working. Before his face flickered into something of annoyance, frown so prominent.

"Good god, fuckin' shut up, love."

"Make me," you offered, laughing.

And he certainly did.

[vampykween]

hi mic :D

i just read your toxic!husband!ghost fics and would like to ask if u could write one where the reader just gives up on their relationship, maybe they finally file for divorce?

loved your writing btw! ♡

hi hi! thank u! i’m so glad y’all are enjoying toxichusband!ghost hehe

i hope i did your idea justice. i have a problem with just letting asks get away from me oops! but kiss ur brain for this idea cause i loved this! i get way too excited writing angsty stuff

you would realize you’ve had enough on the most random of days. after looking after your kids all day and finally getting your house cleaned, laundry all done. simon would come home and not even stop to greet you. he instantly strips from his fatigues and tosses them somewhere on the couch, turns on the tv to watch the game, and kicks up his feet and perches them on the clean coffee table. just the sight of him makes your blood boil. you make a mental note right then to talk to a divorce lawyer cause jesus you couldn’t take anymore of this.

you’ve been agonizing over doing this for the past week. hidden in your nightstand drawer was an envelope that was going to change your life forever, and not just yours, your children’s lives too. that thought has stifled your desire for a divorce just ever so slightly, as much as you can’t take a loveless marriage anymore you know your kids will be hurt by this.

you and simon are lounging in your bed and you’re losing your edge to serve him the papers. you’re worn out from cooking dinner and doing the usual nighttime routine with the kids. you suck in a deep breath and remind yourself that this decision is for the best; you don’t deserve to be chained down by someone who won’t appreciate you.

“simon…”

“yeah?” he doesn’t look up from whatever he’s engrossed in on his phone and you roll your eyes exasperatedly. you’re swiftly reminded why you’re in this position.

“i- um, we need to talk.” god your palms were sweaty and your heart was hammering in your chest. why was this so much harder than you thought it would be. simon still doesn’t give you his attention and you figure you should just rip the bandaid off already.

your shaky hands open the nightstand drawer and fish out the large yellow envelope you’ve been holding onto for the past week. you nudge his shoulder with enough force to get him to look up at you, and shove the envelope in his now free hand.

he quirks an eyebrow at you curiously, “the hell is this?”

you gulp painfully and whisper at him to just open it. his large digits tear open the paper easily and as he’s scanning through the lengthy paper, you can see it clear on his face the moment he realizes what’s happening. he turns his body fully towards yours and you can see the fury in his eyes.

“have you lost your fuckin’ head. why on earth would ya want a divorce?” the bass in your husband’s voice rattles his words around in your head, simon doesn’t yell often, but god do you hate it when he does.

“simon, i just can’t anymore.” his eyes bulge incredulously at your words, but you ignore his idiotic look and continue. “i’m constantly bending over backwards to do everything for this family and you don’t even appreciate it. hell it doesn’t feel like you love me at all.”

“fuckin’ hell. you think you’re the only one putting in work for this family. what do you think i’m doing all day? and when i’m deployed? ya think i’m just fuckin’ around for fun?”

“oh my- are you serious?! of course i know that you work hard to provide for this family. did you even listen to a word i just said? i have to nag you to clean, to do laundry, to stop giving the kids all the things i tell them they can’t have. i have to literally beg you to kiss me and take me on dates! you never tell me you love me anymore simon!”

the rage behind simon’s eyes dims and he grasps both your hands in his. “love. baby, please you can’t leave me. you’re right, you do so much for us all and i know im shit about saying thank you, but who’s going to do all the stuff ya do if you leave?”

your face starts to grow hot as you begin to boil over with anger. you rip your hands from his hold forcibly. “you’ve got to be fucking kidding me! you can’t even convince me to stay because you love me. you want me here so i can do everything for you. you know what? fuck you! i’m so sorry your poor mommy is gone and you need someone to fill that void, and i was stupid enough to play that role for this long, but i’m not doing it anymore.”

