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vatelixx · 13 days ago

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The enormity of my desire (disgusts me),

Very very early seasons (1 — start of 2) Spencer Reid x afab!BAU!reader

SMUT!! (and fluff, some angst in relation to Spencer’s past because it can never be too happy, we’re not allowed nice things here). first times & explorations of intimacy.

──── autistic spencer (it’s a central theme to the plot), reader is actually morally good (for once).

Warnings: sub spencer (what did u even expect?), heavy corruption kink, first time for Spencer (all i do is sit around and think about how i’d like to devirgin that genius), HEAAVY praise kink, very very inexperienced Spencer, slight? oral fixation, they’re both just rlly down bad (i told u i would write something light, i delivered), Reader is whipped, Spencer is sooo much worse. Biblical references, Religious imagery, i think i talk about math equations???? And random metaphors/complexes.

w.c: 4k

a/n: i rlly wanted to explore aspects of spencer that criminal minds swept under the rug (cough cough his undiagnosed autism, cough cough his social exclusion, cough cough his crippling fear of forever being alone). Next upload will prob be heavy angst/no smut post-prison spencer (god help me please, i must be a masochist for the way i make myself suffer)

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There’s a lot Spencer hasn’t done.

He knows he’s behind, that he never quite caught up when it came to the taboo of sex and intimacy. Everything, everything, he’s ever had has been centred around exclusion, alienation, he feels like he’s lived on pause. Frozen, never advancing, stuck on ‘go’. Touch isn’t easy for him, interpersonal relationships are worse. He’s different, god he’s heard that his entire life. ‘You’re not weird, you’re just… different’, but maybe he is weird. Maybe his whole existence is just one big cosmic fuck you, because he’s missed out on so much, so much that he can’t understand, comprehend, act out against. Falling behind; this is the only area of life where he continuously comes up short, inexperienced, naive, he’s not used to being incompetent.

He’s never experienced want the way others do. He could never just hook up, fall into the body of another, expose them to the vulnerable elements of his stature. Open himself up to scrutiny. He might be a genius, he might be intellectually advanced, accepted into a multitude of ivy leagues before he was old enough to vote, but there’s drawbacks to his success. Social awkwardness, an inability to blend, mould, be one of the crowd. Sometimes he wishes he was average, something grey and mundane, so far reduced from the person he is now— it would all be plainly simple.

But he’s not, he’s not. So, this is the weight he has to bare for the brain he never asked for.

Pyrrhic victory, he’ll always be renowned for his intelligence. ‘You’re going to change the world kid,’ maybe, but simultaneously, he’ll never get to experience said world. There’s a chance he’ll always be on the outside, watching normal people gravitate towards each other. Live dreary lives of domesticated simplicity. Stacked bills, arguments over money and parenting techniques. Going to bed angry, only to turn around, mid-night, and resolve it, to not sleep on bad blood. To take them off the couch, to settle into predestined sides of the mattress.

There’s not enough possessions in the world he’d sacrifice just to experience love.

Hedgehog dilemma, the challenges of human intimacy. The hedgehogs want to move closer, to preserve heat during cold. But, they are forced, biologically cursed to remain apart, in order to prevent themselves from harming each other. Spencer doesn’t want to be hurt, to hurt, it’s a morbid byproduct of his upbringing; all he ever endured was mockery.

He thought he’d never get to experience the physical, carnal aspects of existence. And sure, he made peace with the notion, accepted the consequences of being born atypical. Learnt to live without.

But then, oh then there was you. Pretty, intellectual you who quite literally tipped his world on it’s axis. Upheaved the most stable of routines. New to the BAU, he wanted you to last. To stay around, endure the worst of the job. If only for his selfish benefit of orbiting in your presence.

He remembers how it all started: Detroit, another case, more budget cuts, forced proximity that sent you spiralling into a shared bed for the night.

“You’re my favourite person in the team.” you admitted, “And I know that’s dumb, because we’ve spoken the least, but… you’re just, so you. That’s a good thing by the way, a really really good thing.”

He couldn’t quite believe you were talking about him. Spencer, who spilt coffee, and slipped into ceaseless tangents about obscure information. Spencer, who walked into walls when you were around, stumbling over his sentences before deftly, very astutely, giving up, walking away mid-conversation. He wore sweater-vests and colourful mismatched socks, it’s not like he was going to be crowned ‘white boy of the month’.

“Not dumb.” Spencer had responded, shifting closer to tangle further into the warm mess of this accidental situation. “That’s good. I like being me.” he mumbled. “Sometimes…. sometimes it sucks. But that’s okay. I think it’s okay?”

He moved to press his face into the crook of your neck, but you were faster, gathering him by tousled hair, forcing him to look you in the eye.

Oh.

“Please. Please.” he whispered, breaking apart, fracturing, “Please like me. And more than in a weird, ‘just friends or coworkers’ way.”

You did. You do. He should’ve kissed you then, but maybe he was scared, maybe he couldn’t quite discern his feelings, separate the logic from the emotional. So he waited, waited, waited until now. Your third date, you take him to an exhibition within a science centre: replica models of the solar system, filling rooms up, papier-mâché sculptures illuminated by light.

Best date ever. You listen, even when he’s rambling about planets, when he’s pointing out that yes, Jupiter’s density is less than water. That, technically, it would float in a bathtub, if one was built to accommodate its size. You don’t care that he’s not exactly the staple-piece for conventionally attractive males. That he’s nerdish, and awkward, and so so inexperienced when it comes to this.

In his apartment, later, much later, he looks at you, looks at you like you’re the one who just solved the fucking Riemann hypothesis.

“What do you want the most? Like,… if you could ask for one thing.” you say, and god, Spencer loves when you pose these deep, hypothetical questions. When you make him think, because you, you are the biggest challenge to his intellect yet.

You. He wants to say. But he settles for ‘Being remembered,’ instead. He works to untangle layers of fabric, your scarf, your jacket, letting out an exasperated laugh when he meets your amused gaze. “Right now though? I think I’d settle for kissing you.”

You cup his jaw, tracing your fingers along the sharp curve, and god he has perfect anatomy. “Settle huh? You should be more appreciative.”

He leans forward to press a chaste kiss against your lips. Drawing away for a moment, just to return because he’s never had this before. Because for the first time in his life, he gets it. He gets physical attraction, even if it took time. He’s kissed, been kissed, yes. But he could count those moments on one hand, and if you asked how many he truly enjoyed, he’d be left with no fingers raised.

“Believe me, i’m very appreciative…”

This isn’t like before, what he felt in the past; he expected something monotone, flighty, a brief fleeting moment of satisfaction. Means to an end. No, it’s actually the best thing he’s ever experienced, and he’s going to become so insufferable after this, because he’s just found out he is very very into kissing.

Correction: he’s very into kissing you.

In the moment between parting, and touching again, he assumes you to be divinity personified. Spencer has never been religious, but something of this magnitude should be canonised. He wants to ask you. Ask you when you became this beautiful. When you became the person he needs to kiss a second time, kiss a third time, kiss until his lips go numb.

A shaky inhale, a pause. “I hope… I hope that it was okay - I mean, it was good for me. Really, really good. Um—“ to be honest, he’s just glad he didn’t say thankyou.

“Yeah, Spence. That was… wow.” you draw your bottom lip between teeth, press into tissued flesh. Jesus Christ. “Wanna try again?”

Yes yes yes yes. He looks at you, pupils blown obscenely out of proportion. Part of him wants to say, ‘why didn’t we do this sooner?’ But that’s not fair; he’s only ready now. Now that he feels, now that he might be a little in love with you.

“Please,” is his answer, and then he’s catching your face in the palms of his hand, tugging your lips back to his, because admittedly, they have ached in the long, extensive period you were apart (53 seconds).

This time it deepens and Spencer sees stars. It’s an astronomical phenomenon, something interstellar— and god, he’s relating kissing to space. They should just tape the word ‘virgin’ to his back and call it a day.

There’s soft little breathy sighs escaping his mouth now, bleeding into yours. And yeah, spontaneous combustion might be a real threat. Actually no, it would hardly be spontaneous; there’s a clear, clear cause, and it just so happens to be your ruinous lips.

This is an entirely new facet of the human experience. The kiss is electric; he’s always been partial toward physics, and right now his veins carry an alternating current.

You know, he could probably write a thesis based on this.

You both stumble back back back until he’s hitting a wall, and yes, thankyou. He’s making all sorts of sounds he can’t justify, and it’s a supernova, an infinite black pool of— oh, he thinks he might die, ascend, transcend, when you press your thumb against his chin, hold your lips at just a little slant from his. Force him to wait there.

“Please,” he’s never been above begging. A worthy sacrifice, one he’ll certainly repeat again because you return to the kiss, and the world around him dissolves.

You’ve got one hand tangled in his hair. Tousled auburn, fingers sinking into strands, pushing all the way down to the root. The other is still cupping his face, keeping him close, keeping him selfishly close actually.

“Spence,” you murmur. And yes. Yes. He likes that. The way his name sounds rolling off your tongue, like it was destined to be there. Like he was destined to be yours.

His world is ending. So is yours. Fuck it, he presses himself against your thigh, and ohmygodohmygod. He’s being loud, he’s actually being so criminally loud right now because apparently he’s the most whorish virgin to ever exist.

“I lied, I lied,” he admits between messy kisses, “When you asked what I wanted the most? It’s not to be remembered, well it is, its on the list. But—“ he groans, kisses you again because talking interrupts matters that are more important. Like your lips.

“I wanna cum.”

Eloquent.

Spencer Reid being dirty? Oh, it’s hot, it’s so hot to reduce someone to such an obscene state. To reduce him, the boyish fumbling nerd (who just so happens to be the most beautiful person in existence) to such a degrading mess.

Still, there’s shock. Not because he said it (you greatly appreciate the indecent things falling from those pretty lips right now), but because—

“You’ve never? Haven’t even experienced it once? By yourself?”

He should be embarrassed, but his lips are red, his eyes are glassy, and the bulge in his pants is straining to be touched. “Never,” he sighs shakilly. “Never, and i’m— i’m starting to understand why it’s so popular.”

He whimpers, pushes himself against your thigh, because the friction, yes. “Is that weird? Please don’t think i’m weird. Because I’m really, really weird. Just maybe… not in that way?”

It’s never been enough. His body sometimes feels numb to the touch, and yet still so very overstimulated. Like he manually blocks himself from feeling, already prepared for the flinch. How does he explain that life hasn’t been kind to him? That he hates his body because of what people made it out to be when he was a child. Stripping him naked, tying him to a goalpost, always the underdog. The one to be targeted, tormented.

“It’s actually kinda hot,” you interrupt his thoughts, and just because you’re evil, corrupt, the worst, you press your thigh harder against his clothed cock, palm covering his mouth when a plethora of whiny sounds escape his mouth.

It’s performative, really. Alone in his apartment, there’s no need for noise control. So when your thumb slips between parted, swollen lips, he knows to suck. The average human hand has between 10,000 and 10 million bacteria, and Spencer does not actually give a fuck anymore.

“To think that you’ve never even felt what it’s like. That you’re gonna feel it with me for the first time. I get to see that shit— god, you’re going to look so fucking pretty for me.”

You draw your thumb out of his mouth, and he has the audacity to whine.

He’s never wanted anything more in his entire life. It’s all tertiary now. Only this matters.

“Please don’t praise me—“ he protests, “I’ll probably finish in my pants.”

“Praise kink, noted.”

You laugh, and he can only groan, curse existence for being this cruel to his overworked, undervalued body. “Don’t— don’t laugh. You’re not supposed to laugh, that can heighten performance anxiety. Increase insecurity, and…” he sighs, “You do not care. Sadistic tendencies, noted.”

“Shut up. Wanna see you.” you say, and he’s just muttering breathless mhm’s, too delirious to function; his body is betraying the last iota of self-control like the little whore it apparently is.

His sweater comes off first, then his top. Discarded fabric, his raised arms when you mutter a candid ‘up’, giving way to exposed skin. In response? Your pupils dilate. Spencer knows because he’s analysing, profiling. If you hate him like this, he’s fairly certain he’ll drag himself into a self-dug early grave. He wishes he was being melodramatic. That your approval didn’t have such a substantial impact on his carefully-constructed ego. But, oh, it does. It does.

Thin, with a long, defined torso, he blushes, rose blemished skin, when your hands drag across his stomach. He’d love to say he reacts sanely, suavely. Urbane to your touch. But that would be a total, discreditable lie. Instead, his back arches, seeking contact, following the path of your fingertips with pitiful desperation. He feels malleable, willing to bend and contort, if only to feel more.

“How can you not think you’re pretty, Spence?” His pants are gone next, then his stained boxers, fabric borderline sheer now, soaked through with pre-cum.

Spencer feels betrayed. His body never responds, not to his own hands, not to his own thoughts. And yet, the moment you’re on him, he’s a live-wire. It’s sick, heinous, double-crossing. Maybe it’s purposeful, done just to spite him. Figures.

“Holy shit, look at you. Look at how perfect you are.” Spencer wants to object, because he distinctly told you not to praise him. However,.. right now, the lights are on but nobody is home. Brain-death, he’s certainly in a vegetative state.

“Ohmygodohmygod,” he whimpers, because no amount of knowledge about human anatomy and physiology could prepare him for how he feels under your touch. No amount of education in the psychology of relationships could inform him of how viscerally wrong the way you look at him feels.

Because it’s not wrong, not all. It’s the most right he’s ever felt, and he’ll tell you that if you’ll just keep it up.

The sounds he’s making are phonographic, lewd, you’ve given up on trying to stifle them now. Where have you been hiding? Your eyes fall, and he wants to blush away from the exhibiting gaze, but he’s just…. too far gone; the thought of your touch outweighs any previous reticence. Then, oh then, you drop to your knees, and shit. He expected your thigh, maybe your hand if he was lucky, not—

This. Your mouth, your tongue, your pretty lips; god, god, is this a sin? Because if it is, he’ll take it.

“Please,” he whines, and he can’t look anymore because the sight alone is going to send him over the edge. He’s gripping the wall, scrambling scrambling for purchase, because he’s trying not to grip you, but how exactly does he keep this respectful?

He’s pretty sure they’re past that, considering your mouth is currently wrapped around his cock, and he’s debauched.

You want this, you want him, he feels like he’s transcended humanity, like he’s become someone, anyone and anything, that deserves the way you’re taking him apart, piece by piece. In the aftermath, he hopes you don’t leave a single ounce of him intact.

“Wanna kiss you. Oh— oh oh,” he’s sobbing now, “Come back here. Miss your mouth— even if it’s,” he looks down and that’s a mistake. “Please.”

Of course it would be Spencer to disrupt the best (and admittedly only) head of his life because he needs you closer.

You oblige, raising from your knees, and Spencer thinks it might be sacrilegious. But then again, he feels religion in your touch so it can’t be too profane. Maybe? He’s not sure, he’s not sure and it doesn’t matter. Ethics and morality have long since disintegrated, sins are engrained into humankind. He almost wants to thank Eve for tearing into the apple, because it’s allowed this irreverence to occur.

Spencer blindly follows you through the apartment, stumbling and muttering until he can collapse against the bed. Baring his pretty neck as his head hits the bedframe. Tangled in sheets, draped over his lap, his deft fingers run across your waist, mapping out the structure of your frame. If only to remember, recite this act of blasphemy.

“Spence,” you whisper, and then his lips are crashing into yours, stealing breath, stealing sanity. He whimpers, murmurs a protest when you draw back, and you can only laugh. “Lets get you off, yeah? You wanna feel an orgasm, pretty boy?”

“Yes, yes please. That would uh— yes.” he’s not even sure how he’s conscious right now. His body, god his body, has endured more pleasure in the last hour than it has for the majority of his life. Your hands scathe, and Spencer is willing to indefinitely burn, if just to feel them one more time.

You only stop to take off your clothes, and surely there needs to be prep? To reaffirm, he knows anatomy, the correct procedure, how the transgression is supposed to occur. And yet, that’s from a clinical, objective mindset. Do this, do that, etc etc. Nothing works out like that in practice.

You’re so wet, panties stained through, he spares a moment to run his fingers across your thighs, hand slipping beneath fabric to graze your clit. The moan that follows has him distracted, thumb tracing circlets, over and over until you’re pulling back to return the balance. The balance, which admittedly is skewed, tipped scales, you’re on top. He falls to the weight of your influence.

And yeah, he’s more than fine with that. Jesus, you drag your panties down, down your thighs, your legs, then they’re reaching your ankles, pooling there for a moment before they’re being discarded, tossed somewhere on his floor — leaving behind a souvenir that yes, yes this happened.

“I can’t,” he says, burying his face into your shoulder when you take him. It’s slow, sinking onto his cock like every inch of warmth will destroy him. Maybe it will. Maybe he doesn’t care, because he deserves this. He deserves to feel after so much repression.

Or maybe, maybe he’s just become the biggest slut known to mankind. Likely.

Your body presses against his, and he thinks he’s going to disintegrate, because he feels so good. He understands now, he understands why people do this. Why it’s integral to the function of most. This is the best day of his life. This. Is. The. Best. Day. Of. His. Life.

There’s this noise, this pathetically loud whimper when you start to roll your hips— and oh your body is wet against him, and you’re so tight, and it’s perfect because he doesn’t have to do anything.

He can just sit here, look pretty, and cry.

He knows he’s a giver, that he’d bleed himself dry for you. It’s a curse, he supposes: so willing to bend backwards for the satisfaction of the people he trusts. But, this is foreign, and he wants to watch you, aimlessly stare, dumb and empty-headed as you wield his body like a weapon. Turn him into something perniciously yours.

Spencer has no reference for what an orgasm is supposed to feel like, and yeah, he’s really good at guessing in these type of situations. Because he’s rolling his thumb over your clit again, and he wants to draw it into his mouth, to see you laid out across bedsheets, writhing, unable to do anything but suffocate him with your thighs.

You clench around him, back arched, releasing a series of strained moans. With one hand tangled in his dishevelled hair, the other pressed against his chest, your face contorts, your body stiffens. There’s no way his incessant whimpering just got you off?

Okay. So you like him desperate. Point taken.

“Please— please, wanna cum. Wanna feel it so bad,” he’s slurring over his words, sentences punctured by devastating whimpers. And look at him, asking for permission, waiting even though his body has been teetering on the edge for so long now.

“Shh, shh..” you press your forehead against his, and he melts. Reoccurring theme. His hand grips your jaw, thumb pushed firmly against your chin, keeping you close. “You wanna cum for me, baby? Gonna give me your first?”

“Mhm— mhm…” is all he can say. When you pick up your pace, he has to burrow his face into the crook of your neck, whimpers messy and broken off, suppressed against your warm skin.

“Oh. Oh…” he repeats, again. Like there’s anything else he could utter, because this is earth-shattering.

It’s the sun, and all eight planets combined, and the universe collapsing in on itself, and he’s bucking, squirming, releasing into you, spilling deep.

He sobs. Breaks down. Because it’s so so good, and he can’t believe he ever deprived his body of this.

Neediest whore to ever exist, apparently.

It takes him a while to come back. Longer to regain motor function, to sink into present day. Life, and expectations, and everything, everything, your touch eradicated.

“Just… just stay like this?” he asks, collapsing against your body after he’s drawn out of you. There’s mess, evidence of your ministrations, but cleanliness seems futile when he’s blissed out, caught in a post-orgasmic haze that yes yes yes he needed so badly.

You card your hands through his hair, watch the way he stares up at you, large, widened eyes, chin resting against your chest. “Hi,” he mutters dumbly.

