#kill me if you want. i'm right. nothing's changing that

[jazeswhbhaven]

What truths would kings reveal to mc while being drunk?

Assuming the kings could even get drunk....I have quick thoughts about this:

Satan: "I may miss him, but he's nothing like you.."

Mammon: "If you wanted to throw me away because I lost value, I'd change myself so you'd cherish me again."

Beelzebub: "I wish I could remember what you mean to me, it's annoying that my heart keeps hurting when I'm away from you."

Leviathan: "I don't want to kill you, but you scare me. I don't like what I feel when I'm around you. Not even that man could do this to me..."

Lucifer: "I wish my brothers could be with me right now. I want them to be devils...so we can be a family again."

Belphegor: "Wanna know sumthin' funny? I jack it Agares' room when he ain't there. His bed is soft 'an clean..." (Also another one for him: "Beleth is more like a wife than he is a noble, naggin' me and such. He fucks like one too.")

Asmodeus: "Sometimes, I just wanna fuck hard and slow....forever so you never leave....so I can forget everything..."

What do I mean for each:

S: He's referring to Solomon. He does still miss MC's ancestral grandpa, a lot in fact. He just knows it's pointless to dwell on it and ignores those feelings because it takes focus off of MC.

M: He's still dealing with the trauma of his childhood, he feels he needs to be accepted by MC and feel wanted and if he fails then he has to keep trying.

B: His memory laspes are his worst enemy and aides to his lingering loneliness. He doesn't like feeling sad, if he can remember how to be sad in the first place.

L: MC stirring up feelings inside of him gives him anxiety. He doesn't like showing weakness, but MC makes him want to be vulnerable. He's never wanted to be so helpless and be protected. He's always had to be the strong one.

Lu: He doesn't regret his choice, but he regrets tolerating his brother's actions and the will of God for so long. He wishes he had done something different, and he wants them around. It genuinely hurts him that they aren't there.

B: He's honestly goofy and says whatever he feels like when drunk. That's why nothing he admits is to be taken seriously and he laughs a lot during while slurring his words.

A: He just admitted to MC that sex for him is like a coping tool most times, because he's still hung up on Solomon's rejection...and the passing of his wife.

[haifoct]

Happy two months anniversary to Zhuo Yichen & Li Lun sex scene choke episode!

I wish I could say I was exaggerating or joking when I describe episode 23 of Fangs of Fortune as a sex scene between Zhuo Yichen and Li Lun.

And yet. 

No other moment in the series comes close to the sheer intimacy and strange sexual tension of the brutal, unapologetic beating Li Lun puts Zhuo Yichen through.

You’re filled with worry, awe, and guilty excitement as you watch it all unfold; they ensure that hurricane of conflicting emotions sets in motion inside your tight chest because they build it up almost the same way cdramas build up their kissing scenes sex scenes.

To truly appreciate the beauty of episode 23, we need to revisit episodes 6, 16, and 19. Each of these episodes offers an attempt at a fight just the tip and a promise.

"But first, I need to kill you, an even more evil thing."

"I choose for you to die."

Our precious rabid puppy Zhuo Yichen never misses a chance to jump Li Lun like his life depends on it (perhaps it does). He has so much tempter, especially when it comes to Li Lun. Meanwhile, our precious Li Lun meets that aggression with… well? 

In episode 6, Li Lun never truly fights Zhuo Yichen. Instead, he uses Ran Yi as both his blade and his shield before happily escaping, leaving everyone in shambles.

In episode 16, Li Lun mostly dodges Zhuo Yichen’s attacks. First, he stops Zhuo Yichen’s sword with just his fingers, then he seems determined to kill Pei Sijing right on the spot until Zhuo Yichen joins the fight to protect her. Li Lun’s usual cold and calm rage shifts into a cheeky smile, and another flirtatious promise leaps from his tongue.

"Zhuo Yichen, don’t forget. At the final moment, your Cloud Light Sword can kill him."

In episode 19… I have so much to say about this episode, actually, but almost none of it involves Zhuo Yichen and Li Lun. That said, I really enjoy Zhuo Yichen’s decision to stay after casting a glance at Li Lun’s domineering presence.

I just think they’re very pretty, look at them.

Zhu Yan and Zhuo Yichen barely let Li Lun breathe. Attack after attack, and yet none of the blades directed at him hurt as much as the words that pierce his heart. Zhu Yan sets Li Lun on fire again—normal people things—and the last words Li Lun utters before forever losing the human form he developed are a desperate promise and a plea.

"You will kill him one day. Kill Zhao Yuanzhou."

(Quick off topic, I love how troubled Zhuo Yichen looks when he learns about Li Lun literally burning alive, lol) 

All those beautiful moments leading up to episode 23 shows us that Li Lun never wanted to kill or hurt Zhuo Yichen. He wanted Zhuo Yichen. As his companion in revenge against the one person who hurt them both.

Then episode 23 happens.

For happy shippers like myself, it literally starts with Wen Xiao losing her shit over Li Lun possessing Zhuo Yichen, with Li Lun's theme playing during Zhuo Yichen's entrance, and with Tian Jiarui speaking in the voice that Yan An is using for Li Lun. Truly a feast! But that’s not what we’re discussing here.

That damn fight, that damn sex scene.

The only way for me to describe it, it's so personal, and they don’t even know each other long enough to be personal. 

Li Lun promises to Zhuo Yichen while also taunting him, so annoyed by this loud human screaming for Bai Jiu. Makes sure Zhuo Yichen knows it’s him, Li Lun who is s pinning him down into the ground, towering over his body, topping him, with hand on his throat.  

"So noisy. Look closely. I'm not your Xiao Jiu. I'm Li Lun."

What the hell do I know about whether it was a spiteful remark, mirroring Zhuo Yichen’s promises, mocking him, provoking him, or if it was Li Lun’s cold and calm rage speaking, a grievance and pain within him, because this human he had been nothing but kind to dared to help Zhu Yan set him on fire again. Perhaps it was both; perhaps he meant it; perhaps he changed his mind later in the episode and refused to kill unconscious Zhuo Yichen, walking off and letting fate decide whether Zhuo Yichen lives. Perhaps he didn't, simply wanted Zhuo Yichen alive. (*turns him into a demon <3 bc fate can go and fuck itself i guess, Li Lun is fate.*)

The second Truth Eyes hit Zhuo Yichen’s, round, big, and determined eyes, he jumps Li Lun again like a rabid puppy, not a single fuck given about the simplest of truths that if he hurt’s Li Lun, he will hurt Xiao Jiu. 

I cannot lie here. Despite my heart ripping itself apart for Zhuo Yichen, when his dearest friend, his dearest light, his dearest Cloud Light Sword gets broken—over and over again on each rewatch—there’s something so satisfying about watching Li Lun take this fight more seriously than in any of their previous encounters.

It is a gesture of goodwill to keep Zhuo Yichen alive. All those times before. This time? He will show this human his place, and make his pants creamy.

Li Lun not only physically tortures Zhuo Yichen but also psychologically when he breaks Cloud Light Sword in half with needles Bai Jiu carries around (Wouldn’t it be fun if those needles remained from the time when Bai Jiu was supposed to seal Zhu Yan’s touch?)

They're so gorgeous, what the hell?

What a fun human to toy with.

My thoughts get way too explicit after this, and I genuinely can’t find any heterosexual explanation for this.

I see your vision, insane director.

Make sure you kiss your knuckles before you punch me in the face.