“oh you’re a fuckin’ cunt for that. bringing up my mum, you’re fucked in the head!” simon barks at you. you should feel bad, it was a low blow, but you couldn’t care less.

you scramble out of the bed, storming around the room looking for a pen. you’re throwing open drawers with so much force they’re just a hair from ripping straight out. when you eventually find one, you thrust it into simon’s large hand.

“don’t fucking care. you’re an absolute piece of shit. sign the fucking papers, please, so i no longer have to hold back the urge to kill you with my bare hands.”

“what about the kids? you’re just gonna take them away from me?! if you do, i’ll spend every day trying to remind them they’ve got a right bitch for a mum,” simon sneers at you.

all the love you had for simon has vanished, but hearing him say he’d spend eternity making sure your kids hated you? that tore your heart in two. your throat begins to constrict as tears begin to build behind your eyes. you really didn’t want to cry in front of him, but you were suddenly hit with the realization that the life you dreamed of was never going to be real.

you think back to your wedding day, your husband had written the most beautiful vows, which shocked you as you hadn’t expected him to be able to express his love for you that way. he had promised to always make you feel like you deserved the world. suddenly you woke up one day and the man you once loved was gone, replaced by a shitty, co-dependent, workaholic who sucked out all the life in you.

in this moment, you simply prayed that one day, you wouldn’t feel like every choice you made lead to this terrible life you have now.

[linos-luna]

Can I request a Yoongi smut with a fem reader.Yoongi is so stressed with working on the album one day he comes home from filming the music video still in his agust d outfit and takes it out on the reader 🥵🥵🥵

Agust d is just 🥵

———————————————————————

Louder ❣️

Hard!Dom!Yoongi x Sub!Fem!Reader

Warnings: oral (male recieving), pain kink, crying, filth, slapping, unprotected sex, rough sex, d/s

————————————————————————

Yoongi sat on the couch, running his hand through his hair with a sigh. He just barely got home from a stressful music video shoot and didn’t even bother to change his clothes or clean his face. You didn’t say anything as you watched from the hallway, but he knew you were there.

“Come here, y/n…” he said, not even turning his head.

You slowly walked over to him and he patted his lap, implying that he wanted you to sit.

Yoongi moved your hair from your face and started kissing you. At first it was soft but then got deeper and sloppier. He bit your lip and inserted tongue; you swore you could taste some blood and moaned at the feeling.

After some sloppy making out, he grabs your chin. “Y/n, I’m so tired today, you know?”

“You look really good.” You said meekly.

“Yeah?” He smirked while kissing and sucking at your neck. You like me dressed up and dirty?”

You only whined at the feeling, tracing your fingers down his chest. “Yes, Master. Agust D…” you giggle.

“Why don’t you be a good girl and suck me off, hm?”

You nodded and before getting up, he suddenly slapped you, it wasn’t that hard but still stunned you. He dramatically cleared his throat and you realized your mistake.

“… yes master!” you quickly say before he pushes you off his lap and you stumble to your knees to undo his pants. You struggled a bit but was finally able to lower his pants. He helped you lower his boxers and pulled out his cock, rubbing it in front of your face.

You soon gave little kitten licks to the tip, making Yoongi groan and pull your hair.

“No teasing you dumb bitch!”

You then took his entire length in your mouth. It was huge and you wanted to get used it. But Yoongi was impatient, he needed relief now.

Your boyfriend grabbed your hair tightly and fucked your throat. It was deep and harsh. You could barely breathe but he loved the sound of it.

“What’s wrong baby?” He grunt. “Cant handle it? I know you can, dumb slut!”

You whimpered and moaned before feeling his hips stutter. You gagged at the feeling and he came in your mouth.

You tried sitting back but Yoongi grabbed your jaw, squishing your cheeks to make your lips part and watch a mix of your spit and his cum drip from your mouth.

“Dirty bitch…” he panted with a devious smile. “So fuckin filthy…”

You didn’t say anything, only deeply breathing as you tried swallowing what you could.

“Answer me!” Yoongi yelled suddenly while giving a harsh slap to the cheek. You stumbled back a little and could barely catch yourself before he kicked you to the floor with his foot.

“Y-yes master!” you gasp as he gets on top of you, pinning you down by the wrists.

