#watching the episode was just as hard i'm in pain

[letsgoletsgetit08]

ateez soft hours pt. 1

how they would treat you while you're on your period

hyung line

warnings: mdni, period sex, smut

word count: 1.9k

author's note: I'm feeling some type of way, okay? Don't look at me.

park seonghwa: He knows how sensitive you are while on your period so he takes full advantage of it to help you feel good.

A black towel placed down on his bed, guiding you on top of it, nimble fingers pulling down the blindfold and placing noise cancelling headphones over your ears, playing entrancing music to help you get out of your own head and just let yourself feel everything.

Soft fingers tracing feather-light over your sensitive body, the swell of your breasts, nipples going hard immediately at his touch. The softest carress - he knows they get sore, too.

Gooseflesh rising on your skin as his fingers trace down further, over the swell of your stomach, down to your thighs. Kisses soft as raindrops fall up the inside of your legs.

He knows his touch alone could probably send you over the edge, but he's not one to tease when you're in this state.

Finally, his fingers find your clit and he begins to add pressure, before dipping down further into your folds, using the wetness that has pooled at your core to help his fingers work you with less friction.

It doesn't take long for you to careen over the edge, hips bucking. You can hear him praise you over the music, "Such a good girl, always so good for me."

He slips the blindfold and headphones off one after the other, dipping in to kiss you as your legs wrap around his waist so that he can push inside of you. He knows the sex will help with your cramps, but he's more gentle than usually, laying long, languid strokes, the tip of his dick dragging deliciously over your sweet spot over and over and over until your abs are clenching, your walls milking him for all he's worth with your second orgasm.

You shower together and he wraps you up tight in bed, massaging your lower back and kissing your neck as you fall asleep.

kim hongjoong: He leaves the studio early for you after you text him complaining about how bad your cramps are. He comes by your apartment with takeout and heats up your hot water bottle for you while you get situated on the couch after spending all day in agony in bed.

He eats with you and watches an episode of the silly dating show you've been binging with you until he has to continue working, letting you put your feet in his lap as he works on his laptop.

He can only work for so long before he starts glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. You look so cute in his sweatshirt, lip stuck out in a pout as you try to ignore the pain and concentrate on the show. Eventually, his hand moves from your calf to your thigh, unable to stop himself from giving it a small sqeeze. Your legs part instinctively, allowing his hand to trace up further. You can feel the warmth of his hand through the thin fabric of your sleep pants and the sensation drives you crazy. You scooch down on the couch a little so he can reach further up, which he does, fingers nearly to where you're craving them to be.

You let our a small whimper and he either hears it or can just read your mind at that point, fingers finally landing on your still-clothed clit. You grind your hips into them, seeking friction, gaping at the smile curling up at the corner of his mouth.

He set a steady rhythm until you can't take it anymore, sitting up and staring him down until he clicks a few more times, saving the file he's working on, and drops his laptop and headphones a little carelessly onto the coffee table before pulling you into his lap. You straddle his thigh as he begins kissing you, hands gentle as they guide your hips down onto him.

The friction and pressure are everything and you're about to fall apart when he whispers, "Go ahead, darling. Make yourself feel good. I love when you use me." His thumb finds your clit again through your pants and you fall forward to his shoulder, rutting against him a few more times until you find yourself tumbling into pleasure, breathing hard as he praises you, "There we go baby. Feels better now, doesn't it?"

You hum an acknowledgement, already about to slip into sleep. He realizes and picks you up, walking you to your bed, where he tucks you in for the night, kissing your forehead before he goes back into the living room to continue working for a few more hours. He joins you later that night and lets you roll practically on top of him, rubbing your back in comforting circles as he drifts to sleep.

jeong yunho: He knows you're extra aroused while menstruating and takes full advantage of this fact. Orders in steak and cheesecake because "You need the extra iron and protein right now, honey." The cheesecake is just because you like it. But that will be saved for later. The red wine he brings over goes with the steak, though.

You eat until he is satisfied, sipping on your wine as the food digests. He listens attentively as you complain about your discomfort throughout the day, never making you feel silly for your vulnerability, face looking concerned as you talk. He kisses your hand, "I wish I could take all the pain away from my princess." His eyes darken as he kisses all the way up the inside of your forearm, sending shivers down your spine. You feel yourself getting slick, thighs clencing together, which doesn't go unnoticed by Yunho.

He stands up slowly from the couch, pulling you up with him and into a deep kiss that turns desperate and messy very quickly. His hands grope your ass and you moan into his mouth. A few quick movements and he has you bent over the armrest of the couch, pants ripped down, teasing your aching cunt with his cock.

He likes that your blood serves as extra lubrication. Not that you need it. He makes you so wet so easily. But it never hurts, especially with how big he is. The stretch as he enters you never gets old, feeling especially incredible right now. You suck him in greedily and he starts fucking you, snapping his hips exactly how he knows you need it.