I guess Li Lun likes to take Zhuo Yichen from behind.

and watch him struggle at the mercy of his hands as Zhuo Yichen desperately grabs onto them, while Li Lun is unable to resist looking at that unfairly pretty face, luxuriating in every change of emotion he chokes out of him. How beautiful Zhuo Yichen looks then, fighting for his and his dearest friend's life?

What sound does that divine statue make being knocked down, trampled, and trapped in dust? This desperate, fun human, will he get himself up? For his friend that believes in him, trusts him?

"Don't waste your effort. My inner core has been inside Bai Jiu's body for many days. My soul has already solidified, making it much stronger than Bai Jiu's. His soul is nothing but a weak ant compared to mine, which can be easily crushed by me."

I guess Li Lun, then, likes to turn all of Zhuo Yichen to look at his face, again; to have Zhuo Yichen look at him. So Zhuo Yichen comes knowing exactly who fucked him, or whatever Li Lun promised him earlier. 

Listen.

There's a BTS clip of that iconic shot: of Li Lun hiding from those big, round, unyielding, and unafraid eyes by covering Zhuo Yichen's face with his giant hand, eclipsing the light; of Zhuo Yichen biting him, we all know it. And all I can do is wildly gesture at it, at their hands, and rest my case here.

I love Zhuo Yichen and Bai Jiu both biting into the wood to free themselves too much to not mention it again. 

That hopeless wish to save Bai Jiu is the only thing that keeps encouraging Zhuo Yichen to fight against that demonic strength, that so very human body.

"Give Xiao Jiu back to me!"

"No. <3"

Humans and ants and divine statues are so amusing when they try to stand up as you crush them.

Letting Zhuo Yichen pierce his heart wasn’t even remotely part of Li Lun’s plans. What’s really fun to me here is disbelief and shock on both their faces. One offended, confused, and "How dare you kick Miette? Jail!"; the other confused, unwavering, hopeful. 

By episode 23, have surely learned two things that cannot be argued with:

If you bite Li Lun, he will bite harder.

Li Lun doesn't want Zhuo Yichen dead.

That punch in the throat made me audibly gasp the first time I watched this episode. Then I held my breath and released a relieved sigh. Li Lun was satisfied with simply toying with that awfully loyal and fascinating human. Perhaps all Li Lun ever wanted from that fight was a chance to touch that divine statue.

Obviously, I must remind you that the sex scene fight between Zhuo Yichen and Li Lun, unfolds as Wen Xiao and Zhao Yuanzhou share their own adorable almost-kiss scene, full of 300 years of yearning. Just saying, FoF is a perfect C-drama formula with a main couple and a second couple.

Cannot wait for insane director to make some bitter and hilarious references, much like how he ridiculed those supporting Gong Shangjue and Shangguan Qian by making a satire on them in Fangs of Fortune. But this time in Veil of Shadows.

GJM kicks his feet and giggles like Wang Xingyue as he makes Yan An and Tian Jiarui hold hands on the set of Veil of Shadows. His ship has sailed.

And so has mine.

Happy lunchen sex scene day, yay!

[mellowwillowy]

Briar has always wanted to see what's under your uniform, not under innocent pretense but a lecherous, perverted one. But you would never think of him like that and it killed his mood, too unbothered to have a take on you anymore. You were too good for him and this town and he wished the town would act like him, not bothering you in any sort of way.

Shady Bastards AU: Briar the Brothel Owner

Briar knew he had charm, alluring countless perverts with his face and body. It earned him some quick cash for a quick fuck, enough for him to have leisure time instead of working part-time in a cafe. This kind of lifestyle led him to be a part of a grander scheme, to become a brothel owner in the future and one of the underground brothel ringleaders.

Now imagine everyone's surprise when someone as angelic and pure as you were his best friend, perhaps someone he could only consider a friend. He wasn't close with Bailey in any sense, Darryl was just one of the many passing pale faces that were stuck in Leighton's English class and he only knew Avery as some sort of your sponsor. He was surprised to learn that you were still a virgin after all the years raised in this town and involving yourself with Avery. Hell, you being one of the many orphans from Bailey's family was the cherry on top. Poor souls, he would sneer to himself, pitiful bastards, raised to be raped and pay their guardian, like a fucking investment, as what the current Bailey would now say himself.

Briar didn't care. He wouldn't care. It wasn't like he was necessarily as protective as Bailey when it came to you, no, he was only looking at you as some sort of... thing, an object that he should protect just to sate his own satisfaction urge. Like a display object, he'd rather have it clean and perfect than dirty and broken. Briar was far from a good man so imagine to his surprise when your dead body was finally retrieved from the river.

Remy had sent out his farmhands to locate you, every tree, every river, and every cave had been searched thoroughly yet it took them almost a month to finally find your body floating in the river.

Briar was... he was...

He couldn't put it into words.

Heartbroken? No, that's what Bailey would have to feel, not him.

Dismissive? No, he was also tearing a new hole in the sewer, looking for you.

Furious? Maybe yes, toward the town, the farmhands, the temple, but to you?

Disappointed? You did nothing wrong.

"Why didn't you tell me anything?" Briar whispered to himself as your casket was lowered. Briar didn't want to think too deeply about how he felt about you anymore. He had been a coward all these years so why change now? Things would just be fine if he treated you as a missing display now. Right? Right? Right?!

Briar couldn't even think straight until he saw Bailey launch his punch at Remy. It took him a moment to get on his feet and break the fight. Right... all these feelings were supposed to be felt by Bailey, not him. He was never entitled to feel this way.

So he put himself up with it for 18 years. He swore he wouldn't falter unless he was given a second chance to pursue you better. You, not anyone else. It was just a passing wish, something that would never happen until he ran into you. Or perhaps someone who looked like you, dressed like you, sounded like you. The you a year before you changed and defied the temple and god.

Briar shuddered and stopped his driver, leaping out of his car and braced himself to hold you by your wrist.

A second chance... a second chance... he promised himself.

"It seems like you are lost, little miss, where are you heading to?"

"To the supermarket! I forgot where it is because this is my first time going there alone!"

"Who were you with?"

"My boss, Bailey!" you exclaimed. "He gave me an allowance so I'm looking to get myself an ice cream right now."

Of course, it's always Bailey first. Briar clenched his fist, his smile tightening. But he won't let him get all the spotlight anymore, no, Briar will play along now.

"It's quite hot right now, isn't it? I'll drive you there." Briar smiled and pointed toward his car. Bailey did remind you to never talk with strangers, let alone riding their vehicle. But hell, you did anyway because Briar felt so familiar to you.

[kyywritess]

CHAPTER 11: KNOW ITS FOR THE BETTER

pairing: aged up!katsuki bakugo x fem!reader

summary: After six intense years in Japan, YN LN has firmly established herself as a renowned gym owner. She's known by many pros for her charm, strength, and boxing abilities. She has a strong support system and amazing friends... her life in Japan was everything she dreamed it would be.

But everything changes one fateful night when a mysterious package appears on her doorstep. No note, no return address—just a plain box wrapped with a single pearly pink ribbon. As she unravels the contents of the box, she’s drawn into a dark, twisted mystery that seems to reach deep into her own past—a past she thought she had buried when she left her old life behind.

wc: 3.6k

an: Another cliffhanger I'm sorry, dont be mad at me.