“Spence,” Spence, Spence, Spence. He could drown himself in that nickname.

“Yeah?” he breathes out.

“You we’re so good—“

He rolls away from you, finding a home for his face in the pillow. “Stop. Stop.” he groans, “Don’t do that. You’re going to destroy me. I’m not… equipped for this, for you. Someone should just sedate me, put me out of my misery, a coma sounds like—“

He tilts his head to the side, relinquishing, “Okay. Sorry. Meltdown over. Can we shower? Then maybe do this again? Which will make the shower inconsequential, I suppose. There’s a new documentary I want to watch, and oh, you still haven’t seen the third Star Wars—“

He’s happy, content, over the fucking moon, to be silenced with your lips. “Yeah,” he murmurs, hand interlocking with yours as you both fall back against the mattress, “Let’s do this again.”

#criminal minds #spencer reid smut #sub spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #spencer reid #giving him the happiness he deserved #he is my roman empire #his excess trauma is also #my #roman empire #thank u and good night america #i’m not even american

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rqnarok · 2 months ago

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summary: make up sex with old man!logan.

cws/tags: smut, mdni! oldman!logan. insecure!logan. petnames. logan calls reader ‘kid’. jealous!logan. daddy kink. oral (f receiving). not proofread.

Logan can’t be ‘mad’ at you for more than a day. He just fucking can’t, alright?

He tried to keep his hands to his own as a protest of yesterday's quarrel. Logan still doesn’t know if it’s meant to be a punishment for you or himself.

The older man does know that when he’s jealous, he’s doing it in a self-destructive way.

How he isolates himself and avoids you instead - because he knows that he doesn’t deserve you. A fucking hundred-year-old something who’s angry all the time, who’s aloof to the world, and who’s pining over someone as pretty and young as you.

It fucking wound him too when he pretends nothing ever hurt him, that the way you laugh too loud at the guy’s jokes at the pub did not have any effect on him. That he had to pretend as if he’s not an insecure old man who just wants you all to himself by making things worse.

“C’mon.” It’s all that Logan could force out as he skims through whatever he’s pretending to read, ignoring the way his tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth in ferocity, “What’re you on, huh? Y’ve got no reason to throw a tantrum like this, kid.”

He sees the moments when your gaze changes, hurt bleeding into the orb, “You’re mean, Logan.” It wounds him - but this kind of confrontation is all he’s ever known.

Hell, he doesn’t even know why you decided to stay with him. He thought you’d leave in the middle of the night of the first month after figuring out how much of a failure of a man he is.

So when he goes back from his tiring work and still sees your figure cooking dinner for him in the kitchen, he fucking loses it. His breath gets stuck in his lungs as he watches you stroll around with one of his henley shirts, humming softly the tunes of your favourite song.

Maybe he’d use a different type of confrontation now—maybe he’d talk about his feelings more often. He’d do everything not to lose this sole sight: His pretty girl being so domestic that he can’t help but get so shamelessly hard.

The way he tried to gain composure and not to lose his coolness but fails miserably at the sight of his your shirt riding up to give him a good view of your perky ass as you reach something from the top cabinet.

Logan takes you by surprise when he wraps his arms around you, nipping and kissing the soft skin below your ear—his way to say sorry - it’s all my fault.

“Will ya’ forgive your old man, sweet girl?”

He hates how he sounded so unconfident - so different from his younger self.

But when you lean your back onto his chest and shyly nod, his worries are buried. Logan hauls you up with a smile, the bone-cracking sound reminds him of his old age. He rumbles in laughter when you squeal in surprise before spreading your thighs apart on the kitchen counter, pulling your legs around his head so he can eat his dinner.

His big nose drapes around your clothed pussy before groaning at the smell of you. Cursing himself from avoiding you yesterday when he could have had this. “Y’ve got such a pretty pussy, baby. ‘S mine, huh? My pussy.” He says as he takes off your panties.

The statement itself and the scratchy feel of his ragged beard made you arch your back from the rough surface, “A-ah, ‘s yours, Daddy.”

“Tha’s right.” Logan licks a stripe of your dampening pussy, deeply humming in delight when you let out a high-pitched whine and subconsciously locking your legs tighter to pull him closer. You trail your hands down and tug at his greying hair while he laps you up and fucks you with his tongue. Making you come undone in just a span of a short time.

Logan wipes his mouth and beard as he stands before you in quick breaths, looking at you all apologetically: I’msorry I’msorry I’msorry-

You’re teary-eyed, blinking up at him - whining for him to fuck you hard now - to make up his stupid faults.

Stupid old man who thinks he’s not worthy of you.

Logan groans as he tosses away his belt, holding the base of his cock as he teasingly drags the head on your wet folds, “Ssh. Let Daddy make it up t’ya, alright? Daddy’s gon’ give it to you now, baby.”

#logan howlett #deadpool and wolverine #logan howlett x reader #old man logan #old man!logan #old man logan x reader #logan howlett smut #wolverine smut #logan by nina <3

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escapism19 · 2 days ago

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I’ve been seeking a secret life of bondage for a long time, and I’ve been fantasizing about the start.

Perhaps, one day, a chat strikes up on an online platform. Plans are made to meet, and maybe they go a little something like this…

I have just arrived at the airport and I’m waiting for my Uber to take me to our arranged Airbnb. You’ve already ordered the car for me, I just have to wait for a black sedan with license plate VNG9411. Eventually they pull up, I wave politely and move to put my things in the trunk.

The driver stops me, a little too harshly. He softens immediately and offers to do it for me. I agree and climb into the backseat.

He returns to the driver’s seat and we leave the airport.

He makes small talk. What am I doing in town?

Meeting a friend.

Oh? New or old?

New.

You meet online or something?

Yes.

You’re not exactly forthcoming. You know I’m driving us to our destination here… maybe you should be a little nicer to me.

I look up, shocked, and try to scrutinize my driver for the first time. He looks away from the rear view mirror before I can catch his eye. I saw a flash of grey in his eyes. He has salt and pepper hair. Tall… clean. A casual outfit: jeans and a tshirt.

Excuse me?

You heard me.

I’m not sure what to say…

You could apologize.

I think that’s asking a bit much.

Is it?

Suddenly the driver takes an exit by cutting over two lanes. We narrowly miss a Subaru.

Hey!

He doesn’t answer. He drives us to the middle of nowhere, parks. And waits. After I can’t take the silence I ask,

What are we doing?

He doesn’t respond, just gets out of the car and into the backseat.

Hey!

You smile at me and now that I’ve met your eye, I know. You didn’t order an Uber.

You’re on top of me now, pressing a hand over my mouth and grabbing my wrist to take control. I pretend to struggle and I mmphh into your hand.

You should’ve been nicer to me.

You take your hand from my mouth and pull my beanie off my head, shoving it into my bewildered mouth. I mmph again. You pull my scarf from my neck and begin wrapping it around my wrists.

Once I’m tied, you tell me to wait here. You get out of the car and open the trunk.

Now I understand why you were so harsh.

Back in the car with a small duffel bag, you pull out a handful of bandannas right as I’m spitting my hat out of my mouth.

I start calling for help out the window and you react just as I want you too. From behind me you pull one of the bandannas between my teeth and swiftly knot it behind my head. The next one is pulled over my mouth, further silencing my little mmpphs. The next bandanna is pulled over my eyes before you wrap me in your arms.

I’m moaning, squealing, when you clap a hand over my gagged mouth. Your other hand falls on my breast.

Are you going to behave or do I have to chloroform you for the rest of the ride?

Exhilarated at the prospect, I start writhing in your arms. You grip tighter and I relish your touch.

You let go and I sit obediently and wait. You pull me back into your arms and press a soaked handkerchief over my mouth. I struggle again and try not to breathe in the fumes for as long as possible.

You’re rubbing my body in all the right ways with your other hand while I writhe. But too soon I’m asleep.

The next thing I barely remember is being carried by you. And after that, I’m awake in a chair. My mouth is free but I’m in the dark. Silk is over my eyes.

Hello? Are you the-

And you’ve been waiting for this moment right behind me.. more silk is pulled between my teeth and you promise me the best weekend getaway is just beginning.

I’ll continue the fantasy in another post. Any takers on a weekend getaway?

23 notes · View notes

gloomwitchwrites · 4 months ago

Note

secret baby trope with tf141? 😌😌

Anon! OH. MY. GOOOOOD. I love this. I love this. I love this. Secret baby? Yes, please. I adore this trope. I bow down to you for requesting this. I don't know who you are but I wish that I did. I can absolutely get behind a secret baby trope. I actually read a book recently that was a bit like that and I enjoyed it so so much.

I had an absolute blast putting this one together. Seriously. You totally indulged me here. Thank you!!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): swearing, suggestive themes, stalking, possessive behavior, second chances, pregnancy / unplanned pregnancy, parenthood, reunions, light angst

Word Count: 2.3k

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Kyle relaxes further into the couch. The air around him is slightly smoky.

He brings his vape to his lips and takes a hit. The action is calming, and that’s exactly what he wants. Kyle is rotting, and it feels fucking good.

Between missions, Kyle is always somewhere, but right not there is no reason for him to do anything. He can relax. He can watch reality television, eat himself to sickness, and wank off until his wrist hurts.

It’s bloody fucking brilliant.

Kyle isn’t attached. He has no kids. The only responsibility required of him is the one he has to himself. Which is why he’s splayed out on the couch in nothing but grey sweatpants and his vape. The television is on, and the volume is low. It’s mostly for background noise. Kyle isn’t really paying attention to it.

With a vape in one hand and his phone in the other, Kyle scrolls through his contacts. There are all the usual people there, but there are also a slew of general acquaintances and a long list of people he’s had it off with but never took anything further.

He pauses at one name, and old memories resurface.

They just happen upon him. Kyle doesn’t drag them up from the depths. They linger there, and Kyle remembers all the fun he had with you.

You were just a small fling. A few lengthy but deliciously good fucks that tops most of the sex he’s ever had in his life. There have been times since he last saw you—over a year now—that Kyle has thought about what could have been.

You were sweet. A potential partner. But Kyle didn’t follow through. He would regret it, but things can’t be taken back. There is no turning back the clock to change what has already occurred.

Kyle’s thumb hovers above the screen.

He shouldn’t. He really fucking shouldn’t.

But he does. Because why not?

Switching over apps, Kyle starts scrolling social media. He doesn’t usually give a shit about what’s happening in people’s lives, but he is curious about you. What are you up to? What are you doing? If you’re not attached, maybe he could call you up, rekindle what was once there.

You don’t have him blocked on anything—thank fuck—and Kyle delves into your socials, exploring your life. At first, the small infant in your arms is nothing to him, but then the tiny human keeps reappearing, and Kyle pauses.

Kyle scrolls a bit more. And stops.

Just three—no—four months ago, there are a slew of friends and family congratulating you on the birth of your son.

Your…son.

Kyle thinks back. Does the math in his head.

“Fuck,” he mutters, sitting up, gaze glued on the screen.

He scrolls back, studying every photo where your son is featured. Kyle’s heart slams in his chest. The features Kyle sees are features he sees every time he looks in the mirror.

“Fucking hell,” groans Kyle, the phone nearly slipping from his hands as he slumps back against the couch.

Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you contact him?

The very thought of you not reaching out doesn’t sit well with him. It sits heavy in his stomach.

“Fuck,” says Kyle, switching over to his contacts.

He finds Simon’s number and taps the call button.

It rings on the other end, and Kyle doesn’t think that he’ll answer. But he does.

“Kyle,” comes Simon’s gruff voice.

Kyle sighs. “I need you to track someone down for me.”

John Price

John doesn’t like cutting off contact with people.

He likes to keep in touch, even if it’s just an acquaintance. But things happen, like a fucked phone with no way to retrieve contacts, and the only people he’s able to retrieve are those he sees on a regular basis.

Your number is gone. And John has no way to get it back.

Legally that is. He could try and find you in the system. What information he has is minimal, but then again, the two of you only had a one-night stand. He’s prone to it since he’s never in one place. Always moving around.

John would like to settle down one day, but his work is his life, and it just doesn’t seem possible to have a family and be consistent with them when he’s constantly called away.

He chews it over while sitting in his office. It’s late, and there isn’t anyone else here but him. Late nights like this are calming to him—a time to process away from the events of the day. John has your first name, where you might live, and a general idea of what your number is. But he isn’t certain, and it’s hardly enough to go on.

Sighing, deciding he’d rather find you than not, John turns on his computer. It takes a while to get the classified systems he has access to. No one tracks what he does on here, and no one will think twice if they do happen to look. John runs lots of names and faces through this system.

John waits. Ponders. Enters in different spellings and every possible clue to try and seek you out. With every new search, John begins to lose hope. He might be completely fucked. Completely at a loss.

If this doesn’t work, he might not ever see you again. And for some goddamn reason, that bothers him.

He tries one last time, expecting nothing, only for his heart to drop into his stomach,

“There you are,” he murmurs, leaning forward, gaze sweeping over your passport photo.

Grabbing a piece of paper, John jots down your phone number and current address. He also notes your top place of employment. You might not be there anymore, but that isn’t an issue. He has enough.

John shuts off his computer and grabs his coat. He’ll try to reach out first by phone and go from there.

“You have the wrong number, bud.”

The man’s southern drawl irks John. “You sure?”

“Yeah I’m fucking sure. Quit calling.”

John frowns as the line goes dead. The number on file isn’t recent.

“Fuck,” mutters John, running his hand through his hair.

This is getting him nowhere. The only other option is showing up at your home or place of employment, but he can’t do that unless he’s on scheduled leave. That’s months away.

And each month is fucking agony.

When John finally makes it to your front door, nervousness sets in. This is completely fucking weird. Who the fuck shows up at someone’s door months after a one-night stand? Him apparently.

But fuck it. He’s here.

Either he does this and things go great, or things go to shit and he doesn’t need to worry about it anymore.

John takes a deep breath, and then pounds on the door. He takes a step back, hands in his pockets as he waits. There is a stretch of silence, and then he hears it—the turn of a deadbolt.

The door swings open, and there you are, just as beautiful from when he first saw you. At first, your brow scrunches in confusion, and then your eyes widen.

“John,” you breathe.

He smiles, and then his gaze drops as your hand moves away from the doorknob to land on your stomach. Your belly is round. Protruding. You’re—oh shit.

“Is that—”

“Yours?”

Fuck.

John glances up into your eyes and swallows.

You shift on your feet, one hand resting against the doorframe.

“It is,” you confirm.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon shouldn’t. Really—it’s fucked up. Wrong.

But he does it anyway because there is no fucking way he’s letting you go even if he has to watch from afar.

He’s done a lot of things he isn’t proud of, and losing you is near the top of the list. Not that he blames you for breaking it off. You had every right. Simon is always gone. Always away. And he rarely thought of you when he came home.

Communication can be a difficult thing for him. He knows this, and yet he couldn’t make an effort to do better with you. It wounds him. It does. Like a sharp blade to the gut.

But that is secondary now. Simon has dismissed it.

Sure, you’re not truly his now, but you’ll come back to him. He’ll make sure of it.

In the dark, Simon watches. Before him is a slew of screens and all of them show different angles of your home. Simon also has your phone tapped, and in another window, he can lurk through your messages and emails.

It’s where he first learned you were pregnant.

You know, and haven’t told him. Haven’t reached out in the slightest. Simon has to see all the results and tests come back via your email. He has to log into your medical portal to access specific things which is goddamn frustrating but he needs to know.

You are fucking pregnant. With his child.

It’s growing in your belly.

Even through the camera feed, Simon can see the swell of your stomach. He wants to be there, to stand beside you, and rest his hand against it. He wants to feel his son kick. Because you are carrying his son in your belly. Simon saw the results.

It’s fucking painful watching you like this.

He’s stayed away for a bit. Not engaging.

But you’ve broken it off before, and came back eventually.

Simon just needs an in again. All he has to do is figure it out, and then he can put away these fucking screens and surveillance. He can be by your side and be there when you give birth.

Leaning back in his chair, Simon observes every screen, his palm rubbing against his thigh as he considered his options.

He has to play this right.

He has to.

John "Soap" MacTavish

“Do you think you’ll ever find your woman again?”

Johnny grins behind his pint glass. “If she’s here,” he replies.

The beer is perfectly cold and goes down easily. It’s refreshing since it’s so bloody hot outside.

Johnny didn’t think he’d ever come back to the little seaside town. He came between missions—a way to relax and get away for a bit. With only a few hundred residents, it seemed like the perfect place. What he didn’t expect was to meet a woman that upended his fatigue and made him glow a little brighter.

He learned your name while exploring a local pub. You were a pretty thing. Caught Johnny’s eye immediately. With several beers fueling him, Johnny struck up a conversation, and you were receptive to his charm—melting like butter over fresh toast.

That evening, the two of you jumped from pub to pub, having a bloody good time. It was fucking magical. Afterward, the two of you ventured back to Johnny’s hotel room. But the two of you didn’t have sex. It wasn’t until the next morning that Johnny actually fucked you.

Johnny had presented himself, you slid right into his arms. The hotel bed was well-used. There wasn’t a moment after that Johnny didn’t have his dick inside you. He kept you full and screaming his name for an entire fucking week.

But when that week was up, the two of you parted ways. You gave Johnny your number, and for a couple months, you were consistent in your texts and phone calls. Then it all changed, and you began to contact him less frequently.

Eventually, you didn’t talk to Johnny at all.

He was hurt at first. He tried to reach out. But Johnny didn’t hear a thing—and he left you to it. Maybe someone else arrived into your life. Johnny can respect that even if he doesn’t exactly like it.

It sucked then. And it still pains him a bit now. Johnny liked you when you left—and if he’s being entirely honest with himself—he still fucking likes you.

Maybe you’ll be here. Maybe you won’t.

Kyle is with him this time. A guy’s trip. Price isn’t one for vacations, and Simon has his own shit going on.

“We could try that pub again,” suggests Kyle. “See if she’s there.”

Johnny shrugs. “Maybe.”

“Did she live here?” asks Kyle.

Johnny nods. “Aye. Sure did.”

Kyle bobs his head. “We’ll find her.”

The two of them sit outside a small pub. The air is laced with salt from the ocean, and the sun is out, shining bright. It’s hot, but it’s a beautiful fucking day.

Johnny hums in agreement, bringing his pint glass back to his lips. For a moment, Johnny glances away from Kyle, looking out across the road where people walk along the pavement. He frowns.

Is that?

No. Can’t be.

His focus becomes a tunnel, and all he can see is the woman across the road. It’s you. There is no doubt. He knows that body, that hair and smile. You haven’t changed all that much. Not really.

There is another woman with you—a friend that Johnny met briefly before you and him went off on your own.

But that isn’t what has Johnny’s attention.

You’ve turned, and Johnny can see a swell to your stomach. Your hand cradles it affectionately.

“What is it?” asks Kyle, but his voice is distant.

“That’s her,” murmurs Johnny, his pint glass lowering back to the table.

You don’t see him. You’re chatting with your friend, features animated. The curve in your stomach is fairly large, and a deep twisting in his stomach arises, moving toward his throat.

“Oh fuck,” says Johnny as Kyle shifts to look in the direction Johnny is staring.

“Is that?”

“It fucking is.”

“She’s fucking pregnant.”

Johnny swallows. “Aye.”

He doesn’t want to admit it, but it’s likely the fucking truth. The baby is probably his. No wonder you stopped talking to him. Maybe you thought it best to cut off contact when you found out.