"Fuck, baby, you feel amazing. So tight. God, I love watching myself disappear into you, you have no idea." His hands find your waist and you feel his thumbs rub circles into your lower back where he knows you carry pain during your time of month. One of them slips all the way around, long fingers finding your throbbing clit and it only takes a few more strokes, which he lays in time with the strokes of his fingers, before you're clenching around his considerable girth. He finishes quickly behind you, filling you to the brim.

His cock glistens red when he pulls out. You'd be more embarrassed, but you know he finds it hot.

You shower together afterwards, and he can't resist getting you off again, with deft, precise fingers.

kang yeosang: "Oh no! My poor angel. Stay right where you are, I'm leaving work early. I'll be there soon, okay darling?" His voice is so sweet over the phone. You feel tears pool in your eyes. You know it's partly just the hormones, but goddamn do you love Kang Yeosang.

"Aw, baby, you don't have to-" You start to protest.

"Uh-uh. Nope. My sweetheart is not going to suffer alone. I won't take no for an answer." You smile at his soft lisp, knowing that he's telling the truth. He might be the most gentle person you've ever met, but that doesn't mean he doesn't like being in control.

"Okay, if you insist." You sigh into the phone.

"Good girl." You can picture the smile on his face as he says it, knowing that it drives you mad with need every time. "See you soon, love."

Thirty minutes later, he's unlocking the door to your apartment with the copy of the key you made him, pint of ice cream clutched in one hand.

"Hi baby!" He calls to you from your spot in bed, "Stay there, I'm just grabbing spoons."

He's the one taking care of you, but you end up wiping the corners of his mouth where he's managed to get ice cream while eating it with you in your bed. "Messiest eater I know." You tease him.

"How do you know I'm not saving that for later?" He acts affronted.

"Because." You kiss him on the cheek, "You're sweet enough already, you don't need the extra sugar on your face to prove it."

He giggles, "That doesn't make any sense."

"Yeah, well, I don't have to make sense right now, all my blood has left my brain and has formed a sentient knife demon in my uterus that is trying to stab its way out from the inside." You fix him with big puppy dog eyes.

"Hmm..." He considers what you've said, "Well then you'd better start calling me 'Demonslayer.'"

"Huh-?" He doesn't let you finish computing what he just said, pulling you into a real kiss, turning so that he's pushing you into the mattress.

He has your pants down in an instant, face plunging between your legs, tongue expertly teasing your clit, exploring your folds, dipping low to circle your entrance. He comes up for air, "I'll show you messy eater."

He's not joking, either. He's not satisfied until you've come on his face and around his fingers at least three times. He finally comes up for air, chin tinted slightly pink, face wet from your multiple orgasms, "How do you taste amazing even like this, angel? I swear, I'm the luckiest man on earth."

He draws you a bath afterwards, adding the lavender epsom salt mix he knows helps relax your muscles, never needing to be asked to do it. You lean back onto his chest in the bathtub and let him massage your neck and shoulders. His fingers slip down to your chest, soap making easy work of things as he cups your breasts in his hands, fingers teasing your nipples. He can't resist. He always loves making you feel good, but when you're extra sensitive, it's like a drug to him.

You're close to coming just from the attention to your nipples.

"Go ahead and touch yourself, angel," He whispers into your ear, "I've got you."

The added pressure between your legs as you touch yourself is all you needed to send waves of pleasure coursing through your body once more.

"Oh, there we go." His deep voice vibrates as it resonates in his chest, "I love watching you, darling. And such pretty noises you make for me."

"Thank you, Sangie." You pant, still coming down from your orgasm. You can tell he's hard behind you but he never lets you help him out when you're on your period. He insists it's all about you and making you feel good. His pleasure can wait. He gets enough of it just helping you get yours.

"Of course, my love." He kisses right below your earlobe.

Later, he grabs your favorite stuffy from your bookshelf and hands it to you to cuddle as he curls up to spoon you from behind. You usually let them sleep on the shelf when he's over, but he knows you find extra comfort in them when your're feeling especially emotional. He's everything you could have ever asked for and more.

[amerain]

heartless

trying to cope with the chapter 1081 // episode 1115

[wyfy-meltdown]

Shortly after Madoka Magica released (to great success), everyone started trying to make the next big "magical girl misery" anime. I think the reason those ones didn't really take off is because they missed the point of Madoka: the love of others and self-sacrifice is center stage, and we only really feel bad for the characters of Madoka Magica because we see them happy.

Madoka Magica isn't just a misery fest; Mami's death matters because we understand Mami's dreams and struggles, Sayaka becoming Oktavia is impactful because we see her downfall that isn't her fault (or anyone's for that matter). Madoka (and to a secondary extent, Homura) never give up hope or trying.