---

If there was one thing Katsuki Bakugo wanted in his current life, it was you. After the car crash, rage consumed him, his mind bent on tearing apart the driver responsible. But everything shifted when he heard Kirishima's frantic voice calling his name. The look on Kirishima's face made his heart plummet into his stomach.

He had barely dropped the man he intended to pummel when blinding white lights flooded the area. Three cars screeched to a stop, surrounding him and Kirishima.

Then, a man stepped out—tall, pale, and with piercing green eyes that Bakugo could never forget. Moretti.

Instinct screamed at him to run to you, to grab you and flee. He tried, unleashing explosion after explosion, each blast aimed at Moretti and his men. But amidst the chaos, Kirishima had disappeared to get help, and Moretti’s men had reached the wreckage.

They were pulling you out of the car. Limp, lifeless. Blood poured from your leg, staining the ground in a deep crimson pool.

“Get in the car, or I shoot the girl,” Moretti commanded, his tone as cold as steel.

Bakugo froze. There was no real choice. His gaze locked on you—your ghostly pale skin, hair matted with blood and dirt. You looked strangely serene, as if you'd made peace with the horror unfolding.

He wouldn’t let them kill you. Not while he was alive to stop it.

So he got in the car, seething with suppressed fury as they bound a tourniquet around your leg and checked your pulse. The contradiction gnawed at him: Moretti threatened your life, yet kept you alive. Why?

Now he sat in a chair too small for his broad frame, wrists bound but mind racing. Across the room, you lay unconscious, your chest rising and falling faintly—a fragile sign of life.

Your skin was deathly pale, a dark wound visible just above the blindfold they’d placed over your eyes. The blindfold seemed ridiculous—after all, you’d been unconscious for hours.

For two excruciatingly silent hours, he hadn’t seen or heard anyone and it was driving him mad.

The warehouse they were in was heavily guarded. Armed men patrolled the perimeter like it was a military base. Inside the room, there was only one door and a single vent leading who knew where. Security cameras loomed over the room, scanning every corner—except behind him.

He flexed against the ropes, testing their strength. He had to get out, to get you somewhere safe.

It was painfully clear now that you weren’t working for Moretti. Guilt hit him like a sucker punch as he remembered his earlier accusations. He’d jumped to conclusions, faster than he ever had before.

The thought of you lying to him, keeping something so monumental hidden, had stung more than he’d imagined. But the sight of you now—broken, fragile—eclipsed his hurt.

If you both made it out of this, he’d spend every day making it up to you.

He knew Kirishima had to be rallying backup, but the real challenge was figuring out where they were.

And then there was James. Whatever your connection to him, Bakugo had to hope James had realized you were missing.

But right now, nothing else mattered except getting you out alive.

---

When you first came to, you were met with complete darkness. A coarse fabric was draped over your face, muffling your breath and adding to the suffocating sense of confinement. You tried to move, but your wrists were bound tightly behind you, the rough texture of rope biting into your skin. The faint ache in your leg brought the memories flooding back—the car crash, the chaos, and then... nothing.

The silence in the room was deafening, broken only by the distant sound of dripping water. You weren’t sure how much time had passed, but the shift in the air told you all you needed to know: Moretti had found you.

The harsh scrape of a chair across concrete jolted you. You flinched instinctively, your pulse quickening as a familiar presence filled the room. That scent—carmel and musk, faint but distinct—was unmistakable.

“Stupid fucking chair.”

Bakugo’s voice cut through the darkness, low and gruff, filled with irritation.

Relief and dread tangled together in your chest. He was here. They had taken him too. Your heart sank at the realization. Not only had you been captured, but now the one person you’d tried to protect was caught in this nightmare with you.

You remained silent, your breathing shallow as you processed your surroundings. The pressure wrapped around your thigh was unmistakable—a makeshift tourniquet, crudely tied but effective. The pain was simmering, dulled only by the adrenaline still coursing through your veins.

The scrape of Bakugo’s chair yanked you from your thoughts.

“Stop. Head hurts,” you muttered hoarsely, wincing at the sound of your own voice.

The noise ceased, leaving the room to drown in silence once more.

“Fuck, you’re alive,” Bakugo muttered, almost to himself.

“Mmm,” you hummed, your mind still foggy. “How’d Moretti get you?”

“How’d you know it was Moretti?”

The words slipped out before you could think. “He’s notorious for tying people up in chairs. Plus, I can feel him.”

“Feel him?”

“Are you gonna keep asking questions?” you shot back weakly.

His voice darkened, low and dangerous. “Are you gonna keep lying to me?”

The accusation hit you harder than you expected, but now wasn’t the time to argue. “I only lied to you because I care for you.”

“Right.”

The weight of his skepticism pressed down on you. You needed to steer the conversation elsewhere.

“Do you have a blindfold on?”

“No, but hands are tied.”

The deadpan response caught you off guard, and before you knew it, laughter bubbled out of you. It wasn’t the right time, and you knew it, but the absurdity of the situation made your head spin.

“Glad to see you still have a sense of humor.” Bakugo snapped, his irritation palpable.

You struggled to catch your breath between fits of giggles. “I’m sorry—it’s not funny… it’s just—how did they even capture you?”

“They rolled up on us after the crash,” he admitted, his tone sharp. “They were gonna kill you if I didn’t comply. I had no choice.”

The laughter died in your throat, replaced by a lump of guilt.

“Yeah, not so funny now,” he added bitterly.

You bit your lip, your mind racing. There was only one reason Moretti would take Bakugo—it wasn’t just about you anymore. Moretti had been watching, studying you, and he knew exactly what buttons to press.

“Katsuki—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he cut you off, already piecing it together.

“Why?” you whispered.

"Cause I couldn’t stand there and watch another man take you. Even if nothin’ made sense,” he murmured, the softness in his voice catching you off guard.

“I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you,” you said quietly.

“Did—was anything ever real?”

The question hung in the air like a blade poised to strike. Of course it was real. The way your heart beat for him was real. 

“The way I feel about you is real,” you said, your voice trembling.

You could feel his eyes on you, even through the darkness. A smile crept onto your face despite the situation. “Stop staring at me like that.”

“Wha—”

“I have a lot to explain to you,” you said, cutting him off.

“Yeah.”

“Is Kiri okay?” You asked, redirecting the conversation again.

“Yeah, he was able to escape before they got to him.”

Relief washed over you. The plan you and Kirishima had made flickered in your mind. He’d be on his way to the cabin now.

“Good,” you muttered.

Bakugo spoke up, an unusual softness to his voice. “M’sorry. Thought you were working with him.”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head even though you knew he couldn’t see it. “I’d never work for a person like Moretti.”

“Then how are you tied to him?”

“No relation. Just a scumbag I want dead,” you said bluntly.

“Tch. Tell me about it.”

“One day,” you promised, your voice dropping to a whisper. “I’ll tell you everything. But right now, we don’t have time.”

The air shifted again, heavier now, as if Moretti’s presence loomed closer. You could sense it before it happened.

The sound of footsteps echoed from outside the room, growing louder. Bakugo stiffened in his chair, and you could feel his energy change, coiling like a spring ready to snap.

“Don’t fucking touch her,” he growled, his voice like thunder as the door creaked open and footsteps moved towards you. 

A pair of hands fiddled with the knot of your blindfold, yanking it away. Blinding white light seared your eyes, and you blinked rapidly to adjust. When your vision cleared, there he was: Moretti.