But that doesn’t sit right with him either. If you had told him, Johnny could have been there for you sooner—not finding out like this.

You throw your head back and laugh, playfully hitting your friend’s arm as she says something funny. When you wipe at your face, clearing tears, your gaze shifts, and all the humor leaves your face.

You’re staring right at Johnny.

And he’s staring back.

taglist:

@km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath

@enarien @saoirse06 @ferns-fics @unhinged-reader-36 @miss-mistinguett

@ravenpoe67 @tulipsun-flower @sageyxbabey @mudisgranapat @ninman82

@lulurubberduckie @leed-bbg @yawning-grave81 @azkza @nishim

@haven-1307 @voids-universe @itsberrydreemurstuff @spicyspicyliving @keiva1000

@littlemisscriesherselftosleep @greeniegreengreen @umno-yeah @blackhawkfanatic @talooolaaloolla

@sadlonelybagel @kadeeesworld @iloveslasher @sammysinger04 @dakotakazansky

@suhmie @jaggersinclair @jackrabbitem @lxblm @beebeechaos

@no-oneelsebutnsu @kidd3ath @certainlygay @thewulf @lovely-ateez

@whisperwispxx @gingergirl06 @eternallyvenus @smileykiddie08 @arrozyfrijoles23

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wonderjanga · 2 months ago

Text

Biblical Marvel

This is connected to the Revival post. If you don’t want to go find that, let me give a quick summary of it. In that post, Mary and Freddy die a lot in their Marvel forms. As a result of this, Billy has to revive them a lot. It honestly stresses the poor boy out too because at the end of the Revival post, Billy finds some grey hairs. So, yeah.

Anyways, so people think Marvel is god sent in human form to protect them. (Let me also connect this to the Billy is Really Old post too. In that post, Billy has been a hero since 1940.) It explains why he hasn’t aged over the almost 80 years of him being a hero. Not only that but once, a homeless person asked him to turn water to wine, and he did, though that’s more a of Jesus thing.

Speaking of Jesus, some people think Mary and Junior are Jesus split in two. I mean, Mary has blue eyes (from C.C.) and brown hair (From Marilyn) for Christ’s sake. Not only that but her name is Mary. Maybe Jesus/Mary is honoring his/her mother. And as for Junior, maybe Mary took the looks and he took the gender?

Marvel: *sorting through letters and replying to a bunch of fan mail while sitting at a table in the kitchen.*

Wonder Woman: *Sitting next to him, eating ice cream*

Flash: *zips over and is now leaning on Marvel’s shoulder looking at the fan mail* “Dude, is that fan mail?”

Marvel: “Yup.” *finishes replying to a letter and putting it in the ‘done’ pile*

Flash: “How do even get fan mail? Do they know your address or something?”

Marvel: “Whiz Kid.” *picks up a super fancy looking letter*

WW: “Pardon?”

Marvel: “Whiz Kid. He gets them, and then he gives them to me.” *opens fancy letter*

Flash: “Wait, that little dude who does the radio show?”

Marvel: *Doesn’t like being called little but thinks it would be weird for him to defend himself while in Marvel form* “…Yeah… That ‘little’ dude.” *Takes out letter and reads it before sighing*

WW: “What’s wrong?”

Marvel: “The pope asked me to dinner again.” *sighs again and puts letter down on table to slouch and spin in his chair like a depressed little kid* “Now I gotta think of another excuse.”

WW: “The pope? As in the Catholic pope?” *eats bite of ice cream*

Flash: *looks to WW* “You know who the pope is?”

WW: *looks to Flash* “Yes? Flash, I may be from Themyscira, but I’m not completely ignorant of man’s world.” *looks to Billy* “If you don’t mind me asking, why don’t you want to go?”

Marvel: *shrugs as he slows his spinning to a stop, having came up with an excuse. Picks up letter and starts replying* “I don’t know. Do you want to have dinner with a guy you’ve never met?”

WW: “I see. I suppose not.” *goes back to eating ice cream*

Mary: *Watching a show on a TV in Mount Justice*

Robin!Tim: “Mary? Could you help me with something?”

Mary: *pauses show* “Huh? Yeah sure.” *flies over to Tim* “What’s the problem?”

Robin!Tim: *sitting at the kitchen at the counter with a laptop* “Can you tell me everything you know about angels? I’m writing a paper about it for school.”

Mary: “Oh. Uh, sure?” *Proceeds to talk Tim’s ear off for the next 15 minutes about angels and their different types and personalities and such*

Robin!Tim: *finishes paper* “Thanks a lot.” *closes computer and hops off chair*

Mary: “No problem, but why’d you ask me specifically? Why not use the internet?”

Robin!Tim: “Aren’t you like the primary source?” *heads back to his room*

Mary: *confused*

*Captain Marvel flies down and asks to pet a woman’s dog when all of a sudden, a mother holding a child runs up to him*

Mother: “Please cure my child!” *holds child out to him* “You can perform one of your miracles, right? Please!”

Marvel: “What?” *looks between Mother and child.*

Child: *looks really sick*

Marvel: *gets concerned at the sick child* “You haven’t taken him to a hospital?”

Mother: “It’s too expensive! Please! Just this once.”

Marvel: “Uuuuuuuuuuuhhhhh…” ‘Solomon! Help me!’

Solomon: ‘Repeat after me, Billy’ *proceeds to rattle off healing spell*

Marvel: *repeats spell and heals child*

Mother: “Oh, thank you! Thank you!” *hugs child tight* “I’ve never been much of a religious nut, but now I’ll have to start believing more. Thank you so much!”

Marvel: *Little confused by sudden mention of religion* “Your welcome? Have a good day, miss.” *floats off the ground, giving her a little wave before flying off*

*Freddy is hanging outside one of a meeting rooms in the Watchtower because he wasn’t allowed in due to the face he looked like a kid. He’s now talking to someone on the phone.

Junior: *talking on a phone he magicked from God knows where while floating a foot or two off the ground*

Kid Flash: *bored out of his mind, leaning against a wall, standing next to him cause he also wasn’t allowed in for the same reason*

Junior: *ends call*

Kid Flash: “Who were ya talking too?”

Junior: “My friend, Cain.”

Kid Flash: “What, like bible Cain?” *was joking*

Junior: “Yup.” *didn’t realize he was joking*

Kid Flash: “What seriously? The Cain from the Bible? The Cain that stabbed his brother? The Cain that’s immortal because he stabbed his brother?”

Junior: “Yup.” *starts typing on phone, a little too nonchalant about the conversation*

Kid Flash: “And Cap just lets you be friends with him?”

Junior: “Uh yeah? Why wouldn’t he? You know he’s friends with him too, right?”

Kid Flash: “Wait really? Shouldn’t they hate each other or something?”

Junior: “No? Cain’s pretty chill.”

Kid Flash: *blinks a couple times at that* “Huh.” *he seems a little surprised*

*The meeting ends and the heroes file out of the meeting room before Kid Flash can ask another question*

#billy batson #captain marvel dc #dc captain marvel #shazam #fawcett #fawcett city #fawcett comics #freddy freeman #mary batson #mary bromfield #wonder woman #diana prince #the flash #barry allen #kid flash #wally west #captain marvel jr #mary marvel

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princessbrunette · 10 months ago

Note

sleepy n thinkin ab using rafe while he’s on game!!

he’s too focused to care that you’re just so needy for him, whining and crying because you want him so bad till it gets to the point where you’re splayed in front of him, panties gone n rubbing yourself on his bulge just to feel a little bit better!!

⛸️✧˖°❅🤍

something about his nonchalance only further riles you up. he dodges around your head when you straddle him— hot in the face and teary eyed. you’d become tired of being ignored, but that romantic sickness that swirled in your stomach betrays you, and you miss him despite his presence being so close physically. he’s right there, but he hasn’t so much as glanced at you in hours.

his bulge presents itself to you. it’s always there, thick and prominent in any pair of slacks he wears, even clear in the old pair of grey sweatpants he wears to bed. you wondered why rafe never would be caught dead in the casual garment, being such a popular clothing item to sport among guys his age — and aside from his attachment to old money and being a ‘grown man’, maybe he wouldn’t wear sweatpants out doors because he was afraid of showing too much. after all, you could practically see each vein in his cock through the material.

if ignoring you for a screen wasn’t enough, he wears a headset today too. he’s not even a gamer, he wouldn’t call himself one anyway — viewing it as a hobby to be juvenile and time wasting. however; he was a sucker for 2K, coarse thumbs dashing across joysticks as he swears into the mic, undoubtably bossing topper or kelce about, telling them to pull their weight. classic rafe.

your legs are split either side of him as you find solace in the warm skin of his neck, peeking from the blue t-shirt he wears. he doesn’t mind you, it’s nothing he’s not used to anyway — your clingy and grabby ways catching up with you after an evening of being pretty much ignored for his friends and virtual characters on a screen. you’ve soaked yourself, it’s embarrassing really — how much watching your boyfriend relax and blow off steam can rile you up. like previously mentioned, it’s the lack of acknowledgment too. at this point, you’d do anything to appoint the attention to yourself.

“careful, baby.” is all he offers, barely opening his mouth to say it as he concentrates on the screen. you respond with a pleased hum as you grind on his bulge and he adjusts his headset, sitting up a little straighter with paranoia that his friends might hear. despite this, he continues to play — and you continue to hump him.

it’s clear it feels good for him too, because whilst he outwardly ignores you— he leans back, licking his lips and bucking his hips ever so slightly to adjust his seating, eyes glued to the screen. he even continues to boss his friends around through his headset, but you’re refusing to ignore the way his voice comes out just that bit breathier and slower, playing a little worse on the screen.

he knows when to call it quits on the game — and it’s when you really start putting on a show. you sit back, feet pressed onto the bed as you spread your knees wider — displaying your cunt fully to him as you grind, letting your pleased whimpers free without a care for his friends hearing. you tune in to what he’s saying through the mic as he speaks his farewell.

“alright — hey, i’m goin’. my girls — shutup, topper — my girl needs me. don’t expect you suckers to understand. yeah whatever bro.” you’re not sure what he’s responding to and you don’t care, only whining when your folds audibly part, your stickiness calling to him.

he yanks the headset off his head and looks down on you with a glassy gaze and parted lips.

“you wanna be heard. that right?”

“no, just want you.” you combat pathetically, panting like a puppy as you hump on your boyfriend.

“yeah…” he drawls, grasping a thick handful of your hip, lips shining from his tongue’s coat in the darkened hue of his bedroom. “you want attention. tha’s what you fuckin’ want.”

you pout at this, wishing he’d drop the mean act for just a moment. you can usually work it out of him, keep pleasing him ‘til he breaks — getting soft and sometimes even silly on you. you roll your hips, inspiring a low hum from him now as he helps you along with two hands on your ass.

“maybe i just missed you, rafey.” you groan, high pitched and bordering on pornagraphic. his nose scrunched when his lips part, eyes fixated on the way your folds part around the girth of his shape in his sweatpants.

“so god damn fuckin’ sexy.” he speaks through gritted teeth, and in a split flash you’re on your back — rafe hovering above you with strong greedy hands pinning you down. “gettin’ off on my lap. who’d you think you are, hm?” he hums, taking the lead as he noses at your jaw. there’s a faint clattering of his headset sliding off the sheets but you ignore it, lost in the moment.

“think m’your girl.” you daze, and if there’s any message your boyfriend drills into your head, it’s that his girl is allowed to take what she wants. even from him.

“got that right.” he’s fighting his sweatpants down with one hand, shoving your thighs open with the other. you didn’t need any preparation today, the art of being purely ignored for a game had gotten you as wet as they come.

⛸️✧˖°❅🤍

#anon #rafe cameron prompt

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wolvietxt · 3 months ago

Text

💭 thinking about…

𝗅𝗈𝗀𝖺𝗇 𝗁𝗈𝗐𝗅𝖾𝗍𝗍 𝗌𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗅𝗒 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗎𝗉 𝗍𝗈 𝖺𝖿𝖿𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇!

pairing : logan howlett x fem!reader warnings : hurt / comfort, crying reader, awkward logan, age gap, mentions of jean + scott, perspective shifts, sunshine x grumpy, implied mutant!reader wc : 1.4k

it’s late afternoon, and the sky is streaked with shades of orange and pink. you’re sitting on a bench in the park, your usual radiant energy noticeably dimmed. your cheeks and nose are flushed, and your soft sniffles seem to almost echo around. the gentle rustling of leaves and distant chatter of passersby fills the air, but you seem to be lost in your own thoughts.

you’ve had a silly little crush on logan for a long time. it’s so stupid really. it started when you moved into xavier’s school for gifted youngsters as a teacher. you were only a few years older than some of the students, so to be in such a position felt like an honour. logan showed you around right at the start. he wasn’t the kindest, nor the most talkative, but he was by far your favourite. the vanilla - pine - woody musk that emanated off of him had you starry eyed from the beginning. you could tell very quickly that logan wasn’t an extroverted person, but he still cared for the people around him. you saw it in the small gestures like how he restocked cans of storm’s favourite soda and how he made sure that charles always woke up to a mug of tea. how you craved the same kind of attention from him.

but he’s so much older than you, and you suspect he still only has eyes for jean grey, even though she’s been gone a long time. in desperation, you’ve even attempted to emulate her, getting quieter around logan and trying to seem calmer in general. it didn’t work. in fact it did the opposite, he seems even more distanced from you. you’ve invited him round for beers or to watch a new movie you heard him talking to scott about, but he declined all of your offers time and time again. the next day, you overheard him ask scott if he wanted to come round and watch the same movie at his place. god, you’ve never felt so humiliated in your life. he must have a problem with you, but you could never put your finger on why.

you seem to have tried everything - bright smiles, thoughtful gestures, and endless attempts to joke around with him. you’d always believed that if you just kept at it, eventually, logan would see how much you cared for him. but lately, it feels as if you’d been trying too hard, pushing too much, and getting nowhere. your heart feels heavy, burdened with the unspoken fear that maybe you’re just annoying him.

tears begin to well up in your eyes as you recall all the times he’s brushed you off or grumbled at your attempts to get close. you knows he’s not one for affection, but you can’t help wondering if he might never return your feelings. you’re probably just being stupid, thinking that you could melt his cold exterior. a single tear escapes, tracing a path down your cheek. you quickly wipe it away, hoping no one would notice.

but he doesn’t hate you. he couldn’t hate such a sweet thing like you. he’s noticed how you seem overly affectionate in general, but more reserved with him. so has scott. scott seemed to think it was because you had a crush on him and were trying to impress him.

“c’mon logan! you must’ve seen the way she looks at you!” “i have no idea what you’re talking about summers.”

he’d mentioned it over beers back when the thought hadn’t even occurred to logan. a woman like you could never like a man like him. he was always under the impression that it was a one-sided crush, that he was forever destined to be alone. you were fully aware of the things he’d done in his couple hundred years of life. you were much too good for him :( too cheerful and smiley for a grumpy old man.

logan spots you from a distance, your usually happy presence now strangely subdued. he’s used to you being the one to approach him, always with a smile and some kind of cheerful comment. but today, you seem… small. vulnerable, even :(

he’s about to walk away, dismissing it as another one of those feelings he doesn’t want to deal with, but something stops him. maybe it’s the way your shoulders are hunched, or the way you keep wiping at your face. are you crying? the thought unsettles him more than he’d like to admit. he doesn’t do well with emotions - especially not other people’s. but for some strange reason, the idea of you being upset tugs at something deep within him.

steeling himself, he walks over and sits beside you, keeping a respectful distance. you don't notice him at first, too lost in your own thoughts.

“what’s wrong?” he asks, his voice gruff but not unkind. it’s a simple question, but it takes all his willpower to ask it.

you startle at his voice, quickly wiping your eyes. “nothing. i’m fine,” you say, forcing a watery smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. how embarrassing. he already hates you and now he has to see you cry too? you feel terrible for him, and for yourself.

logan frowns. he’s not very good at this, but even he can tell that something’s off. “doesn’t look like nothing,” he mutters, trying to soften his usual harsh tone.

you glance up at him, surprised by the concern in his voice. it’s rare for him to ask you anything, let alone how you’re feeling. for a moment, you consider telling him everything. but then you hesitate. what if he’s just being silly? what if he doesn’t really care? as if he can see into your mind, he softly places a hand on your shoulder and whispers, “there is nothing you could say that would make me stop caring.”

you felt the burning of your waterline filling up again as soon as the words left the tip of his tongue.

“it’s so stupid,” you finally admit, your voice trembling slightly. “i just… i feel like I’m always the one trying, you know? like i’m annoying everyone all the time. and maybe i am. i don’t wanna be a bother, but sometimes… sometimes it feels like nobody cares at all.”

you look away, embarrassed by your own vulnerability. the silence between you two is heavy, and you wonder if you’ve made everything even worse by opening up to him.

logan feels like he’s been punched in the gut. even with his limited emotional range, he can assume you’re mostly talking about him. everybody else is quick to reciprocate your attention. everyday he feels like you’re curled up with someone new. he wishes it could be him. he’s never been good with words, especially not the ones that matter, but he never in a million years meant to contribute to you feeling like this. he’s spent so long building walls around himself that he didn’t realise how much they’ve been hurting you.

“y/n…” he starts, his voice rough with emotion. “i’m not… very good at this. at any of this. i’ve been alone for a very long time, and i guess… i don’t know how to show you that i care. but i do. much more than you know.”

he hesitates, searching for the right words. “you’re not a bother. you never have been, not to me, not to anyone. i just… it’s hard for me to open up. but that doesn’t mean i don’t… that i don’t appreciate you. i do. a lot.”

it’s not the most perfect confession, but it’s honest. he hopes it’s enough.

you turn to him, your eyes wide with surprise. you can see the sincerity in his expression, the awkwardness of a man trying to navigate unfamiliar territory. it’s more than you would ever expect to hear from him, and your heart swells with an unknown feeling.

you reach out, gently placing your hand on top of his. “thank you,” you whisper, your voice full of warmth. “that means more to me than you know.”

logan stiffens at the contact but doesn’t pull away. instead, he squeezes your hand awkwardly, a silent promise that he’s going to try. it’s a small gesture, but to you, it’s everything.

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flippinpancakes64 · 3 months ago

Note

Hello! I love your stuff and I wanted to request their response to:

Reader: Let me take care of you.

Them: It's rotten work...

Reader: Not to me...not if it's you.

Keep writing! You're amazing! (And I need something to read while I stay up)

Taking care of the Cullens

Ok ngl this ask has me giggling and kicking my feet

Jasper let me take care of you 😡😭❤️

Uhm and remember in my request rules thing where I said I don’t do narratives… i might be a big fat liar cause that’s what I did here… don’t come for me

And thank you so much for the kind words! Thank you for requesting and I hope you enjoy!

Edward:

We all know he has a bit of a complex when it comes to his worth and his humanity

He tends to get in his own head a lot

Especially when it comes to you and your relationship

He doesn’t really get jealous in the normal sense

He just sort of gets sad when he sees you with other people

It’s one day after school and Edward seems to be avoiding you. You’re sitting at the table with Emmett, Alice, Esme, and Jasper playing a card game.

Only Edward is nowhere to be found.

The game finishes, Alice winning and Emmett immediately going into ranting mode about how it’s rigged. You excuse yourself to go check on him.

You find him upstairs in the piano room, plunking away on the keys mindlessly. If he wasn’t a vampire and you didn’t know better, you would say he didn’t even notice you enter the room.

You stood behind him for a while, watching as his fingers danced over the ivory keys.

“It sounds beautiful” you say.

He doesn’t respond.