He chuckled as he yanked down your pants and nearly ripped off your underwear.

You moaned at the feeling of him teasing your wet cunt, spreading your legs wide, and roughly entered you. You screamed and Yoongi grabbed you by the throat.

“Again! Scream again, bitch!” He said while thrusting harder, bending your legs to a painful point.

You screamed again, panting and nearly crying as he rammed into you. It was painful but weirdly you loved it.

“Again!” He grunted while squeezing your throat lightly. “Louder!”

“Master… Yoongi! Master… Agust D!” you choked in a raspy scream.

“Cum on my dick like the dirty girl you are!” He panted as he was close himself.

You came and he did as well.

Yoongi wiped your tears as he pulled out and lifting you from the floor. He picked up your limp form and brought you to the bed. He laid next to you and you got a bit insecure as you realized you were completely naked as he was only missing his pants and boxers.

Before you could cover yourself, Yoongi softly kissed your lips and stroked your hair.

“Sleep now, baby… you’re so good to me.”

[muldermuse]

please can we see more of jealous gator and maybe a pregnancy scare in two sinners?

i fuckin love these crazy kids

jealous gator is coming!!! i promise!!

pregnancy scare drabble below the cut

warnings: mentions of morning sickness, pregnancy terminations, slut shaming etc

part of the two sinners works

You’d been ill all week, unable to keep any food down and feeling a level of exhaustion that had settled deep in your bones. Gator had text to ask to meet up nearly every day but you honestly couldn’t think of anything worse than having a man near you right now. You’d called in sick and spent the week feeling very sorry for yourself whilst lying on the couch watching whatever trash was on the TV. Whenever you glanced in the mirror; you were taken aback by how awful you looked. Your eyes were dull with dark bags underneath and your skin was pale. Your stomach rumbled but the thought of food made you retch. A pang of raw pain struck your stomach and your nausea doubled as you thought, when was the last time you had a period?

Was it this month?

The month before?

The past few weeks had been a lot, your job becoming overwhelming and life had begun taking steady, yet hard, digs at you. First, you got a flat tyre, then you dropped your phone and smashed your screen. Later the same week, your favourite jeans ripped at the thigh seam and to top it all off, this new guy you’d been speaking to had got back with an ex. 

So yeah, it was fair to say that your focus had not been on your menstrual cycle.

Without getting changed or bothering to make yourself look more presentable, you grab your keys and head to your local store to buy a test.

***

Gator was bored. This was the kind of day shift where usually he’d drop by your place and grip his hands into the fact of your ass as you rode him. He’d been desperate to see you all week but you’d been too ill. The thought of your body and the things you could do to make him feel good plagued his mind. He’d spent every night this week fisting his cock in the shower to thoughts of you whilst Glenda was crocheting in the next room. A trill ring snaps him out of his thoughts and he groans before answering- it’s Glenda.

“Hi hon, everythin’ okay?” he sounds exasperated but he knows that Glenda won’t pick up on that. Sometimes, he thinks that Glenda calls him just to hear her own voice.

“Yeah yeah, all good hon. Hey, guess who I saw buying a pregnancy test at the store?”

He knows that it’s you before she even says your name.

He feels the blood drain from his face and Glenda’s voice fades into static in the background.

This cannot be fucking happening. 

When was the last time you had slept together? Would you keep it? Is he going to be a dad? He thinks that you’d be a great mom but before that thought can even embed itself further in his brain; he pushes it away.

He tunes back into Glenda’s voice as she continues to talk to herself, “well y’know hon it’s like I said, with that many guy friends she has- somethin’ like this was bound to happen, dontcha think?”.

“Yeah hon, listen I gotta go alright? I’ll uh- I’ll see you at home” She tells him that she loves him before he hangs but he doesn’t say it back.

He puts the sirens on the car as he races to your home. The thoughts in his head are spinning that quickly that he’s beginning to feel numb, becoming too overwhelmed to focus on anything but driving. He dumps his car on your front lawn and tries hard not to run into your home. He tries to take deep calming breaths with each step, he thinks of his father and how Roy would kill him if he ever found out. The door is unlocked so he lets himself inside.