His piercing green eyes bored into yours with a predatory gleam, a smug smile spreading across his face. He looked older than you remembered, the years of prison etched into the lines around his mouth and eyes, but the malice was as strong as ever.

“Well, isn’t this a treat? Two of Japan’s finest, tied up like common prey,” Moretti drawled, his voice dripping with venom. “Dynamight, the explosive hothead. And Y/N, America's sweetheart. Tell me, do you think the public will mourn you more if I kill you together or one at a time?”

The tension in the room thickened like a fog, suffocating and heavy. Bakugo’s crimson eyes burned with defiance as he pulled against his restraints, the cords creaking ominously under the strain. “Try it,” he spat, his voice a razor-edged promise. “See how far you get before I blow your head off.”

Moretti chuckled, a low, mirthless sound that sent a chill down your spine. “Ah, there’s that famous temper. But let’s not forget who’s holding all the cards here, Dynamight.” He gestured to you, his fingers grazing your cheek in a way that made your stomach churn. “One wrong move, and she’s gone.”

Bakugo’s jaw tightened, his entire body trembling with barely contained rage. He wanted to lash out, to reduce the entire building to ash, but the sight of you—still pale, still weak—kept him anchored.

You shifted slightly, your hands numb from the ropes biting into your wrists. Despite the fear gnawing at your resolve, you forced yourself to speak. “You wont kill me.” Your voice was hoarse, but steady enough to earn his attention.

Moretti’s smug expression didn’t falter. If anything, his predatory smile widened, his piercing green eyes boring into yours with a sinister gleam.

“Of course, you’d say that,” he drawled, his voice low and venomous. “But let’s not play coy. I didn’t kidnap you on a whim. I know exactly what you know.”

You froze, the ropes biting into your wrists as your blood turned to ice.

“That’s right,” Moretti continued, circling your chair like a vulture. “You know where my daughter is. The one thing the police couldn’t break out of you, even when you testified. You kept that little secret buried, didn’t you? To protect her, I assume. But how long do you think you can hold onto it when his life is on the line?”

Bakugo’s eyes flicked toward you, sharp with confusion and fury. “What the hell is he talking about?”

Moretti’s grin widened as he watched Bakugo’s expression twist with confusion and rage. “You really don’t know, do you?” he said, a mockery of sympathy in his tone. “Oh, this is rich. Japan’s greatest hero, clueless about the woman sitting next to him.”

Moretti turned his attention back to you, his green eyes gleaming with amusement. “You didn’t tell him?” He leaned in closer, his voice dripping with mock disbelief. “You mean to say you’ve been playing the role of a helpless civilian this whole time? That’s cold, even for you, Nova.”

Bakugo’s gaze snapped to you, the weight of Moretti’s words settling between you like a live wire. “Nova?” he questioned, his voice low and dangerous. “What’s he talking about?”

Your stomach churned, but you kept your expression neutral. “Don’t listen to him,” you said quickly.

Moretti laughed, the sound cutting through the tension like a blade. “Oh, no, no, no. Let’s not brush past this. Dynamight deserves to know who he’s risking his life for.”

He straightened, turning to Bakugo with an almost theatrical flourish. “Meet Nova, America’s former golden girl. Once a top-tier hero in her own right—complete with a shiny little quirk she’s kept hidden from you.”

Bakugo’s eyes widened slightly before narrowing into slits. “You’re lying.”

“Am I?” Moretti raised a brow, then gestured toward you. “Go ahead, ask her. Ask her about the years she spent hunting down villains like me. About the testimony that put me in prison. About the daughter she stole from me.”

“Shut up,” you snapped, your voice cutting through the air like a whip.

But Bakugo was already staring at you, his crimson eyes ablaze with confusion and betrayal. “Is it true?”

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. 

Moretti clapped his hands together, delighted by the unraveling tension. “Ah, the sweet taste of betrayal. Isn’t it delicious?”

“Shut the hell up!” Bakugo snapped, his glare burning a hole through Moretti.

Moretti’s cold, predatory smile grew as he savored the moment, watching Bakugo struggle with the weight of his words. “And if you thought this was the worst of it, you’re in for a surprise, Dynamight.” He turned back to you, his gaze like a vulture eyeing its prey. “She didn’t just hide her quirk from you, or hide who she was. No, she faked her death.”

Bakugo’s eyes snapped to you, the fury and confusion in his gaze sharp enough to cut through steel. “You were the hero that died in the car accident?” 

Moretti’s laugh echoed around the room, harsh and mocking. “Yes, indeed. That little stunt she pulled after her so-called ‘hero career’ ended. She made everyone believe she was dead—her friends, her family, even the people she’d worked with. But the truth is, she’s been hiding from me. Hiding because she knows I’ll never stop hunting her. Not while I’m still breathing.”

Your heart hammered in your chest. This was worse than you could have imagined. Moretti was unraveling everything you’d fought so hard to bury. Every secret, every lie, coming to the surface in the worst way possible.

Bakugo’s gaze never left you, his expression a mixture of disbelief, anger, and hurt. “Why?” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I had no choice,” you said, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to stay calm. “Moretti was looking for me. He had connections everywhere. I couldn’t let him find me, so I made them believe I was dead. I had to disappear. I couldn’t risk anyone else getting hurt.”

He leaned closer, his grin widening. “Your precious Nova here is the reason I rotted in prison for six years. She testified against me. She took everything from me.”

You struggled against the ropes, your voice steady despite the tremble in your body. “You don’t deserve to find her. After everything you’ve done, after all the lives you’ve destroyed, she’s better off without you.”

Moretti’s smile disappeared, replaced by a dangerous glint in his eyes. He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a chilling whisper. “You don’t get to decide that.”

Bakugo snarled, thrashing against his restraints. “You touch her, and I’ll kill you. I swear to god, I’ll rip you apart!”

Moretti glanced at him, amused. “Oh, its not her you should be worried about Dynamight. No, I’ll break her—piece by piece— as she watches, until she tells me what I want to know.”

He straightened, motioning to the guard still holding the syringe. “And when she does, I’ll kill her anyway. After all, she’s the reason I lost everything. Call it poetic justice.”

The guard stepped closer to Bakugo, gripping his arm, and panic surged through you. “Moretti, if you hurt him, you’ll never find her,” you said quickly, your voice rising.

That gave him pause. He raised a hand, signaling the guard to stop, and turned to you with narrowed eyes. 

“You know I’m the only one who knows where she is,” you said, forcing yourself to keep calm. “If you kill him—or push me too far—you’ll lose any chance of finding her. Forever.”

Moretti’s jaw tightened, his expression unreadable. He leaned in close, his voice a low growl. “Then start talking. Or I’ll make sure you wish I’d killed you instead.”

Beside you, Bakugo’s crimson eyes blazed with rage and desperation. “Don’t tell him anything!” he shouted. “He’s lying—he’ll kill you no matter what!”

But you weren’t ready to give up. Not yet. You had to play this carefully, or neither of you would make it out alive.

Taking a deep breath, you looked up at him. “She’s dead.” 

Moretti froze, his eyes narrowing, his hand still suspended in the air, ready to give another order. The silence that followed felt like an eternity. Bakugo's furious protests faded into the background as Moretti processed your words.

“What did you just say?” Moretti’s voice was low, dangerously calm.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to hold your ground. “She’s dead. Milly’s gone.”

Moretti’s gaze turned icy, a flicker of disbelief flashing across his features. “You’re lying,” he hissed. “You’re just trying to buy yourself time.”