“Edward, what’s the matter? You’ve hardly spoken to me all day.”

“Do you ever wish I was human?”

The question catches you off guard.

“To wish for you to be human would be to change you, and I happen to love you just the way you are.”

He huffs, his fingers halting.

“But don’t you wish I was warm? Don’t you wish I could eat the foods you like, actually sleep next to you at night, grow old with you?”

You sit down next to him at the stool and take his hands in your own.

“What were you like when you were human?”

The change of subject seems to catch him off guard, his face twists slightly as he thinks. He pauses for a beat before answering.

“I was a bit of a troublemaker. My mom always said I was giving her grey hairs way too early. I didn’t do any of my schoolwork, I just wanted to go and be free.”

“Hm, sounds like the you that could sleep, eat, and grow old was a bit of a wild card. Not really my type. You know I prefer the sophisticated, musical type.”

He laughs at that, hanging his head down to press a kiss to your joined hands.

“So what you’re saying is you like the version of me without a soul better,” he says bitterly. You frown at that.

“No, I’m saying I like the you that I have now. I love you, Edward. I would never trade you for anyone else in the world whether they have a pulse or not.”

He’s quiet for a moment.

“You know this is how it will always be, right? I’ll always be here, trying some new way to push you away from me. To make you realize that you deserve better.”

“And I’ll always be here to take care of you and make sure you know that my mind will never change.”

“Taking care of me for the rest of your life… talk about the worst job you could get.”

“Only it won’t be a job. Not for me. Not when it’s for you.”

He looks at you then, finally. His big, black eyes staring into yours.

You’ve wished it before, but in this moment you wish you were the one who could read his mind instead of the other way around.

“You’re so stupid,” he smiles, and leans in for a kiss.

Maybe one day he’ll fully believe you.

Alice:

Alice has a tendency to shut down whenever there’s too much going on

Too many people are on the cusp of making decisions that could change their lives

It seems that every person she meets on the street has a vision attached

She can’t take it anymore

You find her curled up in a ball in her room, the TV playing a program you don’t think she’s watching.

Around her are scattered sketchbook pages, each one hastily ripped from the pad and thrown to the floor.

On these pages are drawings of buildings, people, animals, and tragedies. You catch the face of a woman who’s screaming as a bullet heads straight for her face. In another is an open room with a small grenade in the center.

No wonder she’s been so upset.

None of the pages show joy, every single one a warning of a disaster that’s just waiting to happen.

In front of her, there’s a stack of drawings that she’s flipping through. On one of them you catch what looks like your face, only it’s contorted in a scream. In another you see Jasper, but you can’t make out what’s around him.

“Alice,” you call out, and her head whips up. Maybe she hadn’t heard you like you thought she did. “What’s wrong?”

She looks at you like a deer in headlights for a moment, before her eyes glance back down to the papers in front of her.

“There’s nothing wrong. Not yet, at least.”

Her tone is grave. You can hear the desperation for an answer, or at least a break.

You sigh, and move to sit next to her. You reach to take the stack of papers from her, meeting no resistance. If she wanted to keep them from you, she could. But she knew now that fighting you was always going to be useless.

“Alice, I know you can’t control the fact that you see these visions. But you can control how much you obsess over them. This isn’t healthy.”

“I don’t need to be healthy. I can’t die or get sick.”

You sigh again. “That’s not what I mean and you know it. You can’t keep withering away in here obsessing over what might happen.”

“But-“

“No buts.” You say, throwing the stack of papers to the side. “How long ago did you have these visions?”

She thinks for a moment.

“Yesterday, I think.”

“Alright. Have they happened yet?”

“Well, no…”

“From what you saw, are they still a possibility now?”

“…they are… a very low possibility…”

You could see her reluctantly piecing together your words, clearly not wanting to admit her mistake out loud.

“Look, Alice, you know that I’m always touched by you looking out for me, but in moments like this I need to look out for you too.”

She looks into your eyes, then hangs her head again.

“But that’s not how it’s supposed to be. My gift, I should be the one taking care of you-“

“No. There is no ‘supposed to’ anything. Humans aren’t ‘supposed to’ be with vampires and yet here we are. So please just come with me and watch a movie or cuddle or something?”

She looks at you again, then. Staring into your eyes, then glancing around her room, at all of the papers, then back to you. She smiles slightly and floats up to her feet.

“Fine. But I’m picking the movie.”

Jasper:

This is a man who needs some serious love and reassurance

He’s always on edge around you, even if he plays it off like he isn’t

He’s just always so scared of hurting you or doing something wrong

And a lot of the time that manifests as him isolating himself to try and get you to leave him

It was gonna be one of those nights again.

A night that you would spend alone in the bed you were supposed to be sharing with the love of your life, Jasper.

But no. On a night like this, he’s out in the woods, far, far away. Stewing in his feelings and brooding.

You don’t even remember anything happening this time. Sometimes something can set him off; a jab from someone at school, a hug he gave you that ended up being WAY too tight, anything really. Anything that reminds him of how he’s not supposed to be with you.

But right about now, you’re sick of it.

The Cullens have taken to being quieter at night since you’ve started sleeping over a lot more, but you know they’re all here- all except for the one you want.

So it being 2 am won’t bother any of the other residents of the house. You roll out of bed and march your way over to the door, throwing it open (politely) and stomping down the steps.

Emmett is the first one you see, and you decide he’ll be perfect for the job anyway.

“What’s got you going, firecracker?” He asks.

“I need you to go find Jasper and bring him to me. Now. I need to talk to him,” you couldn’t help the anger and frustration that seeped into your voice. Lack of sleep will do that to you.

Emmett stood up straight and gave a stupid salute, “One loner coming right up, boss.”

And with that he was out of the door, and you trudged back upstairs to wait for your boyfriend.

You were laying in the bed, still trying desperately to go to sleep when you heard a light knock on the door. Your eyes flicked open to see Jasper standing in the doorway, looking completely out of place and uncomfortable.

All of your anger left instantly, all you saw was the sweet man who was far too worried for his own good.

You sighed and scooted over, patting the spot next to you.

“Come here, Jasper.”

A look of what could only be described as fear flashed across his face before he shook his head and muttered a small, “i can’t.”

You sighed again and stood up, making your way over to him. When you reached him, you stretched your arms out to take his face in your hands, his eyes wouldn’t meet yours.

“Look, Jas, I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I have a pretty damn good idea. You’re not gonna hurt me.”

“You don’t know that,” he says, looking into your eyes, something about the black made him look more human, more scared. “Vampires are already dangerous, but I’m the worst of the worst. You’ve found yourself a faulty cannon amongst rifles, darling.”

You frowned at his analogy, squeezing his perfect face in your hands.

“You are NOT faulty, you hear me? You are perfect. Perfect for me, at least.”

“The perfect man for you wouldn’t be tearing himself up inside trying not to kill you.”

“And a lesser man would have already done it.” He was shocked at that, stunned into silence. He hung his head slightly, not meeting your eyes once more.

“And what if I do hurt you one day? Would you ever forgive me? Could I ever forgive myself?”

“I don’t think you will. But if you do, Carlisle will put me back together and I’ll jump right back into your arms.”

His eyes bore into your soul as he stared at you like you were crazy.

“Why the hell would you do that? Come running right back to me?”

“To make sure you don’t hate yourself for too long. Now come on, I’m tired and I can’t sleep without my personal AC unit.”

He looked at you with disbelief. You knew he didn’t believe you, you don’t know if he ever will.

But that’s okay. You’ll keep him right here, and pull him back to you every time he runs away.

Eventually, he’ll understand that you love him.

Rosalie:

The topic of kids has always been a very touchy one for Rosalie

It’s all she’s ever wanted, and all that she still wants

Most days, the pain is not too much of an issue

But some days, it just gets to be too much

You and Rosalie were walking down the street, hand in hand as you strolled by the different shops and food stands.

The city was busy today, many young couples out and about, shopping, talking, kissing far too passionately to be in public, the usual.

“Rose, do you mind if we sit down for a bit? These shoes Alice chose for me look really nice, but they are so uncomfortable.”

She giggled, but nodded and led you both to a bench. You sat down with a heavy sigh, finally getting off of your feet after what felt like forever (even though it was only about an hour).

Across the way in the little park you’ve both found yourself in, a young couple is sitting on a bench.

The woman has long, flowing, blonde hair that frames her face in loose curls. She’s wearing a gorgeous floral-patterned dress, and on her left hand is quite possibly the biggest, gaudiest ring you have ever seen.

To her right, a man sits, one who bears a striking resemblance to you, regardless of gender.

And in the middle, a little baby. A perfect mix of the two, her hair and his eyes, her nose and his jawline, all swaddled in a cute little onesie.

You’re about to turn to Rosalie to point out the cute baby (she always loves to look and maybe go touch it if the parents allow her to) when you see that she’s already looking.

Her face is grave, like she’s looking at her own headstone. Her face is twisted in grief, and she looks on the verge of tears.

It takes you a second to connect the dots, but once you do, your heart clenches for her.

That woman looks like her, reminds Rosalie of herself. And the man looks like you. And that baby is what she wants, all she’s ever wanted. What she can’t have.

Babies are always hard for her, but this struck a deep chord.

“Rose… do you wanna go home?” You ask softly, not wanting to come off as pushy.

“…”

“Come on, let’s go,” you grab her arm to pull her up, she goes with you, but keeps her head craned back to the young couple the whole time.

Once you’re far away, she breaks down. You’ve never seen a vampire cry, and that’s probably because they can’t. But if they could, Rosalie would be sobbing.

You know it’s bad because she doesn’t even care that she falls to the floor in this dirty, nasty alleyway. Normal Rosalie would rather die 100 times over than get her clothes dirty, especially here.

You sit down next to her, letting her dry heave and gasp into your shoulder, her wails breaking your heart.

You’re helpless here. Cause what can you really do? You can’t give her a kid, she can’t give you one either. You can’t go back in time and stop her from being killed. And you can’t go back and steal that baby from that couple (even though you kind of really want to).

So you just hold her.

You run her hair, pat her back, kiss her head, and whisper into her ear. How much you love her, how she’s perfect, how it’s okay, how you don’t think less of her.

Once she’s calmed down and her breathing has slowed, she looks up at you.

“I’m so sorry. You shouldn’t be seeing this side of me.”

“What? I want to be here for you, Rose. I know I can’t fix this for you, but at least I can-“

“Fix it? Darling, don’t worry about fixing me. I’m already completely broken, there’s nothing to fix.”

With that you just take a moment to look at her. Her face screams that she is broken. In her soul, at least. Her and Edward are a lot more similar than they like to think.

“Rosalie. You are not broken. There is nothing wrong with you.”

She scoffs at that. “I’m not human. I’d say that’s pretty wrong. Not to mention the fact that I can’t even look at a couple with a baby and not want to violently kill someone.”

“And that’s okay.”

She scoffs again.

“No, really, Rose. I mean it. I’m never ever going to think less of you for something like this. You went through something I can never even imagine and now you’re left to pick up the pieces. Just let me help you.”

She looks at you, her eyes staring into yours. The grief that she’s feeling is evident. But deep in her eyes, you see a touch of something else. Trust, maybe.

“You know, you’re gonna be picking up pieces for the rest of your life.”

“That’s okay, I don’t mind. Not if it’s you.”

Emmett:

He likes to pretend to be all big and bad all of the time

But in reality, he's still a person

He just has a hard time remembering that sometimes

You don't know where he got all of that energy from.

I mean, realistically, you know that he can never get tired.

But really, even for a vampire this was unnatural.

Some nobody in school had challenged him to an arm wrestle. Of course, he can never resist. He grabbed the guy's hand and prepared to pummel him, only to flinch and have his hand thrown down against the wood of the desk.

The guy had one of those fake shock things in his hand, and as soon as Emmett clamped down it vibrated like crazy.

To say he was pissed would be an understatement.

And now he was taking all of that anger out on the trees around the Cullen house.

"That-" punch "fucking-" punch "ASSHOLE!" punch punch punch

It had been days. And you were honestly getting worried. He hadn't hunted in those days, much less came inside the house. You're surprised the park ranger hasn't come knocking yet.

You heard a hollowed cracking sound and looked to see Emmett standing triumphantly as a rather large oak tree fell to the ground, followed by a guttural roar from the man.

"Emmett," you called, barely above a whisper. But you know he heard you. "Come over here please."

He looks at you with a slightly guilty look, the anger from before fading away as he hangs his head and trudges over to you. He stops just a few feet in front of you, lamely kicking the rocks beneath his toes as he avoids your eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s that stupid fucking guy-“

“No,” you stop him, putting your hand up to silence him. “What’s actually wrong? Don’t tell me you’re seriously this pissed about losing an arm wrestling match with some nobody.”

He just stood there in silence for a second. You took this chance to stand up and grab his face in your hands, instantly he leaned in, perching his head on your palms.

“I just… need to be strong. That’s what I am, I need to be strong,” he whispered, his voice coming out shy and meek.

You just smiled at him sadly and rubbed his cheek.

“I can be strong too you know. So every once in a while you can let me take care of you instead.”

He laughed at that.

“You, strong? As if. I could fold you in half!”

You punched him lightly in the arm.

“You jerk! I’m trying to be sentimental!”

He laughed again and grabbed your hands, bringing them back up to their previous spot cradling his face.

“Ok ok, serious sentimental time.”

You just laughed and kissed him.

Esme:

She has a bad habit of overreacting

Just a dash of anxiety

So when something-anything happens to you, she freaks out

This is bad.

Like really, really bad.

You were supposed to be driving to go see Esme at the Cullen house, but of course your piece-of-shit car decided that now would be a perfect time to break down.

Too far away from home to walk back, too far away from the Cullens to walk there, and the nearest anything was also too far.

Not to mention the snow covering the ground didn’t really entice you to get out of your still-warm car.

So you tried calling someone to come get you.

Only, of course there’s no service out here because why would there be.

Just your luck.

You weigh your options, and decide that walking is just gonna have to do.

You didn’t pack a winter coat because you didn’t think you’d be outside for this long, but you had a blanket stored in your backseat and it was better than nothing.

So off you trekked through the freezing cold winter storm to the Cullen house.

Inside, Esme was (in)patiently waiting.

Your favorite meal was waiting for you, already plated and getting colder by the second on the dining room table.

You said you were on your way 30 minutes ago. It takes about 30 minutes to get from your house to their house.

So where were you?

Her ears perked at the sound of a slowly beating heart coming from down the driveway.

It didn’t sound like one of the foxes or deer that roam around this time of year. No, it sounded a bit bigger, a bit more human.

She was out the door in a flash. Before anyone had the chance to ask what she was doing she was by your side.

“Oh my god, honey, why are you out here?!”

“An angel…” and then you collapsed.

Cue Esme absolutely freaking the fuck out.

She has you in front of a lit fireplace, a heating blanket rested over your shoulders and a warm towel on your head.

She’s pacing back and forth in front of you. She wants to hold you so bad, to kiss you, cuddle you, protect you. But she can’t. She’ll just make the shivers wracking your body even worse.

“Es…” you croak, your eyes blinking open finally.

“Oh my god! Are you okay? How are you feeling? Why were you out there? Where’s your car? Why didn’t you call me?”

“Shhhh,” you whisper, bringing your finger up to shush her. “Just come here.”

You open up your blanket in an invitation to her.

“Are you out of your mind? I can’t cuddle with you right now, I’ll freeze you!”

“Please, you deserve to be taken care of too.”

She crumbles at that, you can see the resolve leaving her face. And then she figures that you won’t get too cold with the heated blanket and everything.

She cuddles up next to you, wrapping her arms around your waist and ducking her head into your neck.

“I’m so sorry, I should have been there. And least of all I shouldn’t be such a mess right now.”

“It’s okay to be a mess, I’ll always be here to hold you.”

Carlisle:

No one really talks about the stress of being a pretend father for a bunch of eternal teenagers

Really, it’s a blessing that he doesn’t need sleep and isn’t affected by long hours

But despite that, he still gets so worn out

Today had been a long day for Carlisle.

It was student-teacher conference day. And while that’s not usually an issue since he always tells the kids to behave, Emmett decided it was necessary to punch a kid last week.

To be honest, Carlisle didn’t really care if the kid was a bully or not, all he viewed it as was something more drawing attention to them.

On top of that, the cattiness between Edward and Rosalie seemed to be especially bad today.

They were at each other’s throats for the better part of the day, and nothing would get them to separate.

At work, at least a dozen new patients showed up. A factory that was close by had a gas leak, very minor. None of the people were harmed at all, but many still insisted on going to the clinic.

Carlisle’s not one to discourage people from getting checked out, but he is one to tell people to go home when they’re fine, which everyone was.

But these people kept insisting something was wrong. A boy with a broken arm had to wait for three hours for a room to open up because the factory workers refused to leave.

By the time he got home, he was exhausted, you could tell. His eyes were heavy, as were his footsteps. His hair was disheveled, he had clearly been running his fingers through it all day from the stress.

He looked like a mess. But even then, he greeted you with a smile and a kiss on the cheek.

He always takes such good care of you, whether you’re sick or not, he’s always there with whatever you want.

Now it’s your turn.

“Carlisle, are you busy?” You ask, peeking into his home office. Even after the super long day, he’s a man of habit.

“Not particularly,” he turns to look at you, setting his pen down, “why?”

“Follow me.”

You lead him to the bathroom, where a nice, warm back is drawn. Complete with lilac scented bath oil and two candles lit on the sink.

“The bath looks beautiful, darling. I’m sure the lavender will be great for your skin.”

“Oh, it’s not for me,” you quip. All he does is raise an eyebrow. “It’s for you. I know you’ve had a long day, so go relax and meet me in the bedroom when you’re done.”

You don’t give him a chance to argue before you leave, shutting the door tightly behind you.

He emerges about 30 minutes later, still toweling his hair off.

“Ok now come on over here,” you pat the bed next to you, motioning him to sit there. Again, all he does is quirk and eyebrow but he obliges.

You take the remote to the TV in yours and Carlisle’s room, turning on his favorite movie. A classic one from the silent film era.

“But this… I haven’t seen this movie in years… how did you get it?”

“That’s the beauty of streaming platforms.”

You both sit in silence for a while, Carlisle seemingly happy to just watch his favorite movie after so long. Eventually, he turns to look at you with an inquisitive expression.

“So, what’s all this for?”

“What, am I not allowed to take care of you from time to time?”

He laughs slightly at that.

“A human taking care of a vampire, how twisted.”

You grab his face between your hands at that, drawing him close and looking deep into his yellow eyes.

“It’s not if I want to do it, and I would move the Earth for you.”

“Hopeless romantic,” and with that he kisses you.

Vampire! Bella:

She tends to… shut down

We all know how she was when she couldn’t be with Edward

That translates over

It really wasn’t supposed to be that big of a deal.

Your Spanish class was going to be taking a two week trip to Spain.

Only, Bella wasn’t in Spanish. This time around, she chose to take French. Which was all fine and good, until it meant that she couldn’t go with you.

Cue two weeks of endless calls and texts.

On the phone with you , she sounds fine. But from your calls with Alice, she’s not doing too hot.

She hasn’t been hunting since you’ve been gone, she’s completely stopped going to class, and she also hasn’t talked to anyone in the house.

It’s the last night of your trip, you’re in your hotel room, the girl you’re sharing with is sound asleep in the other bed, but you know one girl who’s never asleep.

You call Bella’s number, and she answers instantly, like she’s been waiting all day for you to call. In all honesty, she probably has.