***

The test is face down on your bathroom counter and so is your phone screen. The package promised instant results in ‘just three minutes’ and you’d set a timer on your phone. You know Gator’s footsteps, they’re always urgent and stomping on your stairs. His face is white as he walks through your bathroom door and makes eye contact with you.

You're sat on the rim of your bath, “Glenda?” you ask as he nods; his eyes wide in panic. You huff, “I fuckin’ knew I saw her at the store”.

He’s silent as he sits next to you, anxiety radiating off his body and his breath quick. Neither of you look at each other until the alarm rings out, you stop it with one tap and take a deep breath as you hold the test in your hand. It’s still turned face down so you don’t know the answer yet. 

Your voice is shaky and you can feel tears threatening to pour down your face, “I don’t wanna look”.

Gator’s warm hand settles on your knee, his thumb rubbing in a  calming motion; you don’t know if he’s doing this for you or for himself. “We don’t have to look yet”.

You’re both in limbo; unsure how much time has passed. It could be five minutes or it could be an hour. The sun is still high in the clear sky and shining through the small window in your bathroom. It’s becoming stiflingly hot but you feel paralysed with fear. You’ll have to research clinics where you can have a termination, are you going to have to travel out of state? You and Gator could never be a family but, maybe you could keep the child a secret. Maybe you could move out of state together and raise your baby together. Maybe, in another town, you could both start afresh. You could be young lovebirds who are looking forward to starting a family together. No one would have to know what you’d both run from. The baby would never have to know about their psychotic grandfather. You have options and you feel a wave of calm wash over you. 

Before you can overthink it; you turn the test in your hands.

Negative.

Not pregnant.

Thank.

Fuck.

You both let out a shaky breath of relief.

“I’ve uh- I bought a few more, just in case it’s like a false negative or whatever. I’ll probably do two more now and then do one tomorrow maybe” you can feel the confidence returning to your voice. 

“Yeah, of course, I’ll go sit downstairs just y’know- do what you gotta do” you both exchange a quick smile before Gator heads downstairs. 

His heart is still pounding as he sits down on your couch, he isn’t sure if he’s relieved or upset. What the fuck is he thinking? Of course, he’s relieved. The two of you having a baby is completely out of the question. Maybe this scare should make him more concerned about sleeping with you and he considers that it could be time to stop this. His daddy is starting to pressure him more about proposing to Glenda and she’s dropping hints about marriage basically every day at this point. All these thoughts evaporate when you walk into the room holding three negative pregnancy tests. You straddle him and his hands grab your hips. You both spend the rest of the afternoon making out and trying to push the fear of the past few hours to the back of your mind. 

He can’t stop this.

He can’t let go of you.

[lunarmothim]

aftermath - john price x reader

this is a part one in response to this post here :)

part i: no fucking sense grief looks different on everyone.

word count: 2.1k tags/warnings: angst, grief, established relationship notes: @simp4creamcheesebagels a) i am also a simp for cream cheese bagels but b) i am a simp for john price so bro. brooooo. i have some fuckin thoughts lmao. this is planned for 3 parts and it ties in with my ghost fic nevermore a bit that's all i have to give :) (the fact that it begins just like nevermore is on purpose :))

also tiny edits bc i just realized i had a character say something and then completely fucking disregarded it in the second half lmao

Grief is a funny thing.

It looks different on everyone- from how they react to the initial impact to the way they handle the aftermath, changes depending on whether the death was expected or out of fucking no where. They tell you about the "five stages of grief" but fail to tell you it's absolute fucking bullshit, a neat little way to package up such a heavy feeling in a way that appears tidy and linear, like it actually makes sense.

It fucking doesn't. Nothing about this feeling sitting heavy in your chest, compressing your lungs until it hurts to breathe, makes fucking sense.

How could it? How could it possibly make sense that you're sitting here on base, tucked into a corner of the couch in the rec room with a pillow hugged tight to your chest and an untouched cup of tea on the coffee table in front of you, staring at the wall like it has any kind of answer for you, and Johnny's laying on a slab in the morgue waiting to be cremated? How could it make sense that Makarov is out there somewhere, still breathing, while Johnny is gone?