But the raw edge of fear in his eyes gave him away. He was already questioning everything.

“I’m not lying,” you said, your voice unwavering despite the terror clawing at your chest. “I knew you’d come for her. After I received your little ‘gift,’ I realized I had to act. She didn’t deserve a life with you as her father, so I did what had to be done.”

Moretti’s eyes narrowed in disbelief. “What are you talking about? What did you do?”

“She’s in a place now where you’ll never reach her,” you continued, your words cold, resolute. “A place where you can’t hurt her anymore.”

Moretti’s expression twisted into a snarl. “WHAT DID YOU DO?”

The room seemed to grow colder at the intensity of Moretti’s roar. His fists clenched tightly at his sides, and his breathing quickened as his eyes locked onto you, as if trying to burn a hole through you with sheer force of will.

You held his gaze, knowing full well what you had just said would push him beyond the edge. “I did what I had to do,” you repeated, your voice firm even as your heart hammered in your chest. “She’s gone, Moretti. I made sure she was safe. You will never find her. No one will. She’s in a place where you can’t touch her anymore.”

Moretti’s chest heaved, his anger mounting with each word you spoke. “No,” he spat, his voice low and dangerous. “No, you didn’t. You didn’t do this. You didn’t kill my daughter.”

“I did,” you said, the weight of your lies sinking deep into your chest. “I made sure she was free of you. From your cruelty, your obsession. I couldn’t let her grow up under the shadow of someone like you. You’re a monster, Moretti. And she didn’t deserve that life.”

Moretti’s face twisted in fury, his eyes wild with disbelief. He took a step toward you, the threat of violence hanging in the air. “You’re lying. You’re lying to protect yourself. Tell me where she is. NOW.”

The guard, still holding Bakugo's arm, prepared the needle, but you hadn't noticed. You were focused on Moretti—the man who had destroyed so many lives, including his own daughter’s. You didn’t back down.

“She’s gone, Moretti,” you repeated, your voice colder now. “I ended her suffering. And now you’ll never get your hands on her. Not now, not ever.”

The silence in the room was suffocating, thick with the heavy realization settling in Moretti’s mind. His jaw clenched, his muscles trembling with barely contained rage, but there was something else there, something darker: desperation. He had nothing left to hold onto.

“You think I’ll let you get away with this?” he growled, taking another step forward, his hand reaching out as if to strike you. But something in your eyes, something in your stance, seemed to hold him at bay. For a brief moment, the fury in his eyes faltered.

“You already lost her,” you said, your voice low, cold with the finality of it all. “And now, the only thing left to you is vengeance.”

The guard beside Bakugo glanced nervously at Moretti, who was seething with rage, but it was clear he was struggling to process the depth of what you had just said. His emotions were a storm, a swirl of grief and anger, confusion and disbelief.

“Take her down the hall,” Moretti commanded, his voice sharp and final as the guard moved from Bakugo to your side.

You glanced over at Bakugo, watching his face twist in confusion and fury as he processed the weight of your words. His protests grew louder, his anger mounting with each passing second. But the guard was relentless, yanking you to your feet and dragging you toward the door.

You didn’t know if you’d ever see Bakugo again, but in that moment, you knew this was the only way. Moretti would stop at nothing to get what he wanted—he’d torture you until you spoke. So, you had given him the answer he was desperate for.

Now, all you could do was hope. Hope that while Moretti took his time with you, it would give Bakugo the chance to escape, to find a way out before it was too late.

---

TAGLIST: @emmaafinchh@faetoraa@iissza@theasgardianmexican @cax-per

[thathyperfixatedsonofagun]

i dunno he just seems FTM to me.

absolute king, love you, please carry on with your crimes against the general public he's a lil 🏳‍⚧ man :))

[nyan-bynary]

Listen I l love satosugu as much as the next guy that understands subtext but gOD I'm starting to think some of y'all can't fucking read

[sherlock-is-ace]

.

[tardis--dreams]

Me panicking because i have 9 missed calls and 5 emails talking about my absence and how "a colleague could take over for me" vs. Me knowing it's really not that important no matter how pushy a client is and that on top of it I'm underpaid and have way to much overtime so i shouldn't even care

[obnoxiousarcade]

I have a longing to be understood more than anything else i think

[lisbonsteresa]

oh it's horrible; i love it

[87foxeninaboxen]

Char's Daily Life is so insane for being a gag manga that makes it canon the canon-verse is ALSO canon to it so at any point one of these characters (Garma) could be mind raped with the memories of what they did/what happened in canon

[jewishvitya]

A pro-Palestine Jew on tiktok asked those of us who were raised pro-Israel, what got us to change our minds on Palestine. I made a video to answer (with my voice, not my face), and a few people watched it and found some value in it. I'm putting this here too. I communicate through text better than voice.

So I feel repetitive for saying this at this point, but I grew up in the West Bank settlements. I wrote this post to give an example of the extent to which Palestinians are dehumanized there.

Where I live now, I meet Palestinians in day to day life. Israeli Arab citizens living their lives. In the West Bank, it was nothing like that. Over there, I only saw them through the electric fence, and the hostility between us and Palestinians was tangible.

When you're a child being brought into the situation, you don't experience the context, you don't experience the history, you don't know why they're hostile to you. You just feel "these people hate me, they don't want me to exist." And that bubble was my reality. So when I was taught in school that everything we did was in self defense, that our military is special and uniquely ethical because it's the only defensive military in the world - that made sense to me. It slotted neatly into the reality I knew.

One of the first things to burst the bubble for me was when I spoke to an old Israeli man and he was talking about his trauma from battle. I don't remember what he said, but it hit me wrong. It conflicted with the history as I understood it. So I was a bit desperate to make it make sense again, and I said, "But everything we did was in self defense, right?"

He kinda looked at me, couldn't understand at all why I was upset, and he went, "We destroyed whole villages. Of course we did. It was war, that's what you do."

And that casual "of course" stuck with me. I had to look into it more.

I couldn't look at more accurate history, and not at accounts by Palestinians, I was too primed against these sources to trust them. The community I grew up in had an anti-intellectual element to it where scholars weren't trusted about things like this.

So what really solidified this for me, was seeing Palestinian culture.

Because part of the story that Israel tells us to justify everything, is that Palestinians are not a distinct group of people, they're just Arabs. They belong to the nations around us. They insist on being here because they want to deny us a homeland. The Palestinian identity exists to hurt us. This, because the idea of displacing them and taking over their lands doesn't sound like stealing, if this was never theirs and they're only pretending because they want to deprive us.

But then foods, dances, clothing, embroidery, the Palestinian dialect. These things are history. They don't pop into existence just because you hate Jews and they're trying to move here. How gorgeous is the Palestinian thobe? How stunning is tatreez in general? And when I saw specific patterns belonging to different regions of Palestine?

All of these painted for me a rich shared life of a group of people, and countered the narrative that the Palestininian identity was fabricated to hurt us. It taught me that, whatever we call them, whatever they call themselves, they have a history in this land, they have a right to it, they have a connection to it that we can't override with our own.

I started having conversations with leftist friends. Confronting the fact that the borders of the occupied territories are arbitrary and every Israeli city was taken from them. In one of those conversations, I was encouraged to rethink how I imagine peace.

This also goes back to schooling. Because they drilled into us, we're the ones who want peace, they're the ones who keep fighting, they're just so dedicated to death and killing and they won't leave us alone.