“Hey, what are you up to?” You can hear the attempt to be nonchalant in her voice, but her eagerness gives her away.

“Oh nothing, I just got off the phone with Alice… wanna tell me why you didn’t leave our room today? Or yesterday? Or the day before?”

You can hear her pause on the line, like she’s trying to come up with a convincing lie, but eventually she sighs.

“I just… I’ve just been missing you a lot, is all. I want you here next to me, I feel incomplete without you.”

Yowch. Right through the heart.

You decide then to help in some way, you don’t know how immediately, but you have to do something.

So you start to hum.

Whenever you have a bad day, Bella hums the song her mom used to sing to her. You always ask her to, and even though she says she isn’t a great singer, she indulges you anyway.

Sometimes it’s the only thing that can stop you from a panic attack or calm you enough to go back to sleep after a nightmare.

You hear her gasp slightly before y he sound of sheets rustling, presumably her laying her head down.

You go through the whole song twice over, Bella never telling you to stop or joining you.

After your voice fades out and the line stays dead for a moment, you swear you can hear Bella overthinking.

“You know, you didn’t have to do that. I’m an apex predator. I shouldn’t be so upset whenever you leave for a little bit.”

You laugh lightly at that, and you can hear her scoff across the line.

“I don’t mind. Especially when it’s you. Bella, I love you and I would do anything for you.”

“Even if I’m a beautiful monster who was designed to kill you?”

“Even if you did kill me, I would hope that my blood nourishes you for months on end.”

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lanadelreyscokewhor3 · 3 months ago

Text

THE DRIVE- L. HOWLETT

Pairing- Older! Logan x Mutant! Fem! Reader (Enemies to Lovers)

Word Count: 2.6k (an introduction to the series)

Summary: After being put on the goverments watchlist for being an "unsafe" mutant, Logan 'jumps' (tackles) to the rescue, taking you to the X-Mansion. However, you and Logan do not get along... at all.

Warnings: mentions of violence and guns, swearing, logan and y/n not getting along, crying, reader kinda thristing over logan (as one does)

**authors note/ things to note: this may not be lore accurate/ canon because i haven't watched the x-men movies since i was younger, so its roughly based off what i can kinda remember hehe. y/n has jean greys powers, and jean does not exist in this universe, this is nemies to lovers- but a slowww burn :)

"all this sympathy is just a knife, why I can't even grit my teeth and lie? ifeel all these feelings i can't control..."- sympathy is a knife, charli xcx

“I don’t like you.” you stated plainly, crossing your arms with a huff. This was the most blunt you had been with anyone, ever. But you couldn’t help it.

You had known Logan Howlett now for an hour, and it was an hour you would never get back.

“You’re not s’possed to like me kid. You’re supposed to listen to me, which you’re failing miserably at.” the older man growled, barely looking over at you from the driver's seat. His hands tightened on the steering wheel, knuckles turning white as he slammed down on the gas.

You were thankful in that moment seatbelts were invented.

You bet ten dollars Logan was around when they came up with the idea.

He was an asshole.

He was tasked with the mission to get you to safety- as you were a “rogue” quote on quote mutant as the public called your kind. It made your head spin, not only from Logan’s driving but the sheer weight of it all.

One morning you were pouring your orange juice, the next the national guard was surrounding your house, and a man who happened to have claws shoot out of his knuckles had dived and tackled you as the gunfire started.

Now you were here, in an old rusty truck- speeding down a back road through the woods with an old man who seemed to hate everything. On the run, on your way to the mutant academy- to start over, and to learn how to control your powers.

Or so you hoped.

Logan wasn’t making the trip there very pleasant though.

“I’m listening to you. And even if I wasn’t- do you blame me?! After what just happened I don’t know- maybe an hour ago?!” you rolled your eyes, glaring at him hard enough to leave laser beams through his skin.

“You’re a mutant. Get used to it.”

“Get used to it?!”

He shrugged. “That’s what I said, ain’t it bub? I was tasked to take care of you and get you to safety, so I’m doing that. Doesn’t mean you have to like me.”

You huffed, staring out the window at the trees that blurred together, dark leaves falling on the ground as you whipped by. “I don’t like you.”

“Yeah, I picked up on that kid.”

“I’m not a kid, you know.”

He snorted, running a hand through his tousled hair. “Sure.” It was silent in the car for a few minutes, minus the crackly radio, the station starting to cut out as you ventured deeper into the woods.

You leaned forward, turning it off. Silence.

“So… are you actually two hundred?” you asked meekly, darting your eyes over to stare at him. Even if he was a dick, he was handsome as hell. You couldn’t even deny that.

“Don’t you know it’s rude to ask someone their age?” he mocked.

“Sorry, I forgot elders were sensitive to that kind of thing. Let me know if you need help getting your walker from the back.” you snapped back, as he showed teeth at you- growling.

Good. Piss him off as much as you could, so when you got to the academy he would leave you alone.

He muttered something under his breath, something about how kids these days have no respect (despite you very much not being a child), and you tuned out.

With a sigh, you leaned your head against the window, the events of today taking a toll on your body. You looked up at the clouds rolling by, until they faded away to black.

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

Strong arms carried you, and you curled into the warmth they provided, hands clinging to a rock hard chest. You yawned, savouring the rocking motion, until it stopped.

Your eyes fluttered open, blinking quickly as you adjusted to the dimming light. It was dark out, stars replacing the clouds from earlier- and two dark orbs stared at you intensely.

You squeaked, stumbling down to your feet, backing away from Logan quickly.

“Good morning.” he smirked at your sudden reaction, your frown lines deeply etched in your forehead compared to how they were a few seconds previous.

“What are you doing?!”

“Walking you to our room.”

Your eyes nearly popped out of your head.

“Our room?! And I can walk by myself, thank you very much.” He snorted, jangling the keys in his pocket. “Really? I didn’t know you could sleep walk.”

“Don’t be a dick.”

“Can’t. Already tried.” he said, unlocking the door with a click. 106 was scrawled across the wooden door, and the strong smell of lemon cleaning supplies nearly suffocated you as he stepped inside.

He must have stopped at a motel somewhere along the route- in the middle of nowhere. It was older, not as old as him- but aged. It must have been quiet, you assumed- because Logan didn’t seem like the type of guy to willingly choose to be around people, especially not when on the run.

As shitty as the situation was, you were thankful for a place to sleep, and for a proper bed. The car seatbelt and window was not very comfortable, your neck aching from it rolling down during your nap.

You stepped inside, noting the very obvious couples room, a large bed in the middle of the room, with no pull out couch. You gulped.

“I’ll take the floor.” you stated, as he closed and locked the door behind you. Unease lingered in your stomach.

Please god, do not make me sleep with the Wolverine. I do not have the strength, nor patience today.

“Don’t be stupid girl.” And that was that. He shrugged off his jacket, tossing it on a little table, flickering on a little side lamp.

You were stunned into silence. You tried so hard not to look.

So. Damn. Hard.

But his muscles were on display, so much so they might as well be their own art exhibit.

His white tank top clinged to his tan skin tightly, and you watched his muscles flex, dog tags jangling on his chest as he snagged a pillow from the bed and tossed it on the floor.

You quickly looked away before he caught you staring, and taunted you for it.

“I’m going to shower.”

No reply. You bit your lip, turning around quietly and tugged your skirt down as you walked in the bathroom and shut the door.

No amount of scrubbing of the shit hotel loofa could get the grime of the day off your skin- soap foaming as quickly as it sputtered down the drain. You tried to stay in the shower as long as you could- dreading the awkwardness that the night would entail- but soon the water turned ice cold.

Shivering, you rinsed off your hair, cranking the taps until water dripped faintly. Wiping the mirror, you stared at yourself in the reflection.

A long scratch darted up your neck, little ones dotting across your arm. You wished you had Logan’s healing abilities. They were ugly, harsh and jagged- standing out like a sore thumb.

You hoped your pjs covered it, you thought, as you wrapped a thin towel across your body, acting as a corset the way it caused your breasts to pop.

Then it hit you. You didn’t have pjs. You didn’t have anything but the clothes on your back (bathroom floor).

Fuck. Could this get any worse?

Not only did you have to sleep in the same room as Logan, you had to ask him for clothes?! Taking a deep breath, you opened the door a sliver, its loud creak echoing throughout the entire room.

“Uh… Logan?”

“Mhgm.”

You poked your head out, eyes darting to survey the space- seeing your bed untouched, long legs poking out from the other end on the floor.

“I- uh.. kinda forgot pjs.”

Nothing, and then a loud laugh emerged from him, his body shaking from the sheer sound of it. “Course you did kid. Here.” he tossed a black t-shirt your way, and it landed on the carpet with a plop.

It would be massive on you, you could already tell- but it was something. Usually you had to go on a few dates and sleep with a guy a few times before you got to this stage. Not an option this time.

You quickly stepped out and grabbed it before he could look up at your (barely) covered body, shrugging it on in the bathroom.

It smelt like him, like whisky and smoke, cider and fresh cut grass. It was comforting, in this moment of chaos. You breathed in the fabric, resting your head against the wall.

Your lip wobbled, hot, salty tears slipping down your cheeks as you gasped for air.

It hurt. Everything hurts.

You were exhausted, hungry and more anxious and overwhelmed than anything. The shock had started to fade, your hands had started to shake and you couldn’t help but break down.

You didn’t care if Logan heard you. The tears continued to fall, body heaving as sobs tore through your body. How was life so unfair? So cruel? Things had changed so fast- and you hadn’t asked for your abilities. You didn’t even know how to control them yet.

But that was what made you dangerous to the government. You thought, growing even more angry with yourself. But how was it your fault?

It made you sick. You just wanted to go home, lay in your own bed and eat your own food, to see your friends and go to work. You never thought those words would leave your lips- but it was true. It was routine, and it was normal.

You felt normal, when you were filing paperwork, talking on the phone to clients. As boring as it could be at times, it was steady.

And now?

You were bouncing around like a ping-pong ball. A coin had been flipped, your fate plastered on either side- and you had lost the draw. Taking a shaky breath, you attempted to regain your composure before facing the judgemental beast outside.

Your eyes were puffy, cheeks sticky and warm with drying tears. Wiping your face, you found the courage to slink back into the main room, flicking off the side lamp Logan had left on. If he had to shower, he could find his way in the dark.

You were sure he could see in the dark- all wolves could- couldn’t they?

Slouching into bed, you gripped the thin sheets tightly- cocooning yourself to try and stay warm. The air was on full blast, despite it being chill outside- and you assumed you had Logan to thank for that.

Great. I’m going to get hypothermia before I even get to the fucking school.

“Do you have to have the air on full blast?” you asked, looking over the side of the bed, watching as Logan crankly peered an eye open.

“Yes.”

“Well could you I don’t know, survey the scene and see it’s cold outside already?”

He huffed.

“I’m warm. I’m always warm.”

“Well that’s not my problem. Be considerate wolf.” you rolled your eyes, hugging the sheets tighter to your body.

“Deal with it kid. It’s staying on- if you don’t like it, sleep outside.”

Well that made you sit up.

“You’re such a dick.”

“Yeah getting a motel room and letting you have the bed- real dick move eh?”

You huffed, gritting your teeth together. This man was pushing your buttons more than they had ever been pushed before. You hated how much he got under your skin. It was like you had your own set of claws, that only he could set off.

“Well I shouldn’t even be in this situation.”

“Yeah we all think that. Shut up and sleep.” he growled, rolling over to face away from the bed.

“You could at least have some respect.”

That was all you asked for, anyways. You had shown him it even when you were in deaths way, thankful for him for saving you. He didn’t show an ounce of it back.

“I’m not giving you any sympathy, if that’s what your asking.”

It felt like a knife had stabbed you in the back, twisting your insides. You whipped up again, throwing a pillow at his face.

“I’m not asking for your fucking sympathy you old piece of shit!” you yelled, earning nothing but silence in return.

He was over you.

Fine. You could do the exact same thing- but better.

Turning your back to him (a dangerous thing to do, you thought), you squeezed your eyes shut and listened to the hum of the air conditioning unit.

Not long after, the weight of the day pulled you back under the waves of sleep again.

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

“Wake up kid.” a gruff voice called out to you, a firm hand shaking you. You awoke with a start, blinking until the room came into focus.

Two beaded eyes stared at you narrowly from above you, rolling as you mumbled. It was still dark out, as no light showed through the thin curtains.

The clock read 5:00 and you sighed.

“Breakfast on the table. Get dressed and we’re leaving.”

“Good morning to you too.” you grumbled, rubbing sleep out of your eye. A very stale looking muffin sat on the table, next to Logan’s black coffee.

“Why are you feeding me?” you asked, walking over to take a dry bite. You were famished. Eating anything completely slipped your mind.

“Because Charles would kill me if I didn’t. I said I’d look after you. You can’t starve.”

“Jeez I thought that was the plan all along.”

It tasted like sand in your mouth as you took a bite. You were grateful for it, nonetheless. “I never said I wanted you to starve.” he grumbled to himself, taking a long sip from his mug.

“It was heavily implied.” you spat, turning over the mini coffee bar, finding a kettle and a bag of earl grey. You waited for the water to come to a boil, the kettle screaming at you while you poured it.

You were ready for this day to be over and it hadn’t even begun yet. You had a feeling you would have to get used to it- or else it would eat you alive.

Just like how Logan looked right now- like he’d tear your limbs from you and chew them. You wouldn’t put it past him.

“When you finish that we’re leaving. You got five minutes.” he said, grabbing the truck keys from the table. “Five minutes? I haven’t even had a chance to wake up yet!”

“Too bad. We gotta go kid.” He slammed the door hard behind him, rattling the frame as he unlocked the vehicle.

“Don’t let the door hit you on the way out, asshole.” you mumbled under your breath, chugging down the rest of your tea as fast as you could. If you were back home you would have the morning to lounge around in a bathrobe, sipping your tea slowly with a book and some fresh fruit.

The odd time you would use your powers to move the toast to the toaster, or to move your slippers to your feet. But that was no longer the case.

The tea tasted bitter as you chugged it, burning your throat. You shrugged on yesterday's clothes, running into the bathroom to splash cold water on your face.

The front door swung open and before Logan could protest- you bolted out the room. “I’m out, I’m out. Jesus.” Scrambling to the front seat, you watched as Logan glared over his shoulder, slamming the door.

It was going to be an extremely long drive.

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett #wolverpoolwol #wolverine #the x men #x men #hugh jackman #x men origins: wolverine #wolverine fanfiction #wolverine fic #logan howlett smut #james logan howlett #logan howlett fanfiction #hugh jackman fanfic #hugh jackman smut #logan howlett x you #logan howlett imagine #logan james howlett #deadpool 3

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theonottsbxtch · 1 month ago

Text

WHATS LEFT BEHIND PT.2 | MV1

an: guys my time off is coming to an end, i move to france next week and start my job the week after rip me but in the mean time enjoy this badboy i've been sitting on

summary: when max verstappen left his childhood girlfriend behind to face her career ending injury alone to chase his dreams of being the best bull rider the country has ever seen, he thought it would be easy. except it wasn't, he was back in town and they hated him, for one reason. they hurt their star barrel racer.

wc: 6k

part one

Max pushed open the door to The Rusty Wheel, the familiar creak of its hinges greeting him like an old memory. The low hum of country music drifted from the jukebox in the corner, and the faint smell of spilled beer and worn leather hung in the air. Not much had changed since the last time he’d stepped foot in here, years ago—except, maybe, for the fact that now every pair of eyes in the place was on him.

He ran a hand through his hair and walked over to the bar, pausing only long enough to hang his cowboy hat on one of the hooks by the door. He used to come here every weekend, same as the rest of them. He hadn’t expected the town to change much—but somehow, it felt smaller now. Tighter. Like it didn’t quite fit him anymore.

Before he could take a seat, the owner, Earl, stepped out from behind the bar. Earl was a grizzled old cowboy, his flannel shirt rolled up at the sleeves, a white beard flecked with grey. He stopped in his tracks, wiping his hands on a rag, and gave Max a once-over, his face creasing with disbelief.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Earl muttered, his eyes narrowing. “I didn’t believe it when they told me.”

Max chuckled softly, not missing the edge in Earl’s voice. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

“You actually back for good?” Earl asked, still eyeing him like he was trying to decide if he was a mirage.

Max shrugged. “Looks that way.”

Earl grunted, leaning his hands on the bar. “Guess we’ll see how that works out.”

Before Max could reply, a figure appeared beside him, sliding a bottle of beer across the counter. Max glanced up and saw Daniel—his best friend from back in the day—giving him a smirk as he set the beer down. Daniel was leaner now, with a few more lines around his eyes, but he still had the same mischievous glint that had gotten them into trouble as kids.

Daniel raised an eyebrow as he wiped down the bar. “Bold move, man,” he said, shaking his head. “I mean, really bold.”

Max took the beer, the cold glass sweating in his grip. “Figured it was time.”

Daniel leaned against the bar, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yeah, well, half the people in this town think you’ve got some nerve coming back after what you did to her.”

Max’s stomach clenched, but he kept his face neutral. He knew it wouldn’t take long for that topic to come up. “And the other half?” he asked, taking a swig from the bottle.

Daniel snorted. “They’re just in awe of what you’ve done with your career. Hell, I’ll admit it—I followed your rides. Man, some of those bulls you took on… I thought you were insane, but you sure made a name for yourself.”

Max nodded, setting the bottle back down on the bar. “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

Daniel tilted his head, studying him. “That right? Because last time I checked, you were in all the magazines, got sponsors throwing money at you, and about a million followers watching your every move. That doesn’t sound like a bad deal.”

Max sighed, leaning his elbows on the bar. “It was great for a while. But the thing is, they don’t see the rest of it. The part where you wake up and don’t know where you are half the time. Or when you’re trying to remember which interviews you’ve already done or whose hand you shook at some event you didn’t even want to go to.” He shook his head, a bitter edge creeping into his voice. “Everyone thinks they want that life until they get it.”

Daniel didn’t say anything for a moment, just watched him, the silence between them hanging heavy. Then, after a beat, he nodded. “So why’d you come back? You finally get sick of signing autographs?”

Max’s eyes drifted to the shelves of dusty bottles behind the bar, memories of a simpler life flooding back. The long nights in places like this, where the biggest problem he had was getting enough cash together to fill his tank. Where people knew him as Max, not Max Verstapppen, the famous bull rider plastered on posters across the country.

“Something like that,” he said quietly. “I was never cut out for that big city stuff. The lights, the cameras… all of it.” He paused, running a hand along the neck of the beer bottle, feeling the condensation slick against his skin. “I missed home. The quiet. The way things made sense out here.”

Daniel chuckled, shaking his head. “Home, huh?” He let out a slow breath. “Don’t get me wrong—I’m glad to see you. Always hoped you’d come back. But you know it’s not going to be easy. People here… they don’t forget.”

Max’s jaw tightened, his grip on the bottle a little firmer. “Yeah, I know.”

Daniel stared at him for a long moment, and then his expression softened, some of the teasing edge fading from his voice. “She’s still hurt, you know. Even if she doesn’t show it. You coming back… it’s gonna stir up a lot of things.”

“I figured that,” Max replied, his voice low, almost resigned. “But I had to come back anyway.”

Daniel nodded, his eyes softening. “Well, I hope you know what you’re doing. You’ve got a lot of work to do, man.”

Max took another swig of beer, the cool liquid doing nothing to settle the unease that had been bubbling in his gut since the moment he’d driven into town. “Trust me,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else, “I know.”