Madoka isn't constantly victimised and abused (unlike some over-the-top edgy magical girl animes I know) she's in tragic circumstances and still tries her best; still WANTS the best for the world around her.

Making something sad isn't about how much we see a character suffer and struggle; it's about making the struggles and suffering they go through impactful through their story. Wants, relationships, traits, and flaws... That's what makes a character's pain painful for an audience.

[lenievi]

this moment was so unfair of him (his voice had no business getting so soft, and of course a girl's gonna get her hopes up if you look at her like that)

and this one too, when La'an told him that yes, he was a bit like the other him, and he smiled

[karmaphone]

ok but this last episode of doom patrol really said 'we're doing uncomfortable camp bc even we can't keep up real quirky when it comes to fucked up relationships with fathers'

[demilypyro]

Just watched the banned Moon Girl episode.

>the episode addresses the topic of trans kids in sports >the entire episode is about how bigots will always move the goalpost, and playing by their rules is pointless >the solution is not to play their game and break the rules >it also states that trans people should never feel like a burden >the character Brooklyn is explicitly stated to be trans >there is also an explicitly nonbinary character >multiple mentions of pride and depictions of pride flags, trans flags and progress flags

I'm not at all surprised this didn't get past the censors but I'm so mad that it didn't, because this could've been something really special, and the fact it was canned after being fully finished is downright painful. This episode was wonderful and I'm grateful to all the people who worked on it, and angry that their hard work was wasted. Disney did not deserve you.

Here's a link, as long as Disney doesn't take it down

[color-craz]

The more I think about this post the more I realize Eminence in Shadow would be better if Cid was a girl.

[sugarlywhispers]

b.katsuki x reader (fem) | quirkless!reader, prohero!dynamight

a.n; I'M IN LOVE WITH THIS IDEA OKAY? I HAVE HAD IT IN MY DRAFTS FOR LIKE A YEAR ALREADY AND I NEED YA'LL TO RANT WITH ME ABOUT THISSSS<3 it's mostly enemies to lovers💕

BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG

"For the love of–... I'M COMING!"

It's Sunday morning. You have been expecting this day to wake up maybe mid-morning, with the gentle warm breeze coming from your open window; have an exquisite brunch that you have been planning and craving since Friday; maybe watch an episode or two of your favorite show before preparing a full spa day, with a long and refreshing bath included. That's how you have planned your Sunday to go.

But no… Apparently, someone's intention was to ruin the whole day for you while their knocks on your door were persistent and annoying at 6 freaking a.m.

You don't think about what you're wearing before stumbling towards the door, with the loud BANGS still sounding. You think of your poor neighbors next door and their newborn baby.

"This little shit," you protest, completely annoyed with this person knocking on your door like someone has died. "Someone better be dead or else…" You open the door in one strong pull and huff utterly annoyed when you encounter the person behind.

Vermillion eyes collide with yours, the intense hate and annoyance so palpable in the air it almost cuts you both.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

He tchs, rolling his eyes at you. The bile travels up through your esophagus, and you want to spit at him.

"Save the greetings, if you know what a decent greeting means… Well, considering how well you just did it, I doubt you fuckin’ know…"

The muscle at your temple twitches so hard, you believe he is actually able to see it. That would explain his upcoming smirk.

"The fuck do you want?" You repeat, not even caring or taking the time to follow this banter with him. You would normally do it, come back at him with a snarky response that would probably hurt his ego and he would answer back making you even angrier, and yada yada, nothing new to this ‘hate x hate’ relationship you had with this man in front of you. But today is not a day you planned on dealing with Bakugou-annoying ass-Katsuki.

He looks down at his hands, his fingers fidgeting a bit with the buttons on his all-black suit jacket you just now noticed he is wearing. Interesting; he never uses formal suits like this one if it isn't for a Hero Gala, and that was only once a year. Or that one time you remember he had to apologize to citizens through a TV interview with Deku because of a villain attack in Hokkaido they couldn't quite contain on time and caused a lot of material damage. You shake your head coming back to the present. Pro Hero Dynamight, a.k.a. Bakugou-annoying ass-Katsuki is standing right at your door, looking a bit nervous while playing with the buttons of his jacket, furrowing his eyebrows like he is angry even at the air he breathes.

You could have expected anything from this unpredictable man who infuriated you almost twenty-four hours a day, the seven days of the whole week. However, you were not expecting at all the words that come from his mouth after he looks up again and his eyes lock with yours.

"Fucking marry me."

Your eyes open wide. And the only thing you think of doing is punching him. And you do.

Your hands close in tight fists, and before saying anything, you punch his shoulder as strongly as you can with one. You know for sure your small and useless fist won't do any damage to this hulk of a man, but the meaning behind it it's what matters.