How could any of it possibly make any fucking sense?

Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance. A linear path of emotion meant to make grief more palatable. A timeline to give the people left behind some semblance of comfort.

What a fucking joke.

If the five stages were real, denial had barely even been a blink in your head. Maybe in the moment when you were watching Johnny go down, seeing the spray of blood and bone and brain matter across the platform, a brief flicker of this isn't fucking happening across your synapses before the pain set in, before soul-rending agony had ripped a violent scream from your throat as it sent you to your knees.

You'd scrambled across the floor to him, you think, dragging him by the vest across the cold concrete to cover, to somewhere semi-safe where you could render aid, but it had been useless. His pulse had been the whisper of a butterfly's wings beneath your fingers before disappearing, and none of the CPR that had separated his sternum from his ribs beneath your hands had done anything for him. You had done nothing for him. He was gone, and a part of you wanted to believe it was your fault.

So now, if anything, you don't even know what you feel. You can't tell if you're numb or angry- if you want to slowly sink into this corner of the couch, meld with the cushions until you can't tell where you end and they begin, or if you want to burn the world to the fucking ground for daring to rip someone like Johnny away. If you want to burn yourself to the ground for failing to save him.

You're also not entirely sure if the choice is up to you. You can't move, have to keep reminding yourself to breathe even though it's supposed to be an autonomic function, can't look away from the wall despite the burning in your eyes telling you to blink. You're barely aware of the other soldiers that pass through the room, the sympathetic, pitying eyes that turn in your direction when they see you sitting there, the wide berth they give you. None of it makes sense.

Nothing will ever make sense again.

How are five little steps along the path of something that seems so insurmountable supposed to help you with that?

They won't. They can't. The person who designed the system had clearly meant it as a comfort, a way to organize your thoughts in the face of something so devastating you don't know what to do with it, but they never considered that some things just don't fit into neat little boxes.

And something like grief? There's not a box in existence that could hold something that's heavy enough to end the world like that.

Your head tips against the back of the couch with a barely audible, exhausted sigh. You're not sure if your neck muscles have given out or if you're finally giving in to sleep, but you feel boneless in a way you haven't since long before that moment in the alley outside the channel tunnel's service entrance, watching Johnny's face disappear behind that black bag. You don't feel tired yet you feel like you could sleep for weeks, and when your eyes close… the screams are a chorus, yours and John's and Ghost's- wordless, No! Johnny-

Your eyes snap open again, unable to face those voices in the dark.

You don't move. You can't.

The agony digs in further, making a home inside the spaces between your ribs, winding tight around your lungs. His ribs crack beneath your hands, that space under his jaw where his pulse is supposed to beat stays still. Gone. Gone, and you couldn't save him.

You curl tighter around your pillow, and you don't try to fight the hollow sob that claws its way out of your throat.

Grief- it's a funny thing. Everyone feels it differently.

The weight of it is universal.

You feel it in Ghost's absence- he'd disappeared, not long after the five four of you had returned to base, getting on his bike and driving off. It echoes in Gaz's distance, locked in his room, refusing to come out, to talk to anyone. And John… You'd followed him, once you'd gotten back. Trailed after him like a lost puppy looking for some little bit of comfort, stopped cold when his office door slammed in your face.

Everyone feels it differently.

You all feel it alone.

They come for you before sun-up.

The door to the rec room bursts open, heavy footsteps drawing you from what small bit of sleep you'd managed. You sit up to a gun in your face, staring past the barrel to the soldier holding it, a corporal you'd trained, his eyes apologetic but his weapon unwavering between your eyes. You could fight, could take him down with ease, but you don't have the energy, allowing the soldiers flanking him to haul you to your feet and zip-cuff your hands behind your back.

You allow them to drag you away to a fate unknown because what else is there? The sun has been extinguished, there's no reason to keep rising in the morning. Johnny had been the light in this dark world, a spark of brightness that gave all of you a reason to keep finding the good in this damned world, and without him there's nothing left.