The sound of the front door creaking open interrupted the conversation, and Max glanced over his shoulder to see a group of locals walking in, laughing and chatting as they made their way to a corner booth. He recognised some of them, faces he hadn’t seen in years, but he wasn’t ready for more conversations, more questions.

Turning back to Daniel, he nodded toward the bar. “Mind if I hang here for a while?”

Daniel smiled, a knowing glint in his eye. “Stay as long as you need. Just don’t expect the town to make it easy on you.”

Max nodded in appreciation, as he sipped his beer, letting the familiar hum of the bar settle around him. The chatter, the music, the faint clink of bottles—it all felt like a song from a time he thought he’d forgotten. But he hadn’t. Not really.

He’d been running from home for so long, he’d forgotten what it felt like to just stand still. And now that he was back, he wasn’t sure what hurt more—the memories of what he’d lost, or the fear of facing the woman he’d left behind.

______________________________________________________________

The next morning, Max stepped out of his truck, the early sun casting long shadows across the gravel driveway of High Ride Stables, Austin. The familiar scent of hay, leather, and horses filled the air, stirring memories he hadn’t thought of in years. It was a place he knew well—he’d worked here as a kid, mucking out stalls and helping with the horses. But today, the barn felt different, like the weight of his past was waiting for him inside.

He pushed open the large wooden door, the creak announcing his arrival. Inside, horses shuffled in their stalls, and the rhythmic thud of hooves echoed from deeper within. He glanced around, spotting the counter near the back where Leslie, the barn’s owner, was talking to one of the stable hands.

Leslie had been running this barn for as long as he could remember. She was tough as nails, with streaks of grey in her otherwise jet-black hair and a sharp gaze that could cut through any excuse. The stable hands called her “Les” when she wasn’t listening—if she caught them at it, they'd regret it.

When she saw him, her conversation trailed off, and her expression hardened. She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against the counter, eyeing him like he’d just tracked mud through her pristine barn.

“Well, look who the cat dragged in,” Leslie drawled, raising an eyebrow. “If it ain’t the hometown hero.”

Max tried to smile, but it fell flat. He took off his hat and held it in front of him. “Morning, Les.”

“Morning,” she replied, her tone flat. “What brings you here?”

“I’m lookin’ for work,” he said, stepping closer, but staying on the other side of the counter like it was a barrier between them. Which, in a way, it was.

Leslie’s eyes narrowed. “Work?” She scoffed, shaking her head. “After all that bull riding fame and fortune, you’re back here beggin’ for a job?”

“Not beggin’,” he muttered, his voice low. “Just askin’.”

She pushed herself off the counter, walking around it and standing toe-to-toe with him, hands on her hips. “Same difference.”

“Come on, Les,” he said, frustration creeping into his voice. “You know how it goes. The fame doesn’t last forever. Sponsors move on, injuries pile up… and the money—well, it dwindles. I can’t live off my bull riding winnings for the rest of my life.”

She crossed her arms, clearly unimpressed. “Sounds like a ‘you’ problem, not a ‘me’ problem.”

Max sighed, glancing around the barn, trying to find the right words. “I grew up here, working in this barn. I know horses, I know the work. You know I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty.”

Leslie tilted her head, considering him for a moment. “You really expect me to just hand you a job, after everything?”

He frowned, confused. “After everything?”

She shot him a knowing look. “Don’t play dumb with me, Max. You know who works here.”

His stomach sank, realising where this conversation was heading. Of course, she worked here—why wouldn’t she? It was her world. She’d never left it, never had a reason to. But that didn��t make this any easier.

“I’m not lookin’ to cause any trouble, Les. I just need work,” he said, his voice softening. “I’ll stay out of her way.”

Leslie raised an eyebrow. “Stay out of her way? You can’t just waltz back into this town, askin’ for a job, and think you can just avoid her. This is a small town, boy, not some city where you can hide from the people you’ve wronged.”

Max winced at the word “wronged.” It was blunt, but he couldn’t argue with it. He had wronged her. Maybe more than he even realised.

He took a deep breath, meeting Leslie’s gaze. “I know I messed up. I know I hurt her. But… I need this job, Les. Please.”

Leslie studied him for a long moment, her face unreadable. Then, she turned and walked back to the counter, rummaging through a drawer before pulling out a small notepad. She scribbled something down on it, then tore off the piece of paper and held it out to him.

“Here’s the deal,” she said, her voice cool and matter-of-fact. “I’ll give you a job if you go apologise to her. And not just any apology—she has to forgive you.”

Max stared at her, not taking the paper. His heart raced, a mixture of panic and disbelief. “Les, that’s impossible.”

Leslie crossed her arms again, looking at him with the same steel-eyed determination she always had. “Well, if you think it’s impossible, you don’t want this job bad enough.”

His eyes flicked to the paper in her hand, knowing exactly what was written on it. He didn’t need to look to know it was her address.

“You know she’s not gonna forgive me,” he said quietly, feeling the weight of the past like a stone in his gut.

Leslie gave him a half-smile, but there was no softness in it. “Well, you better get working, boy.”

Max finally took the paper from her hand, the weight of it feeling heavier than it should. He looked down at the address, familiar yet distant, as if it belonged to another lifetime.

“I’m serious,” Leslie said, her voice softening just a bit. “You want a job here? You’ve gotta make things right with her. I won’t have you causing more mess in this barn—or in this town. Either she forgives you, or you pack your bags and keep drivin’.”

Max swallowed hard, tucking the paper into his back pocket. He wanted to argue, to tell her that there was no way in hell she’d ever forgive him. But he knew Leslie well enough to know that there was no arguing with her.

He nodded once, stiffly. “Alright. I’ll… I’ll try.”

Leslie smirked, her eyes gleaming with something he couldn’t quite place. “Good luck. You’ll need it.”

As he turned to leave, the barn door creaked open behind him, and for a split second, his heart froze. He half-expected to see her there, standing in the doorway, glaring at him like she had on that road. But it was just another worker, coming in to start the day.

Max let out a breath, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. It had been one thing to face her the first time, in the heat of the moment. But now… now he had to go, hat in hand, and ask her to forgive him. To admit he was wrong. To dig up all the things he’d been trying to bury for years.

He shoved his hat back on his head and walked out of the barn, the piece of paper burning a hole in his pocket. The road ahead of him felt longer than it had ever been.

The next day, Max stood at the front steps of the small house, nerves twisting in his stomach like a coiled rope. He stared at the chipped paint on the door, feeling the weight of years pressing down on him. This was the house he’d been avoiding ever since he set foot back in town. And now, here he was—about to knock.

He took a deep breath, raising his fist and rapping his knuckles on the door. The sound echoed in the still morning air, louder than it had any right to be. For a moment, he thought maybe she wouldn’t answer, maybe he could just turn around and—

The door swung open.

She stood in the doorway, her eyes narrowing the second she saw him. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun, and she wore an old flannel shirt that he recognised—one she stole off of him when they were kids. She didn’t look surprised to see him. If anything, she looked like she’d been expecting him.

“Nope,” she said flatly, her hand already on the door, ready to slam it shut. “Not happening.”

“Wait,” Max said, holding up his hands. “Just… just hear me out for a minute.”

“I don’t think I need to,” she shot back, her voice cold. “I’ve already heard enough.”

“Darling, please—”

“Do not call me ‘darling,’” she snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut. Her eyes flashed with anger, and Max felt the sting of it, like a whip cracking against his skin. “You don’t get to call me that anymore.”

Max took a step back, raising his hands defensively. “Alright, alright. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“You didn’t mean?” she interrupted, her voice rising, filled with a raw, seething rage that had been simmering for eight long years. “What, Max? You didn’t mean to leave me in a hospital bed without a word? You didn’t mean to disappear without so much as a goddamn goodbye?”

He swallowed hard, the guilt gnawing at him like it always did when he thought about that day. “I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how to face you.”

She let out a bitter laugh, crossing her arms over her chest as if to protect herself from him. “So, you just ran? That’s your excuse?”

“I wasn’t running,” Max muttered, but the words felt hollow even to him. He’d been running for years—he knew it, and so did she.

“Bullshit,” she spat, her eyes blazing. “You’ve been running your whole damn life. When things get hard, you don’t face them—you just pack your bags and leave. That’s what you did to me, and that’s what you’ve been doing ever since.”

He opened his mouth to argue, to tell her that wasn’t true, but the words died in his throat. She wasn’t wrong. He had run. He’d run the second things got complicated, the second he felt like he was losing control.

“I thought I was doing what was best,” he said finally, his voice quieter, less sure. “I thought you’d hate me if I stayed.”

Her jaw clenched, and she took a step forward, her fists balled at her sides. “You really think I could’ve hated you?” she said, her voice trembling with the weight of years of hurt. “You think I wanted you to just leave me behind like I didn’t matter?”

“I didn’t think I was enough for you!” Max burst out, the frustration and regret spilling out of him. “You were laid up in a hospital bed because of that fall, and I was getting calls about sponsors and competitions. I was torn in two, and I didn’t know what to do! I thought if I stayed, you’d see me as some reminder of what you’d lost, of the future we’d been planning and couldn’t have anymore.”

Her eyes widened, and for a second, the anger flickered, replaced by something else—something rawer, more vulnerable. “So, what? You thought I’d hate you? That I wouldn’t want you anymore? Out of pity?” She shook her head, stepping back from him as if the very thought disgusted her. “Is that what you really think of me?”

Max dragged a hand through his hair, hating how badly this conversation was going. “It wasn’t like that,” he said, his voice pleading now. “I didn’t want to be a burden. You’d just lost everything, and I didn’t want to remind you of the future you couldn’t have anymore. You deserved better than a guy who was barely hanging on.”

“Barely hanging on?” She seethed, her fists trembling. “You didn’t give me the chance to decide that! You didn’t even try to talk to me, to ask me what I wanted. You made that choice for me.”

“I thought I was doing the right thing!” Max shouted back, his frustration boiling over. “I thought if I walked away, you’d move on. You’d be better off without me, and I could… I could disappear before you realised I wasn’t enough.”

She stared at him, her chest heaving, her eyes burning with a mixture of rage and heartbreak. “You think leaving was easier for me? You think watching you drive off without a word made me better off?”

“I wasn’t strong enough to stay,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “I thought I’d hurt you more by sticking around. I thought you’d hate me, that you’d look at me and see someone who was staying out of pity.”

“God, Max,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “You don’t even get it, do you?”

He swallowed hard, the weight of her words crushing him. “Then tell me,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Tell me what I didn’t see.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, her breath shaky as she tried to compose herself. When she opened them again, there was no anger left—just hurt. “You were everything to me. Everything. And you took that away because you were scared. You left me in that hospital bed, and you didn’t even let me fight for us. You made that choice, and I had to live with it.”

Max felt his chest tighten, the guilt and regret almost suffocating. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so damn sorry.”

Her lip trembled, and for a moment, she looked like she might break. But then, just as quickly, she straightened up, hardening herself again. “Sorry doesn’t fix eight years, Max. Sorry doesn’t undo the fact that you abandoned me when I needed you most.”

He took a step closer, desperate to bridge the distance between them. “I’m here now. I want to make it right.”

She laughed bitterly, shaking her head. “It’s not that easy. You don’t get to just walk back into my life and pretend like nothing happened.”

“I’m not asking you to forget,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I know I can’t fix what I did. But I want to try. Please, just give me a chance.”

She stared at him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, without another word, she stepped back inside and slammed the door in his face.

Max stood there, staring at the closed door, the sound of it still ringing in his ears. The weight of her words, the pain he’d caused, hung heavy in the air around him.

He slipped his hat back on, the brim casting a shadow over his eyes. As he turned and walked back to his truck, the gravel crunching beneath his boots, he realised something: he’d always been running. But for the first time in his life, he wasn’t sure if he could ever stop.

That night, Max couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned, the weight of her words pressing on his chest like a stone. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face—angry, hurt, and accusing. It had been easier when he thought he was protecting her by leaving. Now, after their argument, it was clear that all he’d done was rip open a wound neither of them had been able to heal.

With a frustrated groan, he threw off the blankets and sat up in bed. Sleep wasn’t coming—not tonight. He rubbed a hand over his face and glanced at the clock. It was just after midnight, but it felt like the hours were crawling by, leaving him trapped with his thoughts.

His mind wandered to the only place that ever brought him a sense of calm: the rodeo. The old training grounds on the outskirts of town where he’d spent countless nights like this, working out his frustrations with the one thing he understood—bull riding. He hadn’t been back there in years, but tonight, it felt like the only place he could go to clear his head.

Throwing on a pair of jeans and his boots, Max grabbed his jacket and slipped out of the house, the cool night air hitting his face as he headed to his truck.

The rodeo grounds were quiet when he pulled up, the faint glow of the moon casting long shadows over the empty bleachers. The scent of dirt and leather filled his lungs, familiar and comforting in a way that nothing else had been since he’d come back to town. He walked toward the arena, the sounds of his boots crunching on gravel the only thing breaking the silence.

As he got closer, something caught his eye. Movement in the arena. At first, he thought it was just his mind playing tricks on him, but then he saw her.

She was on horseback, weaving through the barrels in the dim moonlight, her movements graceful and precise. It was like watching a memory come to life. She moved with a fluidity that made it look effortless, but Max knew better. He’d seen the hours she used to put in, the work that went into every sharp turn, every quick burst of speed. She hadn’t lost her touch.

He stopped at the edge of the arena, standing just out of sight, not wanting to disturb her. For a moment, he just watched, his chest tightening as he remembered how much she loved this—how much they had loved this world together.

Then, it happened. As she rounded the last barrel, something went wrong. Maybe her horse misstepped, maybe she pushed too hard, but in an instant, she was thrown off, hitting the ground hard. Her horse skittered to the side, startled by the fall.

Before he could stop himself, Max was moving. He vaulted over the fence and ran toward her, his heart pounding in his chest. She was sitting up by the time he reached her, dusting off her jeans with a wince.

“Who the fuck did I piss off in my past life for you to be the one to find me?” she muttered, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she glanced up at him.

Max skidded to a halt, a little breathless, and held up his hands in surrender. “I was just passing by. You okay?”

She shot him a glare that could’ve melted steel. “Like you care.”

He didn’t argue, just crouched down beside her, unsure of what else to do. “How can I help?”

“Help?” She laughed bitterly, shaking her head. “You really think you can help now, after everything?”

“I don’t know,” he said honestly, his voice softer than before. “But I’m trying.”

She rolled her eyes, but her usual fire seemed to be dimmed, just a little. “Doctor’s orders,” she said finally, wincing as she shifted her leg. “You wanna help? Raise my leg and keep it elevated for fifteen minutes.”

Max hesitated for a moment, unsure if she was messing with him or not. But the way she was holding her side, the tightness in her face, told him this was real.

He nodded and carefully slid his arm under her leg, lifting it gently and resting it on his knee. She didn’t protest, but she also didn’t look at him. They sat there in silence, the tension between them as thick as the night air.

The minutes dragged by, and Max could feel every second of it. He kept his gaze focused on the ground, resisting the urge to say something—anything—to break the silence. But she was the one who spoke first.

“You should’ve stayed gone,” she said quietly, her voice lacking the venom it usually held.

Max swallowed hard, his throat dry. “I couldn’t.”

“You mean you didn’t want to. Big difference.” She still wasn’t looking at him, her focus trained on the darkened arena ahead of them.

He shifted slightly, careful not to jostle her leg. “I missed this place,” he said after a long pause. “Missed the people. Missed… you.”

She scoffed, but there was less bite to it. “You missed me? Is that why you didn’t call for eight years? ‘Cause you missed me?”

“I didn’t know how,” he admitted, his voice low. “I thought you’d moved on. I thought it was easier for you if I wasn’t in the picture.”

“Easier?” She let out a humourless laugh. “Do you even hear yourself, Max? You just disappeared. You didn’t even give me the chance to move on, to deal with any of it. You just left, and I had to pick up the pieces.”

He clenched his jaw, the guilt settling deep in his chest. “I thought I was doing what was best.”

“Stop saying that,” she snapped, finally turning to look at him. Her eyes were filled with anger, but underneath it was something else—something softer, more vulnerable. “You keep saying that like it was some noble thing you did, but all you did was make a decision for both of us. You never even asked me what I wanted.”

Max opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. She was right. He hadn’t asked. He’d just assumed.

They fell into silence again, the weight of the unspoken things between them pressing down like a heavy fog.

After what felt like forever, she sighed, leaning back against the fence, her leg still resting on his knee. “You know,” she said quietly, “there was a time when I would’ve given anything to hear you say you missed me. But now… I don’t even know what to do with that.”

Max looked at her, his chest tightening at the sight of her so close, yet so far away. “I’m trying,” he said softly. “I know I messed up. I know I can’t fix what I did, but I’m here now. I want to make it right.”

She didn’t respond, just stared out at the empty arena, her face unreadable.

The silence stretched between them, and Max could feel the weight of it settling in his bones. He wanted to say more, to tell her everything that had been building inside him for years. But the words felt too small, too insignificant for the damage he’d caused.

After a long while, she spoke again, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know if it’s enough.”

Max’s heart clenched, but he nodded. “I get that,” he said quietly. “But I’m not going anywhere this time.”

She didn’t say anything else, and the two of them sat there in the quiet of the rodeo grounds, with nothing but the stars and the distant sounds of the horses to keep them company.

For the first time in years, it wasn’t the silence that felt unbearable. It was the hope buried somewhere beneath it.

She shifted slightly, wincing a bit as she adjusted her leg on his knee. Max kept his hold steady, though every muscle in him was tense. He was waiting, unsure if she’d kick him out of her life again or keep him suspended in this strange limbo they found themselves in.

“What was it like?” she asked suddenly, her voice soft but cutting through the stillness. She didn’t look at him, just kept her eyes trained on the horizon, as if the answer was out there somewhere in the night sky. “To make it big? To live that life?”

Max glanced at her, surprised by the question. For a moment, he wasn’t sure how to respond. His instinct was to downplay it, to gloss over the highs and lows like he had so many times before when people asked. But this wasn’t just anyone asking—it was her.

He took a deep breath. “It was everything I thought it’d be,” he started, his voice low. “At first, anyway. The crowds, the money, the fame… it was wild. Everything moved so fast. One minute I was just this kid from nowhere, the next I was on posters, doing interviews, getting invited to places I’d never even dreamed of.”

He paused, rubbing the back of his neck as the memories flooded back. “The adrenaline—it’s like nothing else. Every ride, every victory, it felt like I was on top of the world. But the crashes… they’re just as big. Bigger, even.”

She listened quietly, her face unreadable. He wasn’t sure if she cared or if she was just being polite, but he kept going, needing to get it out.

“There were nights when I’d lie awake in a hotel room, hundreds of miles from home, and wonder what the hell I was doing,” he admitted, his voice softer now. “I was surrounded by people all the time, but I never felt more alone. It was like… like I was chasing something, and no matter how far I got, I couldn’t catch it. Every high came with a low, and after a while, the lows started outweighing everything else.”

She still didn’t say anything, her eyes fixed on the stars. He looked down at the ground, the dirt beneath his boots feeling more real than anything had in a long time.

“I got tired of it,” he confessed after a long pause. “Tired of the crowds, the noise, the pressure to be something I wasn’t sure I wanted to be anymore. I missed this place. I missed…” He trailed off, but she didn’t need him to finish the sentence. They both knew what he meant.

Finally, she turned her head slightly, her eyes finding his. “And you think you can just come back?” she asked, her voice steady but tinged with something bitter, something hurt. “After all of that? Just walk back into this life like nothing happened?”