He simply looks at you in disbelief. "Ouch?" He smirks. He fucking smirks at you, and this time you punch his stomach, which does make him grunt and hover a bit in pain.

You attempt to close the door right at his face, but he suddenly pushes it with his hand and makes you waver a bit back, holding yourself on the door handle. He stands straight again, retrieving his hand from the door when he realizes he used more force than intended to prevent you from closing the door.

"I- umm- Shit, sorry, I didn't-..." 

You raise a hand to stop him from talking.

"Just fucking tell me what you want, so I can go back to bed and not see your ugly face for the rest of my day."

You watch in satisfaction how his face contours into full rage. And this time you smirk. 

"I fucking hate you…" He spits, and you bat your lashes at him while smiling.

"Ah, the feeling is mutual, baby."

Bakugou takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and holding himself on the door frame with strength. You're sure his hand shape will print on it, and you get more annoyed –if that's possible, but you have already learned that when Bakugou was involved, the anger was immeasurable– thinking that you will have to hire someone to fix that.

"I fucking hate you," he repeats through his teeth with his eyes still closed, but then he opens them, and his entire face changes into something you never expected to see. He looks at you, begging, "But I need you to marry me."

You look… perplexed. Again, never in your life have you ever come across the thought that those words would ever come from the man in front of you, much less towards you.

You open your mouth to say something, but the neighbor from the apartment in front of yours opens his door, standing there with his arms crossed and looking menacingly.

"Everything okay, Y/N?" His deep baritone voice asks. Bakugou turns his head and when he sees him, stands straight, head held high and you can imagine the type of defying expression on his face.

You roll your eyes. Men.

"Yes, Arisu, everything is fine. He's… a… friend," the word stung your tongue because you couldn't consider Bakugou that, even though you shared the same group of friends. But it wouldn't have been good having these two fight over something you still didn't understand what was happening; the thought of who of these two hulk men would win still was entertaining to think about. Your money was on Arisu, of course.

"Alrigh’," Arisu says, looking at Bakugou up and down before retrieving himself back into his apartment.

"The fuck this fucking extra-..." You stop Bakugou from turning and going towards Arisu by holding his arm and pulling him towards you.

"Stop it. Come inside," you demand, pulling him as he watches your hand around his bicep, "before any of my neighbors file a complaint against me thanks to your fucking loud mouth."

Bakugou grunts at your words as he lets you pull him inside. When you close the door and turn to him, you realize how big he looks in your small apartment, where there is barely space between the living room and the kitchen and two doors, one leads to your bedroom and the other to the bathroom. You want to laugh at how uncomfortable he looks.

You take a deep breath, scratching your forehead to regain a bit of patience –which was non-existent whenever Bakugou was around.

"Okay, now, explain to me what the hell is wrong with you."

"Nothing is wrong with me. More like what's wrong with you and this small thing you call apartment… When did you-..."

"Bakugou! I didn't invite you in for you to start insulting my living space!" You say more exasperated by every second he is in there. "Tell me what the hell happened to you! Why did you come here, almost tearing down the door of my place at 6 in the fucking morning, annoying even my neighbors, and then you fucking propose out of nowhere!"

His lips are held in a tight line as he watches you almost yell at him, hands opening and closing anxiously. There is silence for a couple of minutes before he says, "My father died."

You gasp, taking a step back. Wow. That's something you were not expecting at all. You get now why the black suit. And now that you look at him better, his eyes look glassy and reddish –probably thanks to how much he's holding himself back from showing any other emotion that isn't anger. And that's… sad.

Your arms immediately hug yourself, one hand settling over your chest. "I- I'm sorry…"

"Don't be," he turns a bit to the left, facing the kitchen to avoid looking at you. "Fucker was a right pain in the ass."

You choke on the laugh that almost escapes you at his words, and after you clear your throat you murmur, "Sorry." He looks at you a bit amused, the right corner of his mouth lifted a bit at your reaction.

You sigh again after a few seconds of silence, "Bakugou, what does that have to do with you asking me to-...”

"My great-grandparents are-were the funders and CEOs of TCA Technologies Corp.," your eyes open wide at the name of the prestigious company that had been ground-breaking in the creation and use of robots, before being the number one seller of technology materials to support heroes. They were high class in society, civilians and heroes. "Yeah, that's the face every extra makes," he smirks when you stick your tongue out at him.

He then looks at you up and down and immediately looks away, clearing his throat in a clear gesture of shyness. You frown confused.

"Fucking go put some clothes on."

That's when you remember you had no pants, no bra, and an old shirt that barely covered your panties. Fuck. You almost run towards your room to get changed. All of this had to be a dream… or a nightmare.

Your Sunday was entirely ruined. You know that for sure.