In high school, we had a stadium event with a speaker who was telling us about a person who defected from Hamas, converted to Christianity and became a Shin Bet agent. Pretty sure you can read this in the book "Son of Hamas." A lot of my friends read the book, I didn't read it, I only know what I was told in that lecture. I guess they couldn't risk us missing out on the indoctrination if we chose not to read it.

One of the things they told us was how he thought, we've been fighting with them for so long, Israelis must have a culture around the glorification of violence. And he looked for that in music. He looked for songs about war. And for a while he just couldn't find any, but when he did, he translated it more fully, and he found out the song was about an end to wars. And this, according to the story as I was told it, was one of the things that convinced him. If you know know the current trending Israeli "war anthem," you know this flimsy reasoning doesn't work.

Back then, my friend encouraged me to think more critically about how we as Israelis envision peace, as the absence of resistance. And how self-centered it is. They can be suffering under our occupation, but as long as it doesn't reach us, that's called peace. So of course we want it and they don't.

Unless we're willing to work to change the situation entirely, our calls for peace are just "please stop fighting back against the harm we cause you."

In this video, Shlomo Yitzchak shares how he changed his mind. His story is much more interesting than mine, and he's much more eloquent telling it. He mentions how he was taught to fear Palestinians. An automatic thought, "If I go with you, you'll kill me." I was taught this too. I was taught that, if I'm in a taxi, I should be looking at the driver's name. And if that name is Arab, I should watch the road and the route he's taking, to be prepared in case he wants to take me somewhere to kill me. Just a random person trying to work. For years it stayed a habit, I'd automatically look at the driver's name. Even after knowing that I want to align myself with liberation, justice, and equality. It was a process of unlearning.

On October, not long after the current escalation of violence, I had to take a taxi again. A Jewish driver stopped and told me he'll take me, "so an Arab doesn't get you." Israeli Jews are so comfortable saying things like this to each other. My neighbors discussed a Palestinian employee, with one saying "We should tell him not to come anymore, that we want to hire a Jew." The second answered, "No, he'll say it's discrimination," like it would be so ridiculous of him. And the first just shrugged, "So we don't have to tell him why." They didn't go through with it, but they were so casual about this conversation.

In the Torah, we're told to treat those who are foreign to us well, because we know what it's like to be the foreigner. Fighting back against oppression is the natural human thing to do. We know it because we lived it. And as soon as I looked at things from this angle, it wasn't really a choice of what to support.

[vaguenotions]

Oh, yes, I just love your unannounced sleepover where you both come back from the bar after carefully avoiding telling me that's where you were going, and also neglecting to tell me when you'd be home! I definitely do not want to knock you on your ass and take a bat to your dome! That would be rude and unnecessary :)

Oh yes, please do start talking about shit amongst yourselves and make me feel isolated and othered in ny own room! These moments are what I live for, of course. Naturally. Who would ever have any issues with this arrangement at all?

[turttastic]

Hey guys, I know there are a lot of really severe tragedies in the world right now and I in no way desire to push those aside, nor do I really want to load another thing onto people's plates, but anyone here in the US needs to be aware that on March 11, 2024, an agricultural company known as NEW Cooperative spilled 265,000 gallons (1500 tons) of liquid nitrogen fertilizer into the East Nishnabotna River. This is the ecological equivalent of dropping a nuclear weapon into the river. Over a 60 mile stretch downstream of the spill its been a near total ecological wipeout for the river. So far, an estimate of 850,000 fish have been killed from this spill, and that's to say nothing for the insects, amphibians, reptiles and birds that relied on or lived in this river. It is literally filled with animal corpses. This river flows into the Missouri River and the impacts will likely continue to spread far past this 60 mile stretch. And this disaster has barely made local tv in Iowa, let alone national tv, despite the fact that 60 miles of river ecosystem were just wiped out in a way that may be impossible to recover from. And what's the punishment for this heinous act of destruction through negligence, you might ask? As it stands, its looking like a 6k fine from the DNR to the company. Not 600k. Not 60k. 6000 dollars. The maximum fine that the DNR can charge in Iowa is 10k unless they decide to take it further in court. That's why these spills are so frequent in Iowa: it's literally cheaper to eat the fines than it is to bother properly storing fertilizer. I don't know exactly what the proper course of action is here, or who needs to be contacted to enact change--I'm hoping someone more knowledgeable than me will chime in with that information--but at the very least, every one of us should know. Every one of us should make sure we don't forget this. And every one of us should blacklist NEW Cooperative fertilizer unilaterally.

Sources:

[nightprompts]

&. 𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐬 (𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬?) 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬.

(  various  dialogue  prompts  to  send  to  your  worst  enemy  (affectionate).  feel  free  to  change  how  you  seem  fit.  )

❛ oh great, it's you again. ❜

❛ you? kill me? that's funny. ❜

❛ for being someone you hate, i'm sure on your mind a lot. ❜

❛ you're the last person i wanted to see, actually. ❜

❛ do us both a favor. stay away from me. ❜

❛ you really are an asshole, you know that? ❜

❛ i'm the asshole? what does that make you then? ❜

❛ sometimes i think you must hate me. ❜

❛ i thought you said you never wanted to see me again. ❜

❛ if you want me to go, then you have to tell me to leave. ❜

❛ well, someone's cranky today. ❜

❛ well, someone needs to shut the fuck up. ❜

❛ just stay out of my way. ❜

❛ of all the idiots in the world, i'm stuck with you. ❜

❛ what is it you want this time? ❜

❛ sometimes i wonder if you're in love with me. ❜

❛ do you honestly think this is easy for me? ❜

❛ why would i ever want to be friends with you? ❜

❛ can we please just talk? ❜

❛ there is nothing for us to talk about. ❜

❛ you can yell at me later. just let me help you. ❜

❛ touch me, and you're dead. ❜

❛ oh, so now you care? ❜

❛ there is something deeply wrong with you. ❜

❛ i know i'm the last person you probably want to see, but... ❜

❛ you don't think we could be friends, do you? ❜

❛ i'm tired of fighting against you. ❜

❛ don't pretend you give a shit about me. ❜

❛ you're an idiot, but... i trust you. ❜

❛ oh, don't be cute. ❜

❛ wait, did you just say that i'm cute? ❜

❛ we're not good for each other. ❜

❛ if i say yes, will you shut up? ❜

❛ don't you have to be stupid somewhere else? ❜

❛ maybe we should kiss just to break the tension. ❜

❛ i'm sorry i can't turn off my feelings as easily as you. ❜

❛ maybe there's a universe out there where we're friends. ❜

❛ how can you be so smart yet so dumb at the same time? ❜

❛ don't think this changes anything between us. ❜

❛ you look ridiculous in that outfit, by the way. ❜

❛ if you die, i'll kill you. ❜

❛ is that a challenge? ❜

❛ ah, so you're not heartless after all. ❜

❛ i don't think i've ever seen you smile. ❜

❛ you never cared about me, so why now? ❜

❛ why didn't you kill me when you had the chance? ❜

❛ i don't even remember why we started fighting. ❜

❛ i don't have time for distractions right now. ❜

❛ you're not as bad as everyone says you are. ❜

❛ enemies make the best lovers, you know. ❜

[dollfacefantasy]

dig your claws right into me ♡

logan howlett x fem!reader

logan hurts you when he has a nightmare. now you both have to deal with the fallout.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, descriptions of nightmare, injury, and blood

a/n: reader is a mutant but i didn't specify her powers so you can imagine what you want. just some sickly sweet intimacy cause that's what i was feeling tonight <3

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

The words come out whispered as Logan's lips press against the three tiny bumps of developing scar tissue on your abdomen.