Max swallowed hard. “No,” he said quietly. “I don’t think that. I know I can’t just… fix things. I’m not here to pretend that the past didn’t happen.”

She looked at him for a long moment, her gaze sharp, cutting through the quiet. “Why should I trust you?”

He didn’t flinch at the question. He’d been expecting it, waiting for it.

“You don’t have to,” he answered honestly, meeting her eyes. “I know I haven’t earned that. Not yet. Maybe not ever.”

Her jaw clenched, and she turned her gaze back to the arena. “You hurt me, Max. You didn’t just leave—you disappeared. Like I meant nothing.”

“I know,” he whispered, the words heavy with regret. “And I’m so damn sorry. If I could take it all back, I would.”

“Sorry isn’t enough,” she said, her voice trembling just slightly. “You don’t get to come back after eight years and expect me to forget what that felt like.”

He nodded, his throat tight. “I’m not asking you to forget. Or even to forgive me right away. I just want a chance to make things right. To prove that I’m not that guy anymore.”

She didn’t respond, just sat there in the silence, her leg still resting on his knee. It was a strange kind of intimacy—one built on years of unresolved hurt, but also on something deeper. Something neither of them wanted to name yet.

After a while, she sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. “Nothing ever changed here, you know,” she said quietly, her voice almost a whisper. “While you were out there, living that big life, everything just… stayed the same. The same people, the same rodeos, the same barns. It was like I was stuck while you were off becoming someone else.”

Max’s chest tightened at her words. He couldn’t imagine what that must’ve felt like, to watch the world move on without her, to feel left behind. And worse, to know he was part of the reason she felt that way.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, the words feeling inadequate, but it was all he had. “I didn’t mean to… I didn’t want to leave you stuck. I thought you’d move on. I thought you’d—”

“Stop thinking,” she cut in, her voice sharp again, though there was a weariness in her eyes. “You keep telling yourself you did what was best for me, but you never asked me what I wanted. You just decided for both of us.”

He nodded, taking the hit. She was right, and he wasn’t going to argue with that.

She shifted again, pulling her leg off his knee and standing up, brushing the dirt off her jeans. Max stood too, though he kept his distance, unsure of what to do next. The tension between them was still there, heavy and thick, but something had changed. There was a crack in the wall she’d built around herself, just a small one, but it was there.

“Look,” she said after a long pause, her voice softer now. “I don’t know what you expect to happen. I don’t know if I can ever trust you again. But… I don’t hate you. Not anymore. I thought I did, for a long time. But it’s just… it’s hard to hate someone you used to love that much.”

His heart stuttered in his chest at the word “love.” Even though it was in the past tense, it still felt like a lifeline.

“I don’t expect anything,” he said quietly. “I just want to be here. Whatever that looks like.”

She gave him a long look, her eyes searching his face as if she was trying to figure out if he was telling the truth. Finally, she nodded, just once. “We’ll see.”

It wasn’t a promise. It wasn’t even close. But it was something.

She turned and started walking toward her truck, her steps slow, like she was still testing how much she could trust the ground beneath her.

Max watched her go, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, the weight of the past still pressing on him. But for the first time in a long time, he felt like maybe, just maybe, he had a chance.

And he wasn’t going to waste it.

part three

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rqnarok · 2 months ago

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summary: old man!logan gets grumpy when you tell him that he cannot keep up with you.

cws/tags: smut! mdni. fem!reader. old man!logan. unprotected p in v. logan calls himself ‘old man’. sub!reader. unspecified age gap. reader rides logan. not proofread ofc..

“Why? Afraid you can’t keep up, Old Man?” He’s all grumpy ever since you mutter the playful question. Stopping your trailing wet kisses on his greying beard as he glares down on you, brows furrowed to make an expression that sums up his emotions.

Logan doesn’t know why he feels irritated by the reminder. After all, you’re right: his stamina and sex drive are nothing compared to you, someone much much younger than him.

Still, he intends to poke at you and make a point.

Logan decides that he’s not going to do any work tonight because of your underestimation earlier. “If you want it so bad, you do it.” He says.

You’d whine in protest, “Come on, ‘s just a joke, Lo!” Staring at the older man with the best doe-eyes you could form.

“Put those eyes away.”

Because you do want it so bad - you end up straddling him as you ride every inch of his fat cock.

At first, Logan enjoys the sight of you being undone in front of him, his scruffy beard subtly hiding his smugness.

But fuck. Logan loses it completely when you whisper a question around “Like this?” as you try to fit his large girth of him inside you.

It’s not even the first time you’ve ridden him—but there’s something so sweet in the way you croak those words, your half-lidded eyes glancing up to see him to get his validation; your messy hair and your red-kissed lips. He feels sick for consuming something he does not deserve, to be an old man who can’t keep up.

When you mutter the questions:

Like this? So Meek and pure, everything he’s not;

Is this right? Achingly delicate and eager;

L-Like this, Lo?” Overwhelming drunkness—

Logan loses it more and more until he gives out—facing his defeat in whatever game you and him were playing—and wrapping his arms around your waist, “Yeah,” He replies in a hoarse grunt, “just like that, darlin’.”

You can feel his hard member twitching inside of your velvet walls and see him shutting his eyes tightly in pleasure. It’s too soon, Logan thinks—too fuckin’ soon to come. Almost embarrassingly as he is proving your point but he cannot help himself, y’know?

Not when you mutter those questions and trigger him, sending electricity in his adamantium body until he feels like all he’s left is mere his ecstasy, “F-fuck. Takin’ such good care of your old man.”

His thick palms caress the fat of your ass, kneading each plump greedily as he feels you bouncing up and down, up and down—feels his cock drags inside your warm pussy.

Oh, he knows he should not be enjoying someone so young and innocent being needy of his cock. But he does. He does. And he doesn't care anymore if someone thinks that he’s corrupting you. Maybe he is—but he always takes care of you, always looking over you—now that you’re his.

You’d ask him again while circling your hips and taking more of him, “Like this, right?” How can you ask him anything like that as if every movement you made doesn't feel like heaven to him?

He hears you hiccup so sweetly, out of breath, as you curl your toes. Logan lets out a deep chuckle as he watches you lose yourself, intoxicated by the feeling of his cock.

“Good fuckin’ girl. Tha’ right.” He groans, guiding you back down on his length, “S’good, huh, baby?”

All he gets in return is your familiar little hum and Logan coos, knows it all too well that he’s hitting all the right spots that turn you non-verbal.

“Like that, sweetheart. Jus’ like that.”

Yeah, he can’t keep up, alright.

#logan howlett #logan howlett smut #logan howlett x reader #old man logan #old man!logan #old man logan x reader #wolverine smut #deadpool and wolverine #logan by nina <3

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mini-ism · 5 months ago

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#— “SO, YOU’RE A CAMBOY?”

⋆ warnings: ADULT CONTENT (MDNI). camboy!au, masturbation, no beta read.

⋆ pairings: gallagher, sunday, aventurine, welt yang, dr. veritas ratio (separate) X reader.

⋆ notes: this is a part 2 (that nobody asked for lol), i hope i didnt butcher anyones character 😓

⋆ PART 1.

⋆ gallagher will actually oil up if you tell him to — and he does it with a dirty grin. he always wears his signature magenta tie, or maybe a collar if he’s feeling extra naughty. not much is known about gallagher, truthfully. gallagher likes to flex his biceps, he knows that drives you mad. his arms are all scratched up, speckled with patches of scar tissue up to his shoulders. he has a strangely magnetic gaze, one that calls to you as he strokes himself. he lolls his head, letting out a long, heavy moan. his brown hair starts to stick to his face as he sweats, teasing his cock to drive his viewers wild. he edges to get you riled up, raising his eyebrows as he pumps his shaft with two big, thick, calloused hands. he likes to cuff himself to his bed, unable to pull away from a vibrator or his own hand. gallagher is very personal with his viewers at times, ranting about his long, boring day at work with a hand on his cock, calling himself an “old dog” and blabbing about bitchy people. if there’s one thing about gallagher that you know, it’s that he’s a dirty, old showoff. oh, and, if you finish before him, he will relentlessly tease you for it.

⋆ sunday infrequently streams. there’s something so filthy and impure about it that drives him somewhat wild. he doesn’t like to show his face on camera a lot, it could end up bad if it becomes public knowledge that he’s the one on stream. however rare it may be for him to stream, let alone show his face, you can’t ever get enough of his flushed face. he’s just so pent up, and every time he gets close, his wings start to flap a little, it’s adorable. his wings are perfectly preened, his body is well taken care of, and his hands are simply beautiful. his skin is quite pale, it sometimes looks slightly grey, but his knuckles are rosy, and his face gets so, so red. his cock is just as gorgeous, his entire body is well maintained, his tip just as rosy as his knuckles. he lets out small babbles as his cool, collected exterior starts to falter from pleasure. he teases the slit of his tip with his thumb, stroking slowly, dampening his moans with his other mouth. what he does secretly is just so, so impure, it’s sinful, it feels all too good to show his fans what he cannot show the world. it’s amazing, having no control for once.

⋆ aventurine is showy. he’s already pretty showy (he has a lot to compensate for, in all honesty), but when he’s right in front of the camera, something in him changes. he likes to make his streams feel one-on-one, he knows that’s what gets him donations. sometimes, he likes to make “bets” on who will come first, you or him. it’s always you, especially when he dirty talks and picks up the camera to show you how hard and needy he is. he licks his lips and he moans softly when he pumps himself, taunting you to cum, confessing how hard this makes him. he always makes sure to ruin your orgasm indirectly, never letting you get what you want. shouldn’t seeing him already be enough for you, or are you just selfish?

⋆ welt never anticipated becoming a camboy. he was reluctant, but he strangely started to enjoy it. he doesn’t have much personal time, between his job, his duties, his life, he doesn’t savor the time he has alone with himself all too much. welt loves to praise you, urging you to come for him, come to his body and his dick. his gaze is so, so gentle, egging you on for longer, edging himself just so you feel good. his audience loves that about him, he’s endearing and selfless, he doesn’t even have donations on. he mostly streams for the fun of it, he loves encouraging you to feel your best, showing you every part of him that you want, flexing his muscles, giving you THAT look, moaning for you. he strokes his cock softly, whimpering with pleasure and whining as he feels his abs after he edges again. welt absolutely has a cult-like following, the majority of which have some sort of DILF fascination.

⋆ veritas ratio was openly against the idea of streaming. he shut it down every time, but something in the back of his mind nagged him. he grew in popularity in a short time, tugging on his cock with a strange scowl-like smile on his face. he was wonderfully sculpted, though, he loved to show his body. he would occasionally post to other platforms with photos of him shirtless. sometimes out of the bath, skin still glistening and wet, or after a workout in a mirror. in due time, veritas became used to flaunting his body, sneakily placing a rubber ducky somewhere around his home, whether it be his living room, his room, wherever, and challenging his viewers to find it. he’s mildly agitated whenever a member of his audience calls him “ducky” or “mr. ducky.” the ducks are part of the reason why he blew up so fast. veritas knows he’s handsome, though, and he loves to tease, pulling his cock from his boxers when he can’t bare another second of not touching it. he’s big, and he loves to talk about what he’ll do to you. he wastes no time, making sure to pleasure himself and you as efficiently as possible, he’s a master of dirty talk, especially with that commanding voice of his.

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wh0re43van · 1 year ago

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Boyfriend (Warren Lipka X Reader)

Summary: you reunite with an old friend while making a delivery for your shitty boyfriend

Word count: 4.1k

Warnings: smut, throat fucking, weed, cheating, not proof read

A/n: I have no idea how much weed costed in 2003 bc I was two years old. Also, I apologize if your name is Chelsea bc you will be slandered in this fic. Thank you for reading! <3

Pt 2 , Pt 3

I slam my boyfriends shitty car door, stepping out into the cold November rain, running towards the brick house, an 8th of weed shoved in my bra. I can’t believe my idiot boyfriend is too lazy to get out of his car to make his delivery. I’ve never even met this customer and his dumbass is having me waltz right up this random man’s house, while he’s parked a block away.

I pound on the wooden door before stepping back a bit. I shift back and forth on my feet as I rub my hands up and down on my arms trying to warm myself with the friction. After a couple of minutes, the door swings open, a man with unkempt brown hair and tired eyes steps out, looking a bit surprised. Those eyes. I know them. I cant put my finger on it, but I know him from somewhere.

“Uhm can I help you? Are you alright?” he asks, stepping out onto the porch closing the door behind him, looking me up and down, maybe trying to figure out why some strange girl is stood sopping wet on his doorstep, or maybe he recognizes me as well.

“Of course that dumbass didn’t tell you,” I sigh. “I’m delivering for Dakota,” I explain, pulling the plastic baggie out of my bra.

“Ah, okay,” he opens the door again, ignoring my hand offering the weed. “Why don’t you come in, get out of the cold?” he offers, holding the door open for me. I consider his offer; He seems kind, and he doesn’t appear to have the money on him anyway. I might as well wait inside while he retrieves it before I catch my death out here.

“Thank you,” I smile, stepping into the warm living room, part of me hoping that Dakota can see me going into the random man’s house. He leads me down to the basement, explaining that this is his bedroom.

“Make yourself at home,” he smiles, showing two familiar dimples on either cheek as he gestures to his couch. I smile back, happily taking a seat. He walks into the bathroom, coming back with a towel in his hand.

“Did you go to Tates Creek Highschool by chance?” he asks, offering me the grey bath towel.

“I did,” I smile. “Only for freshman year though, my family moved the next county over after that,” I explain. That must be where I know him from.

“Y/n, I thought that was you,” he smiles taking a seat next to me.

“Yeah,” I smile back. “You look familiar, but I’m sorry I can’t remember your name,” I blush, a bit embarrassed that I don’t remember him.

“Ouch,” He chuckles. “I thought getting detention together for stealing the teachers’ cigarettes would have been a bit more memorable,” he says, leaning back on the couch. Then it dawns on me.

“Warren?” I ask, shocked. “Little Warren Lipka?” I turn on the couch to face him, getting a better look- the best look I can get in the dim yellow lighting. I don’t believe it! He laughs at my reaction.

“I guess if you remember me as little Warren, I can see why you didn’t recognize me,” he says, reaching for his grinder and papers laying on the coffee table. “You got that 8th, beautiful?” he asks casually. I blush at the comment, pulling the weed out of my bra once again. I hand him the warm baggie.

“That’ll be 7 bucks, sir,” I grin. All the memories come flooding back to me when our hands touch as we exchange the substance for the cash. All the classes we skipped together, all the many hours in detention we spent alongside each other, the cigarettes that we would smoke under the bleachers. He was shorter than me then, he always had his hair buzzed and wore oversized clothes to hide his small frame. I guess he was a late bloomer, because the only remnants of that little boy are the deep brown eyes and dimples displayed like artwork on the handsome grown man in front of me.

“You look really good,” he breaks me out of my thoughts, sparking the joint he’s just rolled.

“Thank you,” I smile. He passes me the paper. I take a hit. “You look good yourself,” I exhale through my nose, handing the joint back to warren.

“So you’re a friend of Dakotas?” He asks, after sucking in a breath of smoke as he stretches his arm over the back of the couch and behind my shoulders.

“His girlfriend, actually,” My response catches him off guard, making him choke on the smoke.

“Holy shit,” he laughs in between coughs. “How the hell did that goon bag you?” he asks, flabbergasted. I can’t help but giggle, taking another drag off the joint.

“Sometimes I wonder the same thing,” I answer honestly. Dakota isn’t exactly the best boyfriend in the world. We’ve been dating almost two years and I’ve caught him with other girls multiple times. He doesn’t respect my boundaries or my aspirations, yet somehow, he always convinces me to stay. I guess when you’re as attractive as he is and as insecure as I am, it isn’t hard for him to convince me that he’s the best I’ll ever have.

“So what’s wrong with Dakota? Why couldn’t he make the delivery himself?” Warren asks, looking down at the joint between his lips as it glows crimson. “Not that I’m complaining,” he clarifies.

“He said he was tired and didn’t want to get his shoes wet,” I laugh, feeling the THC start to take effect. “Can you believe that?” I ask, laying a hand on warrens thigh in my fit of giggles. “He’s just sitting in his shit box a block away,” I say, feeling my eyelids begin to get heavy. Warren raises his eyebrows, looking at me with glossy eyes.

“Wow,” he scoffs. “I actually don’t believe that. I couldn’t imagine having your girl make deliveries for you. Thats some serious pussy shit,” he rolls his eyes, holding the joint up to my mouth. I take a hit from the hot paper between his fingers. I look down at the spliff, then back at him to find his eyes already fixed on me. “If I was your boyfriend, I wouldn’t let you make deliveries for me,” he says in a much quieter tone, the moment is almost intimate as I blow the smoke into his face that’s closer to mine than I realized, but I can’t bring myself to back away. “And I sure as hell wouldn’t want you smoking with me,” he adds, bringing the joint to his lips to take the final hit.

“Why’s that?” I ask in a whisper with butterflies in my stomach, breathing in the smoke that’s slowly rolling off his lips.

“Because it gives me the opportunity to do something I’ve wanted to do since freshman year,” he matches my tone, glancing at my lips, bringing his finger and thumb around my chin, tilting my head up towards him. My heart begins to race at his proximity, I know I should pull away from him, but I can’t. I don’t want to. Just as his lips barely brush against mine, my Nokia rings out, sounding like an alarm, making me jump in surprise, scrabbling to find the small cellphone on the couch.

“Hey babe,” Warren answers the phone, winking at me. My stomach drops. Fuck. I reach for the phone, but warren stands up. “Nah man she’s good she’s right here. I just gave her the mon- hey. Hey!” I hear warren begin to shout. I cease my struggle to grab the phone. “Is there a fucking problem man?” Warren seethes into the phone. I hear my boyfriend’s muffled speech. “Yeah, I didn’t fuckin think so,” he hangs up the phone, handing the small plastic brick to me.

“You look pretty stoned,” he says picking up a coat off the couch, wrapping it around my shoulders. “Let me walk you out. You remember where his car is?” he asks, putting his hand on the small of my back, ushering me to the steps. I nod my head yes, staring at him with wide eyes trying to process what just happened.

“Lead the way then, beautiful,” he grins, and just like that, the butterflies are back. I don’t dare respond, not knowing what will come out of my mouth.

The walk to Dakota’s car is silent but comfortable, still pretty baked, I feel the rain coming down in sheets. vibrating calmly in my bones. I stare up at the orange glow of the streetlights in the night sky in awe. Everything looks so beautiful when you’re high.

“Here he is,” Warren says approaching the small rust bucket of a car that my boyfriend drives. He opens the passenger door for me. After I’m seated, he leans in to look at Dakota. “Don’t have your girl make trips for you anymore, man. What the fuck is wrong with you?” he says calmly but it comes across like a threat, before tossing a couple folded bills at Dakota and closing the door. I’m glad he remembered the money. Dakota would have killed me if I had left it down there.

My boyfriend is quiet. Much more quiet than he normally is when someone threatens his masculinity. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he’s scarred of Warren.

As Dakota pulls off, his Insane Clown Posse CD playing quietly, I look out the side mirror to see warren standing with his hands in his pockets, getting soaked in the rain in nothing other than his t-shirt and jeans, watching me ride away. As Dakota begins to bitch and complain my ear, all I can think about is when ill see Warren again, then I remember; I have his coat. It would be rude of me to keep it. I’ll just have to return it to him.

•

It’s been a week since my interaction with Warren, and I can’t stop thinking about him.