After you change to decent, more covered clothing, leggings and a big shirt that almost reached your knees –it is Sunday, dammit, and the hell you are gonna dress up for Bakugou Katsuki– you walk again towards the living room where you left said asshole waiting for you there. He is now sitting on your couch, his suit jacket lying over the back of it. His elbows are resting over his knees, his hands holding his head. You have never encountered a tired Bakugou, yet here he is. Looking beaten and down.

He looks up at you when he hears you approach him; his eyes are more reddish than before, kind of like when you want to cry but don't let yourself do it. That made you feel bad for thinking about him as an asshole.

"What took you so long, short-legs? Whatever you wear, you'll still stink and look ugly on it."

Nope. He is and will always be a stupid asshole.

You roll your eyes grunting as you let yourself fall on the couch, as far away from him as you can on that three-people couch, crossing your legs under you.

"Spit it out, asshole. What's all this about?"

He sighs, "My father inherited it all after my grandfather died. His whole life had been that stupid company, his and my mother's. I don't give a fuck about it, but the old hack insists that I- ow!"

You pinch him on the shoulder this time, knowing very well that if you had punched him he wouldn't have felt anything. But pinching… he did feel that.

"What the fuck was that for?!"

"Don't call your mom like that, idiot!"

"Fucking piss off, you know shit! The old hack is an old hack, she deserves the title."

You shake your head in disagreement but decide to leave that topic there considering how affected he looks by it.

"The old hack said," he simply repeats that to spite you, and you really want to punch him, "that I need to step up and be fucking CEO of that bullshit, or…"

He looks at you, and you gulp, kind of understanding where this is going.

"Or get married." You finish the sentence, crossing your arms over your chest, "But why? Those two options are completely different from one another."

"The sky will fucking fall the day I understand any-fucking-thing that comes out of her mouth. She's nuts!" He protests, arms exaggerating his words as he opens them wide, evidently showing how much stress he has, before laying back on the couch, head resting over the back of it where his jacket is. He sighs long and deeply before talking again, "My great-grandmother had a strong Quirk, but she decided to stay at home instead of being a Hero. Those were other times, ya'know?"

"I know History of Heroes, Bakugou. I'm not stupid."

He looks at you again, this time genuinely surprised, "I, umm, thought you-..."

"Have you ever thought that despite not having a Quirk, I know about heroes?"

He tchs, "No wonder why you and shitty Deku are such shitty nerds."

You roll your eyes for the eleventh time that morning, "Get to the point, shitty asshole."

Bakugou scoffs, clearly holding back a retort to answer back, then he continues, "I'm the first in generations with a strong, hero-level Quirk. Most of my family had decided to live as civilians, building this stupid company from generation to generation."

"Oh, and you are the first actual Hero in the family. You are the first one to choose differently…"

He nods in response, "It almost gave my grandfather a heart attack. Ever since my Quirk woke up, I knew what I wanted," he looks back at you, and for the first time, you admit to yourself that you're curious of knowing what he wants, what goes through his head, so you nod allowing him to continue, "I want to be a Number One Hero. I want to kick villains' asses as much and as hard as I can for as long as my stupid aging bones allow me to."

The intensity in his eyes and conviction in every word he spoke made you feel his passion. And that was… new.

"But to be that, I can't afford to waste time in falling in love and all that bullshit…"

"Then say no to your mom and the company," you offer as a solution. He snorts letting his head fall back against the couch.

"You know shit…" He shakes his head, "There's a requirement in every hero company, it says that a familiar, or a spouse if the hero is married, has to validate your mental sanity alongside a doctor to keep working as a Hero."

"I… didn't know that."

"Of course not, short-legs. You're not a hero, why would you know?"

"So, if I… If we get married-..." he nods in confirmation even before you say the words. But he says them.

"The old hag won't have to validate my status as Hero anymore, and she won't have anything to hold me back from sending her and the company to hell."

You looked serious at him, "Bakugou, you and I don't like each other. You hate me and I hate you. And you want to put your Hero status in my hands by marrying me?" You say in disbelief, almost anxious about the whole meaning of this. You stand up and walk from one side to the other as you keep talking, "Why? Because your inner kid is in rebellious tantrum mode and does not want to take the responsibility to-..."

"Shut the fuck up! You. Know. Shit!" He also stood up, shortening the distance between you two in the small living room.

"Then tell me! Explain it to me! Cause to me you only sound like a spoiled brat who doesn't want his veggies for lunch."

He looks you right in the eye, hands almost trembling in fists beside his body, and then he drops the bomb.

"My mother killed my grandfather."

You recoil a step back, "What?"

He sighs, hands and fingers running through his hair, clearly uncomfortable, "I-... There is no proof, no solid proof about it. I just- I know it was her." Again, the conviction in his eyes made you believe him. "My mother wanted the money, the luxury life being with my dad could bring her. But my dad had a brother, an older brother."