"I already told you that you don't have to be sorry," you say. Your voice drifts into the space between the two of you as soft as the movements of your fingers running through his hair.

"Well I am, bub. You should want me to be."

Each one of his hands rests upon either side of your waist. His fingers squish against your flesh while his eyes stare at the scars on your belly. He gazes at them like the small marks, all equidistant from one another, could be willed away by his harsh look. He hated the fact that they were there at all. Even worse, that he was the one who gave them to you.

"But it was an accident," you respond, giving one of the tufts of his hair a gentle tug.

His dark pupils flit up to look at your face. "Doesn't matter. It being an accident doesn't change the fact that you're gonna have these marks forever. I wouldn't care that it was accidental if I'd killed you."

He remembers the night it happened that seemed like a real possibility.

His light sleep had been interrupted by a nightmare. Over the time that had passed between then and now, it'd become indistinct from all the others he experiences regularly. The only difference between that one and the ones he'd had since he'd started sleeping next to you each night was the intensity. That night had been rough. Normally when he slept in your room, he seemed to be able to tone it down. Almost as if his brain knew to not act up while your relationship was still starting to blossom.

But two weeks ago, his mind didn't care. It flash-banged him with the usual images of himself in that tank. The searing, splitting pain of the adamantium attaching itself to his bones.

Usually, if he had a nightmare beside you, he'd grunt and twitch, maybe shift around a little. That night though, you got to see the whole performance. The tossing and turning, sweating and moaning, tense limbs and scrunched up face.

Poor, sweet, innocent you thought that you could just wake him up. Your hands nudged at his bicep and shoulder as you gently cooed "Logan. It's just a dream."

In the end, your tenderness didn't matter. When he actually came to, your anguished cry was all that registered. And then he felt the sharp heat between his knuckles that meant the claws were out. His heart dropped and his vision nearly blacked out. He couldn't have.

He retracted them as quickly as they'd appeared and pulled back to look at you. Crimson flooded the gray t-shirt you'd worn to bed. The three little spots spread into large blooms of scarlet. Your hands flew to the spot to clutch at it, but they did nothing to stop the warm liquid from spilling out.

"No, no, no, fuck," he'd whispered frantically as his mind raced for a solution.

Your cries morphed into whimpers. Soft and vulnerable. Like a prey animal that'd been fatally wounded but not put out of its misery. Blood seeped out onto your bedding, and it was then that he rocketed off the mattress and scooped you up into his arms.

Fortunately, Scott, Jean, and Storm were already outside the door in the hall, having heard the scream. A gathering of students lingered behind them as well. Shame coursed through his veins, albeit dulled by the panic. He remembered thinking it was stupid, but after the adrenaline left his system, it was the dominant emotion he was left with. Ashamed was the only word that could describe holding the knowledge that everyone here now saw he was capable of hurting the woman he loves. Maybe he was no better than an animal.

In truth, shame was all he felt now. So much relief settled over him since you'd made it out alive. Thanks to the enhanced physical capabilities from your mutation and Jean's adequate medical skills, these scars would be the only lasting effect of the wounds.

He'd rushed you down to the infirmary faster than he'd ever moved in a non-combat situation. His feet thundered down the stairs, a part of him withering to ash with each little whimper you let out as the motion jostled your body around.

"I'm sorry, bub. Almost there. We're almost there. You're gonna be ok," he'd mumbled out thoughtlessly, saying anything he could that would bring you even a shred of comfort.

He kept your hand in his the entire time you were down there on the cold examination table. His grip stayed firm. He wouldn't let the anxiety over your well being consume him. This was his fault, and now you needed him. He didn't get to be worried or upset or anything that wasn't in support of you.

When you howled in pain, he winced as if he was the one being treated. You cried for him, choking out "Logan" through tears over and over. It tore him apart inside. All he could do to soothe you was stroke your cheek and murmur reassurances in your ear.

"Shh, shh, shh. You're doing so good, baby. My strong girl. Being so brave."

He usually reserved affection for private moments, but in those painful seconds, it felt like you two were the only ones in the room.

These thoughts running through his head display across his face. The way his cheek squishes against your tummy and his eyes vacantly stare at the wall opposite his bed. You told him the next day that everything transformed into a blur in your mind. You remembered the feeling of being stabbed and the sight of him panicking, but beyond that nothing specific stayed. You knew he held you and talked to you even though you couldn't recall an individual thing he said or did.

That was fine with him. He listened to you tell the story from your perspective. You spoke with your normal cadence, the usual happy glow in your eyes, and the same animated gestures coming from your hands. His eyes lingered on your torso though. The bandages peeking out from underneath your clean camisole he'd changed you into.

Every last detail of the incident was etched into the deepest part of his psyche. Most likely stored away as material for future nightmares. As much as he hated it, he figured that's the way it should be. He didn't deserve the peace that comes with forgetting.

For the first week after it'd happened, he wouldn't sleep with you. He'd stay with you, cuddled against your body, until you drifted off. Then he'd get up and skulk back to his own room, leaving you cold and alone on your bed.

Eventually after a few more days, you got him to try it out again, but he'd only do it in his own room. It was hard for him to be in yours. New sheets covered your foamy mattress now since the blood wouldn't wash out of the old set. Each brush of the novel material against his skin was just a rose-printed reminder of what he'd done to you.

He's snapped out of his recollection when your voice returns to the original conversation.

"None of that stuff happened though. You didn't kill me, and you're not going to. I'll be more careful next time," you break the silence with a gentle reassurance.

Next time. That's what hurts the worst. You knew this would happen again. You'd promised that when it did you wouldn't try to wake him. Wouldn't touch him or do anything that could set him off. Just give him his space and let him work through it.

"I don't even want you worrying about being careful when you're trying to sleep," he grumbles.

Your nails scrape over his scalp, making his eyes flutter. A deep sigh leaves him. As much as he hated himself for all of this, he could never help easing up under your touch.

"You're worth it."

Three words you said so often. He never believed them, but that didn't stop you from repeating them like a slogan. Instead of arguing with you over the validity of the statement, he stays silent. Replaces any verbal response with a physical one by nuzzling into the warmth of your stomach and laying kisses around your navel.

You watch the affectionate gesture and trail your fingers down to the nape of his neck, massaging the tender skin there.

"You are," you whisper, "One mistake doesn't define you. Doesn't change how I see you."

"It's not just a simple mistake-" he starts.

"Yes it is," you interject, trying to nip his self doubt in the bud.

"It's not. It's not like I forgot your birthday or left my wallet behind when taking you out."

"It's still an accident. The severity doesn't change the intention. Would you hate me if my powers acted up and hurt you?"

God, you could be just as stubborn as him. It grated on his already frayed nerves. He shifts to look up at you fully. And some of that building tension dissolves upon seeing the earnest look on your face.

"It's not the same. Anything you did to me, I would heal," he says.

"I'm healing too. I'm just not as fast as you," you respond. You actually smile as if this is some lighthearted matter. Of course you knew it wasn't the same. You presented no danger to him whereas if he'd nicked you an inch to the left, he might be talking to your headstone right now instead of you. That wasn't the point though.

He shakes his head. "It's different, bub. But I'm not even saying you should hate me..." 