‘Is it so wrong that I want to catch up with an old friend?’ I ask myself. Of course, there’s nothing wrong with visiting a friend, the issue lies in the fact that the thoughts I’m having of him aren’t exactly platonic.

‘I’ll just drop his coat off, thanking him for the kind gesture and be on my way.’ I tell myself as I climb into my car. ‘Okay, maybe I could make some small talk with him, that’s innocent enough. Yeah, ill ask him about his job, if he’s going to school now, stuff like that’ I manage to convince myself that this will be a short, polite visit with an old friend, but a part of me must know the truth because I tell Dakota that I’m going out with my mother for lunch.

I park my vehicle on a side street near the Lipka house, just in case Dakota drives down here for whatever reason. I grab Warrens coat and walk up to the porch.

‘Maybe he’s not home and I’ll just hand it to his parents,’ I think as I knock on the door. The thought disappoints me, but maybe it’s for the b-

“Y/n!” Warren exclaims as the door swings open. “What a pleasant surprise,” he crunches on a Cheeto, crinkling the bag as he folds it shut.

“Hey Warren,” I smile at the man standing in front of me while he licks the Cheeto dust off his fingers.

“Come in, its freezing,” he steps aside so I can enter. I frown a bit.

“Well, actually I’m just here to return your coat,” I hold out the slick material.

“How kind,” he flashes his dimples. “Are you in a rush?” He asks as he retrieves his jacket.

“Well, no…” I trail off, trying to think of an excuse, but its hard to excuse yourself from something you want more than anything else.

“Then come inside real quick, darling, just to warm up,” he winks at me and I cant help but giggle. I surrender, stepping into his warm home once again,and following him down to his room.

I sit down on his couch as Invader Zim plays on his box tv.

“This may be a bold assumption,” Warren starts as he sits down on the cushion next to me. “But I think you may have come back for something more than the raincoat,” he suggests, looking into my eyes.

“Warren-“ I begin, but I don’t know what to say. He’s right. I want to desperately finish what we almost started last week. Just the faint brushing of his lips against mine has made me feel something I’ve never experienced before. I need to feel him-

“Free weed, right?” He grins picking up the rolling tray.

Oh.

I can’t help but blush. I thought for a moment that Warren had already forgotten about our last encounter, but the wink he sends my way suggests that he meant exactly what I thought he meant.

“It’s not often that I don’t have to match,” I admit, pulling my legs up to my chest.

“You mean with friends, right?” Warren asks before he licks the thin rolling paper, holding my gaze as his tongue slowly slides across the wrap.

“Uh,” my breath hitches in my throat. Damn he looks so good. I’ve never wanted to be a rolling paper so bad in my life. “No, I mean in general. Dakota says he’s, uhm, running a business. So I have to pay or match what I smoke every time we, uh, spark. Or else I’m stealing from him,” I mutter out. Warren smirks at the pink raising in my cheeks once again. He knows exactly what he’s doing. Thank God he can’t see the pool forming in my underwear.

“No offense y/n,” he sparks the joint, inhaling a hit of hot smoke. “But Dakotas pathetic,” he breaths out.

“None taken,” I laugh as I take the paper from his hand.

“I mean for more than just the way he treats you,” he explains as I pass the joint back to him. “I’ve known him for a while. We met through a mutual friend, a few years ago. Started smoking together, then started dealing together and breaking into the chain stores around here, ya know, the ones that just throw shit away while people are starving,” he begins to explain as he sinks into the couch, leaning his head back, blowing a cloud of smoke towards the drop ceiling tiles of his bedroom. I stare at him, taking another hit, hanging on to his every word. I could listen to his voice all day. “Soon he started shorting people on weed, over charging behind my back, he was jealous of how well I was doing, always trying to one up me, bragging about how he’s making more money than me, not caring how he achieved it. Then one night, he decided he was going to try and break into a store by himself, of course he chose the corner store down the street, the one owned by the little old lady,” he chuckles. “I beat the shit out of him as soon as I found out,” he takes a hit. “Pussy didn’t throw a single punch back. Just curled up on the ground. Worst part is; he didn’t even get anything. She chased him off with a broom,” he runs a hand through his long brown hair, finally looking at me as he hands me the spliff.

“Wow, I guess that’s why he seemed so scared the other day,” I giggle. I should feel bad, this guy just told me he beat my boyfriend up, but I almost want to thank him.

“That’s also why I get a discount,” he grins as smoke rolls out of his nostrils. “But for once,” he leans in closer to me. “I’m jealous of him,” I can feel his breath on my face. “Seeing you ride off in that car with him last week was painful to watch. You should have been right here with me,” he pushes a loose strand of hair out of my face, and I melt into his touch.

“Well,” I take in a shaky breath, unable to resist those coffee-colored eyes. “I’m here now, Warren.” And with that, the world ceases to spin as he crashes his lips into mine. I’m suddenly aware of my quick heartbeat, every ounce of blood flowing throw my veins, the electricity that shoots from Warrens hands into my body. The smell of smoke on his breath and the slightly stale air in the basement invades my senses. The kiss is desperate and hungry; something I haven’t felt in years. I moan into his mouth as he pulls me into his lap to straddle him.

“This is wrong, Warren,” I pull away reluctantly.

“No beautiful, it was wrong when he called me asking for Chelsea’s contact last month,” he pants. The mention of that whores name makes my blood boil. She’s his most recent side piece. “Had I known he was with you, I would have beat his ass again instead of sending it,” he says honestly, as his hand runs gently up my hip. My mind is made up in an instant. I take the joint out of his hand, inhaling one last hit before I set it in the ash tray. I slide down to the floor on my knees in between his legs before I take my sweater off, tossing it to the side.

“You’re right,” I grin as I reach for his buckle. The pop of the metal releasing ringing through my ears as I shimmy the jeans off his body. I look up at Warren through my lashes, his eyes wide staring down at me with his bottom lip tucked between his teeth. The sight makes my core tingle.

“May I?” I ask palming him through his plaid boxers, feeling his dick stiffen under my touch.

“I insist,” he grins, helping me slide the boxers off. My eyes widen at his length in front of me. He’s perfect. I take him into my hand, holding his gaze as I let spit drip from my kiss bruised lips onto his tip, allowing me to stroke him easier. He curses under his breath as I move my hand up and down his now rock hard dick. I smile to myself before wrapping my mouth around his tip, slowly moving down his length until he hits the back of my throat, then I hollow out my cheeks, as I begin to bob up and down. Warren lifts his head to take in the sight below him. He rests a gentle hand on the back of my head.

“Fuck, you look so pretty with my cock in your mouth,” he groans, instinctively moving his hips in rhythm with my head. I hum in response as I bring my other hand underneath his length to massage his balls, earning a low moan from him.

Soon he takes over, holding my head as he thrusts into my mouth. I push him in as far as possible, gagging on his length. He stands up so he can properly fuck my throat. This isn’t something that I normally do, I never allow Dakota to use me like this. But right now, I think I would let warren do absolutely anything he desires, and I would enjoy every second of it. This is the first time I’ve ever been so turned on from pleasing someone else. My underwear is soaked my arousal and he’s barely touched me. The praise and moans coming from Warren is enough to get me off. The way his eyes peer into mine as he violates my throat, bringing a gentle thumb up to wipe the tears that creep out of my eyes makes my heart flutter.

“Come here baby,” Warren pulls out of my mouth, I gasp for air as he picks my up to carry me to his bed. He pulls his shirt over his head and asks permission to pull my pants off. I nod quickly, earning a chuckle from him. “You did so good for me,” he lays a kiss on my forehead, using his shirt to wipe the tears and spit from my face, I smile at the sweet gesture. He pulls me into a kiss after climbing on top of me, both of us now completely naked. Warrens hand wonders down to my heat, dipping a finger into my entrance, I whimper at the contact. “You really got off to me fucking your throat, huh?” He smiles against my lips, feeling how wet I am for him.

“Please just fuck me Warren,” I beg. He smirks as he lines himself up with me.

“You ready, beautiful?” He asks. I nod, impatiently scooting closer to him, begging for contact. He chuckles as he slowly pushes into me. Being stretched out has never felt so good. There’s almost no pain as I easily take him, a loud moan escapes my lips

“Shh,” he smirks as he continues to push into me, stifling his own moans. “My folks are upstairs baby, not so loud,” he explains.

“I’m sorry,” I giggle. “You just feel so fucking go-“ I cut myself off with another loud moan as he begins rocking his hips at a steady pace. I clamp my hands over my mouth to muffle my moans. Warren looks down at me as he he pounds into me, a hand reaching down to hold my breast’s that are moving in rhythm with his hips.

“God, you’re so stunning,” he praises as he uses his other hand to push his curls out of his face. The sight of Warren on top of me is something that I never want to forget. If this is the last time he has his way with me, I want to remember this moment for the rest of my life. His hungry eyes that take the time to admire every inch of my body. The way his hair bounces as his cock pounds deeper inside me than anyone has ever been.

Suddenly, he pulls away, leaving me feeling empty as he lays down beside me.

“Come here darling,” he rests his back on the head board as he pulls me on top of him. “I want you to ride me. Can you do that for me baby,” he asks as he lays sloppy kisses on my neck. I giggle in response as I straddle him, happily allowing him to fill me once again. I let out a moan of relief as that void in my stomach is satisfied.

“Fuck,” Warren grunts. “You take me so well, beautiful,” he whispers as I bounce up and down on his cock. I lean forward to kiss him, muffling the moans coming from both of us. I move my hips in unison with his as his hand grips onto my ass spreading me open so he can pound as deep in me as possible. Im positive he’s leaving fingernail makes in the soft skin, but I don’t dare stop him. Warren reaches a finger down to rub circles on my clit, giving me just what I need to approach my release.

“Fuck,” I moan into our desperate, wet kiss. “Just like that Warren please,” I beg. Feeling my body heat up and my swollen cunt begin to throb. As Warren thrusts exactly where I need him, I come undone around him as I erupt in a fit of moans and praises. The euphoria quickly filling my body as my release drips onto Warrens twitching dick. He quickly throws me off of him, cum shooting up onto my chest and on to his stomach. I swiftly dip my head down, bringing him into my mouth to milk every last drop out of him.

“Fuck y/n!” He moans in surprise. Now it’s his turn to cover his mouth as he rides out his orgasm. I pull away to lay next to Warren, our chests heaving in unison.

“Holly shit,” he laughs after few minutes of comfortable silence. “That was…you were…wow,” he turns his head to smile at me, already looking at him.

“I can say the same to you,” I giggle, running my hand over his chest. He brings me in for one last kiss, this one gentle and kind.

“You can use my shower if you’d like, I’ve made quite the mess of you,” he smirks.

“Thank you,” I smile standing up. “Uhm, we’re definitely not going to tell Dakota about this, right?” I ask, suddenly feeling… not guilty… but nervous and almost excited in a strange way.

“My lips are sealed, beautiful,” he winks, taking my hand to guide me to his bathroom.

#kit walker #kit walker imagine #peter maximoff #quicksilver #quicksilver smut #american horror story #james patrick march #jimmy darling imagines #kia anderson smut #evan peters x reader #warren lipka #evan peters smut #evan peters #tate langdon smut #tate langdon #evan peters x female reader #kai anderson smut #kai anderson

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miley1442111 · 8 months ago

Text

the problem with arguing

a/n: Hi, this is my first story, any constructive criticism is welcomed. This had not been properly edited nor read through because icba lmao :) also I wrote it for a fem!reader but I don't think there's much mention other than Jack calling reader 'mom' so... yeah :)

pairings: aaron hotchner x reader, platonic BAUteam x reader, motherly(If that's a word?)reader x teen!jack hotchner

summary: aaron and you are in a fight, but what happens when a meeting with a witness goes south?

warnings: criminal minds levels of violence, angst, fluff, couple fighting, reader in distress, reader getting injured, mentions of knives, mentions of being stabbed, mentions of being tied up, mentions of hospitals, mentions of killing, mentions of general injury, mentions of guns/shooting, minimal use of y/n.

1.6k + words.

“We’re here, we’ll update you if anything comes of it,” Morgan promises Hotch over the phone as we walk to the front porch of one of our witnesses. Something about his story is messed up and we were the unlucky ones who had to go talk to him. It’s a pretty house I guess, a little expensive for what a 26 year old man could afford, and what he would want to buy. It’s all fifties style, the entire estate is. Big-enough bungalows with pastel walls and inviting doors with a small porch, just enough for the entry-way and a chair. I knock on the door, exhausted from the past 72 hours. Aaron and I got in a fight before we got to Ohio, it was unnecessary, but we fought all the same. He was mad at me for giving Jack advice that led to a fight between them. I just wanted to kiss and make up 3 days ago but he won’t budge. Maybe it’s because he knows I’m right and doesn’t want to confront it or maybe it’s because I took it too far and overstepped. Jack calls me ‘mom’, I live with him, and Jack came to me for support, he wanted guidance and I gave him it. He was mad at his dad because he missed meeting his girlfriend. His girlfriend, Ava, was a lovely girl, I had been the one there when Jack brought her over for dinner, I was the one trying to suss out if they actually liked each other, and I was the one Jack sat down with for 2 hours after and told everything about her to. All because Aaron was too busy with paperwork in his study. Jack was hurt, which is difficult to do because he’s such an understanding 16 year-old boy. It was also hard because I saw both sides. I’ll be the first to admit that what Aaron did was wrong, but our job is hard and demanding, especially his since he’s the leader of our team… But Jack just wanted 2 hours of his time, not even, just a dinner. A dinner to meet his girlfriend, and Aaron still couldn’t make it.

I knock again as I huff.

“Everything alright?” Morgan asks, the regular playful glint in his eye.

“Tired, mad, over this job. You?” I sigh.��

“Sounds about right,” He chuckles. “How’s Jack doing?”

A smile spreads across my face. “He has a girlfriend,” Morgan’s face lights up in a smile.

“My man,” He smirks and I chuckle. “You two met her yet?”

My face drops again. “I have, Aaron… couldn’t make it to the dinner though. She’s lovely, perfect for Jack. It's so funny, it’s just opposites attract. Jack is so sporty and outspoken and she’s one of the quieter, more into her studies kind of person.”

The door swings open and we’re met with David, our witness.

“You two know what time it is?” He yawns.

“Oh trust us, we know,” Morgan sighs. “Can we ask you a few more questions?”

“It’s 10pm at night? Can’t this wait ‘till the morning?”

“It’ll only take a few minutes,” I reassure.

He looks between us for a moment, then sighs. “Quickly.”

We walk inside and are immediately hit with an awful smell. I know that smell. That’s when I see it, a body.

And that’s when it all goes black.

I wake up in a new room, tied to a chair. I don’t see Derrick anywhere. I don’t see David anywhere. I’m all alone in this grey room. I don’t see a door but I notice a camera, and a screen in front of me. I see Penelope on the screen, then a sign above it with “Don’t make noise” scribbled. I look to my left and see a plastic window, I see Morgan through it, tied up too. He sees me.

“Y/n? Y/n?! Where are you?” Penelope squeals. I shake my head and she picks up her phone and tries calling mine, it rings and I feel something go into my side. I scream out in pain as I see the blood start trickling out of me. Penelope drops her phone, then picks it up, dialling someone else’s number.

I get switched to a joint call with Penelope, and the rest of the team, excluding Aaron.

“Y/n?” Spencer asks and I nod, sobbing in pain. Spencer runs off-screen, leaving Jj and Emily to stare in horror at me.

Spencer comes back with Aaron and we make eye-contact through the screen, and he starts breaking. He’s shouting orders at the policemen in the precinct, he’s shouting orders at the team, and he’s trying not to cry. I know that. I also know I’m the only one who knows that. He hides it pretty well but not from me, not after all of our years together. His eyes squint, his eyebrows furrow more than usual, he starts biting at the skin around his nails.

“We’re coming to find you. We will find you,” he promises me. I nod slowly as the pain in my side becomes unbearable as the knife is pulled out.

“Is Morgan with you?” Emily asks and I nod as I bite my lip until it bleeds to stop myself from making too much noise.

“Is he in the room with you?” Spencer asks.

I shake my head no. After what feels like an eternity of yes or no questions, they think they’ve located us.I hear banging on the door and then it opens. Spencer is standing there with an entire Swat team behind him. I shake my head to tell them to not make noise but they talk anyway and another knife is put into my leg, I don’t have the strength to stay quiet this time and another finds its way into my arm. I pass out.

I wake up in a hospital bed, an IV in my arm, Aaron on one side and Jack on the other. Aaron’s asleep in a chair on my left, I grimace, knowing his back will hurt.

“Mom?!” Jack exclaims as he sees me open my eyes. “Mom!” His eyes fill with tears as he gets up and wraps his arms around me on the bed.

“Jack,” I sigh in relief.

“You’re okay! You’re awake!” He smiles brightly, happy that I’m alive.

Aaron wakes up from the commotion and rushes to my side. “Honey?” He takes my hand and squeezes. “You’re okay.”

I smile at both of them.

“I’ll go get the doctor,” Jack smiles and he rushes off to find a doctor.

“Honey I’m so sorry I shouldn’t have-” He starts but I cut him off.

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” he sighs, tears welling up in his eyes.

“Don’t go all soft now Aaron,” I joke.

“You make me soft,” He smiles and presses a soft kiss to my cheek.

Jack comes back in with a doctor. She tells me that I lost a lot of blood and that I will be out of the field for a few months, with 2 weeks of mandatory bedrest, then 4 weeks of physical therapy.

The next day, the team come in to visit.

“Hey,” Spencer smiles, walking in first. I’ve always been close to Spencer, he’s always felt like a little brother to me.

“Hey,” I smile and wince when I hug him, but I know it’s worth it. The rest of the team filter in, smiles on their faces.“So what happened after I went out?”

“Well, they got me, no injuries apart from a concussion,” Morgan says.

“We got the guy-” Emily starts.

“Aaron got the guy,” Spencer interrupts. “He saw him and just shot him-”

“And then he beat the crap out of him,” Jj says. “It was pretty intense.”

I nod along as they tell me the story, and then we just talk about whatever until Aaron comes in and says visiting hours are over. Spencer leaves me a few more books to read and Jj brings Jack to Ava’s house for the night. Aaron walks in with my dinner on a tray.

“Hungry?” He smiles.

“You shot someone for me?” I ask as he places my tray down.

“Yes.”

I roll my eyes and smile at him. “Is he alive?”

“No.”

My face drops. “Oh.”

“It was the combined bleeding and head trauma that killed him.”

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

“I did.”

I look at my food. “I understand you wanted to protect me-”

“I did that because he doesn’t get to live after doing this to you. Honey, you and Jack are the most important people in my life and I would do anything if it meant that you were safe and sound. Do you want to know how it felt to have what could’ve been my last words to you be ‘stop bothering me’? I was an asshole to you over the Jack situation because I knew you were right. I knew it wasn’t fair to not go to dinner when I was in the house. I knew it was important and it just felt too real. It felt like he was growing up and I just couldn’t take it because I missed so much of his childhood! So I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry that I said everything I said and did what I did, but I am not sorry about hurting that fucking monster,” He takes a deep breath. “Now eat up, it’ll go cold.”

“I love you Aaron, it’s ok. It wasn’t your fault, being a parents is hard.”

His eyes fill with tears and he looks at me like an injured puppy.

“Come here,” I smile and move over, allowing room for him to sit with me. He climbs into bed beside me and wraps his arms around me, being careful of my wounds.

“I love you,” he whispers as I slowly eat my food.

“I love you too.”

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