"Had?"

Bakugou simply shakes his head, "The idiot got himself in between a shooting from two villain groups. He was shot only once, and it killed him. A fucking looser…" 

You try, you really tried not to smile but failed miserably. "You are the idiot," you say fighting back the chuckle.

He smiles back, "No, I got shot several times, I even got thrown at and through walls, and I'm very much fucking alive. I'm no weak ass looser as him."

You can't stop laughing, Bakugou definitely is an idiot.

He waits until you're done laughing before continuing, "Even then, my grandfather didn't think my dad was capable of handling the company and all it meant, so he was thinking about giving it to one of his nephews. That's when, I fuckin’ know, my mother took matters into her own hands. I'm an only child. If I say no…"

"The company has to go to another familiar..." Everything washes clear now in your head, “And your mom won't allow that to happen. So she’ll lie and say you aren’t sane enough to keep working as a hero,” Bakugou keeps nodding, confirming everything you’re saying.

“That way, I’m obligated to work at the company.”

Your hand travels from your forehead and brushes your hair back. “She wouldn’t that… She’s your mom, Bakugou...”

“Haven’t you heard a fucking thing I said? She fucking killed my grandfather so the company was legally inherited by my father! Therefore, she could hold all the rights, all the stupid money! My father was a fucking dimwit who believed every-fucking-thing my mother said. She controlled him as she pleased.”

You gasp as another realization hits you, “That’s why you are an asshole to her…”

“She can fool anyone, but not me.” He declares, standing tall and proud. “I have never played her game, and I fuckin’ never will.”

You hug yourself once more, taking some minutes to assimilate all the confessions he just dropped on you. Everything feels like a script of a freaking movie or something. And there are too many questions you want to ask. But there’s only one thing you mostly don’t understand and you need the answer to.

So you look back at him, head tilting up a bit due to the height difference between you, and ask, “Why me?”

Bakugou does not hesitate in his answer. 

“You’re strong, despite not having a Quirk. And smart. You don’t let anyone dictate what you can or cannot do,” he takes a step closer, his eyes never leaving yours, “You have never backed down from a discussion, with me or anyone else. You don’t let anybody step on you, holding tight to your convictions and beliefs.”

You visibly gulp, feeling a little warmth in your cheeks that makes you want to look elsewhere, but you don't. You hold the connection between your eyes like dear life. And he smiles, the left corner of his mouth raising a bit.

“You have a fuckin’ strong character, you won't even shy down from me,” you suddenly feel the back of his index finger caress the right side of your jaw, where lays an old scar he perfectly recognized.

It was the scar he accidentally left when you were younger, stupider. He had picked a fight with another newbie hero –another asshole in your opinion– who kept talking shit about his other newbie hero friends. Bakugou had snapped when the guy mocked the word “whore” towards you. You have tried to separate them, earning yourself a punch on the right side of your face by this same man that has touched the reminder of that old memory.

“But above all that…” It’s his turn to gulp, eyes going up and down through your face. Is he… Is he looking at your lips? “You are kind. You care about everyone. You always try to solve everything for everyone –that’s fuckin’ annoying actually.”

You open your mouth to swear at him, stupid asshole; but he doesn’t give you time to say anything. “What I’m trying to fuckin’ say is–” he takes a deep breath, “You are… good. A good person. And you… You understand m- us.”

Was he going to say ‘me’? By ‘us’, you know he means heroes.

Your parents had been heroes before they died. Unfortunately, you were born Quirkless, so the dream of following your parents' path was decided the same day you were welcomed into this world. You have already made peace with this idea, it didn’t hurt like it used to when you were young. Despite not having a Quirk, you specialized in Quirk and training analysis, which granted you a job that most Hero Agencies wanted you for. Hence also how now your group of friends involved all heroes.

However, one thing is working with them, working with Bakugou Katsuki, a.k.a. Pro Hero Dynamight, who was the biggest pain in your ass you have ever had since the day you met him. Another completely different is actually marrying the pain in your ass.

You sigh, “I don’t–...”

“What? You want me to fuckin’ beg? ‘Cause I fuckin’ will…” Bakugou takes a step back and literally kneels before you. You protest, grabbing his forearm and pulling him back up, but he doesn’t let you move him even a millimeter. “What do you want? Whatever you want is yours. We can even sign a dam contract if you so want, I don’t fuckin’ care what it is. Whatever you want, it’s yours.”

“This is not a fucking joke, Bakugou. You are asking me to marry you. What if I have a boyfriend? You didn’t even fucking ask!”

His eyes open wide, surprised. “Do you?”

You roll your eyes, releasing an exasperated sigh. “No! I don’t!”

“Then, what are you bitching about?”

You groan. “I’m bitching about the fact that I don’t know why would you put a whole big deal on me when we hate each other!”