You see the same sentiment in Gaz's face, tired and drawn tight, when they drag the two of you past each other on the way to your own interrogation rooms. You see it in Laswell's bloodshot eyes when she stares at you from across the small table, torn between sadness and pity, between her own grief and duty. You see it reflected back at you in the one-way glass separating you from the observation room, dark circles and a haunted stare.

You see it in John and Ghost's absences, that heavy weight in the air. The reason you're here.

"Did you know what he was planning to do?" Laswell asks, her voice tired, as broken as you feel. It's hurting her too, in the way a woman like Laswell can be hurt. On the surface a leader losing a soldier, inside someone who feels the grief as acutely as you do.

You don't answer, blinking groggily at her instead. She sighs like the weight of the world is on her shoulders.

"It's a simple question, Sergeant. Did you know what he was planning?" He. So ambiguous. Could be Ghost, who you haven't seen in a few days. Could be John, who you haven't seen in just as long. Laswell's eyes bore into yours, and when she leans forward, she presses the button that cuts the intercom between the interrogation and observation rooms, an 'accidental' bump of her elbow. "I know. I know. So please, if you know what John was planning, tell me."

You stare at her- you're honestly not sure you could speak, even if you wanted to. You feel like your voice had been ripped out of you that night in the chunnel, torn from your body with that broken scream when you watched your friend die. But you try. It comes out a croak, barely audible. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Laswell exhales slowly, bowing her head. You can see her shoulders move with the slow, deep breaths she takes, the way they tense when she gathers herself again, the way she pushes the button to the intercom once more.

"You're aware you're here under oath." It's not a question but a statement, her voice sharp and clear. You only nod in response. Her eyes scream an apology, her posture it's not my choice. You brace yourself for the impact but you still don't expect it. "For the record, then. What is the nature of your relationship with Captain Johnathan Price?"

If you had any solid ground left to stand on, it would have collapsed beneath your feet.

"What?" you wheeze, staring at her with wide eyes. The apology is still there- she knows. She knows. She turned the intercom back on and asked anyway. "Laswell."

"I'm sorry, Sergeant," she says quietly, and with the tone she says it in you almost believe her. Almost. "Remember, you're under oath."

You mull it over for a long minute. You could lie, pretend what you and John have is nothing, keep it to the professionalism you should have but both know is a lie. But if you lie and it comes out later that you did… it's in your better interest to be honest here, when the inquiry isn't about your relationship status.

"There's a relationship," you whisper, voice hoarse. A secret you and John had both promised to keep, something no one else was supposed to know. "An intimate one."

"I see." You can understand why Laswell pretends she didn't know- she has her own career to protect. She can't protect yours too. "And in your time together, did he ever talk about plans to kill General Shepherd?"

The question feels like a trap. It probably is, but it's also a lifeline, a hint towards what you've been detained for. In your years as a spec ops soldier you've learned to read between the lines, and you read between Laswell's far too easily, see what she wanted you to see. Still, you don't need to feign the way you inhale sharply at the question, the way you look back over every interaction you've ever had with John in your mind. Had he said something you'd missed? John had threatened Shepherd plenty of times over the years to be sure, but nothing concrete, no actual plan to take the General off the board.

"No." The answer comes easy and honest, and you see Laswell relax ever so slightly, her shoulders dropping a fraction of an inch. "Kate, please. Tell me what's going on."

"John killed Shepherd." Even with her previous question, out of everything you'd expected Laswell to say it hadn't been anywhere close to that, and it knocks the breath from your lungs. Her eyes bore into you, sharp blue against your own, leaving you once again to read between the lines, to understand what she's trying to tell you without saying it out loud. You have no clue this time. So you sit there staring at her, blank-eyed and broken, unsure how to turn this situation to your favor.

"He did what." It's all you can manage, blinking at her.

"John killed Shepherd," she repeats, deliberately slow, as if you hadn't heard it the first time. "Shot him point blank in the head in his office."

What do you even do with that? All you can do is stare at her, dumbfounded, while whoever's on the other side of the one-way glass transcribes your reactions into something actionable, something to bring John in. A reason to say you complied.