In truth, he didn't know what he was saying. If he wanted you to hate him or stay away from him, he could be the one to break things off. But he was still right here, arms wrapped around you and head hovering inches away from your body.

"I just think you should be more cautious than you're being," he finishes, "I don't want you to think you have to put up with this."

You frown and pet his hair. "I don't think that."

"I'm not trying to lecture you, baby," he sighs, "I just don't want to hurt you again."

He could certainly flaunt a pair of puppy eyes when he wanted to. The way he was looking up at you now made him seem so sad and wounded. Like a dog who can't control when he bites but gets kicked aside for it all the same.

"You're not going to. We'll be careful. It was an accident," you say, tone almost pleading, "You're still my Logan."

To go along with your words, you pull on one of his arms, beckoning him closer. He complies with your request and scales your body so that the two of you are aligned. You stare up into his eyes and the whirlpools of emotion within them. Your hand lands on his cheek, your thumb stroking back and forth in small swipes.

"I'm not gonna let you pull away cause of this," you whisper, "It wasn't your fault. You don't choose to have those dreams."

You can tell he wants to argue, but he struggles to find the words. Indirectly cutting him off, you guide his head closer to yours. His face slots against the crook of your neck, and yours does the same in his. You nuzzle him there, breathing in the rich, musky scent of him.

"You're not wrong for wanting to be happy. You don't deserve to be alone," you say and kiss below his ear.

The words make him ache from within. His metal bones vibrate with the weight of possibility of that being true while his heartbeat feels as though it stutters between his ribs. He wants to huff and say that he knows, that he doesn't need you psychoanalyzing him, thank you very much. But none of that will come out. So instead he chuckles. He tries to make it sound smooth; although, the awkwardness is apparent in each bit.

He pulls back a little and smirks down at you. "So you think I'm cut out for being gentle? Is that it?"

You know what he's doing. As closed off as he tries to be, you don't need telepathy to sense what he's feeling. You let him play it off with a joke though. If he's joking, he's not drowning in self-pity, which is all you want.

"Mhm, I know you are," you say and nose at his cheek, kissing the spot on it without facial hair, "You may have claws, but you purr like a kitten when I have my hands on you."

His eyes roll when you say that. He leans down and begins to return some of your loving gestures.

"Don't go telling people that. It's only for you," he murmurs.

"Of course, of course," you say with the same subtle playfulness.

Words die out in favor of using your mouths for better things. The kisses are lazy, built more off of love and adoration rather than lust and passion. One of your arms loops over his shoulders to keep him close while your other rubs at his side. The tip of his nose brushes your earlobe as he lowers to kiss down your throat.

His lips meet your pulse point and the divots in your neck that make you shudder when touched. He's familiar with all your secret spots by now. He plays you better than any instrument. His breath fans over your skin as his teeth scrape against the same flesh. His hands work below, squeezing your waist, fingertips leaving little bumps in their wake.

The hand of yours that had been on his side drifts further down and wiggles its way between your two bodies. Your digits stroke his pelvis above the area his cock would soon begin to harden.

A groan reverberates through his chest as his shaft rises to attention. From this angle, the pads of your fingers can reach the tip. You rub on it with light pressure, up and down. That gets him to repeat the groan, only this time the undertone of need is more prominent.

His lips latch onto your neck to work a little mark onto your skin while he pushes the waistband of his sweatpants down his thighs. You were only wearing a cropped t-shirt and panties, already easily accessible.

He nudges your thighs apart further and grinds his bulge over your mound. The heat from both your aching centers grows hotter with the friction. Arching your back off the bed, you whimper softly for further satisfaction. He presses you back down using his larger stature.

"Patience, sweetheart. Being gentle, remember?"

He only teases you with a few more grinds of his hips before his boxers vanish too and his heavy cock rests against the soft fabric of your panties. You feel the familiar thickness at first. Then his fingers swoop down and pull your panties to the side so he can slot the drippy tip against your folds. Precum smears against your slick, velvety skin.

Seconds later he splits you open. He bites his lip while you whine, his fat cock pushing further into your wanting hole. You squeeze around him. Your walls clamp and contract on his length. It doesn't push him out, merely sucks him further in. He chokes out a low moan from how tight you get.

So tight and so wet. Arousal oozes from you in no short supply. It didn't take much to get you going for Logan. A few touches alone had you leaking like a broken faucet. You whimper as he bottoms out, hips jerking as the head taps your cervix. He always gets so deep it's nearly unbearable. Even when he's going slow like he is now, he's all you can think of. He fills you up down there and occupies all the space in your head.

"Feel good, baby?" he asks.

You nod, unable to respond verbally as you adjust to the intrusion. 

He doesn't give you a prolonged period of time to adapt right now. Normally he would, but most other times, he'd be going much faster than he plans to at this moment. Typically, he'd let you get comfy with the stretch before drawing his hips back and then pumping them forward again. He'd slam in and out of you. It'd be loud with the sound of skin clapping combined with your moans and his growls. It'd be rough and quick. The bed would shake and bobble around with the force of him.

But tonight, none of that happens. He barely even pulls out to thrust. He stays nice and deep, grinding his hips rather than fucking himself in and out of you. You whine in sweet stretches of sound. He sighs and grunts against your neck. Neither of you sound like feral animals going into heat.

You loved when you fucked like that, but right now, both of you needed this. Each roll of his hips felt like a stroke of heaven brushing your insides. Your limbs curl around him tighter to keep him close. Your arms guard his neck while your legs dig into his hips. He's so lost in the feeling of you, he can't even tell where he ends and you begin.

"Tell me how it feels. Need to hear you. Wanna know I'm doing it how you need," he mumbles.

"Feels perfect," you whimper in return, "So fuckin' deep."

"Good. I only ever wanna make you feel good."

You nod, knowing it's the truth. "Anyone can hurt me, but only you know how to make me feel like this."

His eyes scrunch up at your words. He just feels lucky he has his face buried against your skin so you can't see. It had been just what he needed to hear. Boosting himself onto his knees a bit more to gain some leverage, he grips your hips and ruts against you with the slightest bit more force.

You whine at the soothing rhythm in which your bodies rock. The sense of satisfaction brought on from this took root in the deepest pit of your belly. You weren't gonna explode like you often did. Probably wouldn't scream or scratch up his back. But you could tell you were gonna cum hard.

Without saying it, he communicates he feels the same. His lack of usual dirty talk tells you everything you need to know. His cock stays nestled deep inside your pussy as he works you both to the edge. His face remains flush against your neck.

You cum first, and he follows right behind. You tighten up, toes curling and a high mewl echoing out of your throat. Your body shivers. He spills his release inside of you, his energy leaving with the sticky ropes of cum that fire.

He goes boneless on top of you, still cherishing the feeling of your skin on his. His breaths feel cool against your sweating skin.

"My baby," he sighs. His eyes flutter shut. He knows he has to pull out before he knocks out for a while, but he can do that in a second. He just needs a few more minutes of this.

You press a few kisses to the side of his head and rub his back. His hand slides between both your abdomen to touch the scars, reminding himself what he's capable of despite his current tenderness.

After a few moments, he pulls out and slumps to the side of you. You peck his lips and take the acquisition of space as a way to cool off. His eyes are drooping already. It feels good seeing him so relaxed. You kiss the space between his brows, then the bridge of his knows, and end on his lips.

"Sweet dreams," you whisper, wishing that would be enough to keep the nightmares at bay. At least for tonight.