“I trust you.”

It’s a short answer, his expression is even so neutral and sure that leaves you perplexed. Surprised at how easily he said those words.

“We don’t like each other…”

“I don’t need to like you to trust you, idiot.” It feels like he’s mocking you, but one look into his eyes and what he is saying actually feels right. He is completely sure of what he is saying. “I would even fuckin’ trust you with my life.”

He already does. Every day, at work.

Still, you can’t pass the opportunity to piss him off. “Wow. That’s deep, buddy.”

“Fuck you.”

Mission accomplished.

You laugh gently, looking at him still kneeling on the floor of your living room. The sight in itself is a miracle. A sight you won't get to see ever again from this man. But it’s not the image of his kneeling position that makes you take the decision.

It’s his eyes.

They are screaming, desperately begging for you to help him. And, damn it, he is right; you always are at the disposal of everyone when they need your help. Fuck! It is actually very annoying –but you will never admit that out loud, especially not to him.

You close your eyes, head tilting back, and take a long, deep breath.

You are so going to regret this.

“Fine, I’ll do it.”

Bakugou Katsuki immediately stands up and practically throws himself at you, his whole hulk of a body surrounding you in what you have never thought would ever happen between you two: a hug.

Are you though?

[inkspiredwriting]

betrayal

A/N: four stages of breakup, I'm currently in stage two: Anger xD. A sweet story with a sweet five who loves y/n more than anything? At the moment I just don't see it. That's why I don't post any of my stories, but rather write new stories where Five is an asshole. That doesn't mean that I'll never post sweet five x Y/N stories again, it just means that I'm still angry at the moment, and in order to be able to write again, it helps me to let my anger out

Warnings: spoilers for season 4 episode 5-6, angst

The world had barely spun for a few hours since Five and Lila had vanished, but when Five and Lila finally returned, Y/N knew something was wrong. she stood in the doorway, watching Five and Lila enter the living room, their faces marked with weariness, their eyes carrying the weight of experiences that no one else could understand. The moment Five met her gaze, Y/N felt her heart clench. Something was wrong. There was a distance in his eyes, a hesitation in his movements that hadn't been there before. This was not the same man she had fallen in love with, the man who had fought tooth and nail to survive countless apocalypses, who had faced the end of the world and returned to her every single time. This man was different—distant, almost as if a part of him had never truly come back.

Lila stood beside him, her presence like a shadow that Y/N couldn’t shake. she had always known Lila was fierce, cunning, and strong, but now she could see something more—a bond between Lila and Five that hadn't been there before. It was in the way they stood, too close, the way they glanced at each other as if sharing secrets. It made Y/N’s stomach churn with a sickening sense of betrayal.

She knew something had changed, something that would shatter her world.

It wasn’t long before she couldn’t stand it any longer. “Five…” Y/N’s voice wavered as she stepped forward, searching his face for any sign of the man she loved. But he looked away, his jaw tightening as if he couldn’t bear to meet her eyes.

the tension in the air was palpable. Diego stood beside Lila, their three children clinging to their mother, oblivious to the storm brewing beneath the surface.

Y/N felt the tears prickling at the corners of her eyes, but she held them back. She couldn’t fall apart. Not yet.

“What happened?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Five’s silence was deafening, and when he finally spoke, his words cut through her like a knife. “We were gone for seven years, Y/N. Seven years in a timeline we couldn’t escape.”

Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest, the blood rushing in her ears. “I know it was hard, but you made it back. You’re here now. We can fix this, Five. We can go back to how it was.”

Five shook his head, the pain in his eyes unbearable to witness. “It’s not that simple. Things changed… I changed. I didn’t want this to happen, but…I fell in love with Lila.”

Time seemed to stop. The world around Y/N blurred, and all she could hear was the sound of her own heart shattering into a million pieces. She stared at Five, her mind refusing to comprehend the words that had just come out of his mouth. Lila? Lila, who was married to Diego, who had three children with him?

Y/N felt the blood drain from her face, her vision narrowing as the weight of his confession settled on her shoulders. She wanted to scream, to hit him, to do anything to make the pain go away, but all she could do was stand there, trembling with fury and betrayal.

"You bastard," she whispered, her voice low and deadly. "You absolute bastard."

Five recoiled as if she had slapped him, but she didn’t care. The anger was boiling over now, a volcano ready to erupt. The room was deadly silent, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Everyone was staring at them now, the shock evident on their faces. Diego’s expression was unreadable, his eyes fixed on Lila, who looked like she wanted to disappear into the floor.

"You want to know what kind of man you are, Five?" Y/N spat, her voice shaking with fury as she faced him and the others. "You’re an asshole. An ungrateful, selfish asshole who couldn’t keep his dick in his pants long enough to remember the woman he was supposed to love!"