"He wouldn't," is what you breathe, clutching at any last semblance of normalcy, at any last chance that John can come back from this. "He wouldn't. Laswell, you know he wouldn't-"

"But he did." Her voice cracks, then solidifies again. "I'm sorry. We have his prints in Shepherd's office." Everything shatters around you.

"Kate-"

"Don't. You can't help him now." Her voice is solid, impenetrable, and something in you breaks.

"Kate, please-"

It goes unanswered. She rises from her chair and walks toward the door, knocking twice. It opens, letting her out, leaving you staring after her. "Kate-"

The door slams.

She's gone.

part one - masterlist - part two

please like/reblog if you enjoyed! dividers by: @/gildui

[vampiretendencies]

Could I request lyric viii with JJ Maybank?

“if you get a minute call me back, im so lonely and you’re the only one that knows me”

— call me back by chase atlantic

IDCNTLIKEDARKNESS MILESTONE EVENT ★

pairing; jj maybank x fem!reader

warnings; fluff, mentions of death, tiny bit angsty, maybe suggestive if you take it that way.

authors note; hello! welcome to the first blurb of this event! hope you all enjoy. the event lasts today up until sunday! any rules are linked in the event title. i will also be making mood boards for every blurb, but tumblr tends to ruin the quality of them. doesn’t have to be my lyrics either you may send in fully your own idea to be apart of this <3

masterlist — jj maybank masterlist

JJ bit down so anxiously on his tongue that he felt the familiar metallic taste of blood.

He’d forgotten to pick you up from work, and he knows it’s such a minuscule task but, it did slip his mind. Though he fears he won’t hear from you again, because every mistake might make you slip through his fingertips so quickly that he won’t be able to catch you.

That you’ll abandon him, and leave him for dead like everyone else in his lousy life. In this town full of stupidity, his only remnant of hope was you. And he couldn’t— he just couldn’t have that sensational feeling ripped away from him before he fully got to experience it.

Any moment he got to spend with you, he’d be elated if it was his last.

He’d die a happy man.

Though right now all he wants you to do is pick up the damn phone before he actually goes into full cardiac arrest.

You were on the other end, glaring at the phone that lit up beside you whilst toy with the corners of the sheets on your bed. You weren’t even displeased with him, you were merely proving a point— do not be late to pick late to pick you up from work, having already stayed at the shitty establish long enough.

To be quite fair though, you did have your own way of transportation. JJ just always insisted on sporting his girl in his pick up truck— showing you off to the world with a desiring kiss to his lips.

“Fuck,” he whimpered into the palm of his hand, dialing your number for the umpteenth time.

1 new voicemail.

He never leaves voicemails, you thought.

Must’ve been urgent enough for him to declare his apology to you. So you resonate with the voicemail having craved to hear his raspy, lulling voice all day.

“Baby … look okay I know you’re mad. I don’t even have an excuse this time, but I fuckin’ miss you,” and you hear his somber sentence flail at you heart, already swooning. “Shit, just don’t go okay? If you get a minute call me back, I’m so lonely and you’re the only one that knows me.”

And you did, you stored things about JJ that he wouldn’t tell a soul— not even the Pogues. He’s so adamant in saying such things because, if you leave him he vowed to not let anyone get that close to him again. Fearing to handle such deep rooted pain.

If it wasn’t you, it wasn’t anyone.

Rolling your eyes lovingly— if that was even possible, you dial the insatiable number back. Awaiting to hear his voice, you chew down on your bottom lip.

All it took was one ring.

And he’s jumping off of the couch, a half smile adorning his features.

“Wanna’ tell me why you didn’t pick me up from work?”

“Wanna’ tell me why you can’t answer the damn phone?”

Shared breathy laughter was formed, and then JJ honed in on the fact that maybe he was being overdramatic and so were you.

“Don’t don’t do that shit again, baby.”

“Then remember to pick me up next time, J.”

He huffs on the other end, but you know he doesn’t fully mean it. Stomach soaring at the weakness he felt in his knees, by the sudden and welcoming comfort surging throughout him.

“You weren’t even there to give me a kiss.”

“Tell you what, come here and we can work something out pretty girl.”