The room fell into stunned silence, everyone staring at Y/N with wide eyes. Five opened his mouth to speak, but Y/N cut him off.

“How could you? After everything we’ve been through, after everything we’ve fought for, you go and…fall in love with someone else? And not just anyone, but Lila? Diego’s wife? The mother of his children? I would rather sleep with a mannequin than ever fall in love with someone else, but I guess that’s the difference between us, isn’t it?"

Five flinched, but he didn’t back down. “I never meant for this to happen, Y/N. We were stuck there for seven years. We didn’t think we’d ever make it back.”

“So you gave up?” Y/N’s voice was rising now, the anger bubbling over. “You just gave up on us, on me? You preferred to think about having sex with Lila instead of finding a way back to me? The old Five never gave up. He never would’ve stopped fighting to get back to the people he loved. But you…you’re not him anymore, are you?”

Tears welled up in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She turned her gaze to Lila, her voice dripping with venom. “And you…you disgust me. How could you do this to Diego? To your children? You betrayed them. You betrayed all of us.”

Lila’s face paled, her mouth opening and closing as if she wanted to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. Diego stood beside her, his expression still unreadable, but Y/N could see the hurt in his eyes, the pain he was trying so hard to hide.

Y/N couldn’t take it anymore. She turned on her heel and stormed out of the house, the door slamming shut behind her. The moment she was outside, the tears she had been holding back finally broke free, streaming down her face as she collapsed onto the cold ground.

She wrapped her arms around herself, sobbing uncontrollably, the pain too much to bear. She had lost him. The man she had loved more than anything, the man she had waited for, had hoped for, had fought for…he was gone. And in his place was someone she didn’t recognize, someone who had betrayed her in the worst possible way.

Y/N had no idea how long she sat there, crying until there were no tears left to cry.. She felt completely and utterly alone, as if the world had turned its back on her.

But then she heard footsteps approaching, and she looked up to see Diego standing beside her. His face was filled with sorrow, his eyes red and puffy, but there was a softness in his expression that offered a small comfort.

“Y/N…” Diego’s voice was gentle as he sat down beside her. He didn’t say anything for a while, just sat there in silence, letting her cry. When she finally managed to calm down enough to speak, her voice was hoarse, broken.

“I don’t understand, Diego. I don’t understand how this happened. How could he fall in love with her? After everything we’ve been through, how could he just…forget about me?”

Diego sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I don’t know, Y/N. I really don’t. Lila and I…we had our problems. I wasn’t always the best husband, and I know why things went wrong between us. But you and Five…you two were perfect together. You were the strongest team I’ve ever seen. I don’t understand how he could do this.”

Y/N let out a shaky breath, the pain still raw and aching in her chest. “I thought we had something special. I thought he loved me more than anything.”

“He did, Y/N. I know he did,” Diego said softly. “I think…I think being stuck there for so long messed with his head. It changed him in ways we can’t understand. But that doesn’t make it right. It doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

Y/N sniffled, wiping at her eyes. “I don’t know how to move on from this, Diego. I don’t know how to live in a world where Five isn’t…mine.”

Diego put an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. Y/N leaned into him, grateful for the comfort even as the pain tore at her heart. She felt Diego’s chest heave as he spoke, his voice thick with emotion.

“You’re strong, Y/N. Stronger than anyone I know. You’ll get through this, I promise. And I’ll be here for you, whatever you need.”

Y/N nodded, though the pain still felt unbearable. She clung to Diego, letting the tears flow freely again, her heart breaking with every sob. She had lost the man she loved, the man she thought would be by her side forever. And now, she had to find a way to pick up the pieces and move on, even if it felt impossible.

As the day wore on, the two of them sat together, their grief shared and understood. And while Y/N knew the road ahead would be difficult, she also knew she wasn’t alone. She had her family, her strength, and the hope that someday, the pain would lessen, and she would find a way to heal.

But for now, all she could do was cry and try to make sense of the shattered pieces of her heart.

[sweatervest-obsessed]

Last, Last Time

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader (she/her pronouns)

WC: ~7.3k

TW: Angst, guns, violence, mentions of domestic violence, blood, swearing, depression, kidnapping, manipulation, self-deprecating thoughts, heartbreak, arguing, the grieving process, drinking, screaming, crying, sobbing, throwing up, being under pressure, and anything else that comes with a criminal minds episode.

a/n: based on S15 E6 - first date. I love u aubrey plaza <3. Also inspired by the song Last, Last Time by Boys Go To Jupitar. writing this was a little bit of a catharsis since it's one of the first things I've been able to write. I'm sorry I've been so m.i.a., i just moved to a new country and that has been a crazy experience. But to cope with that, enjoy some gut-wrenching angst!

Alternate Ending! Spencer Masterlist

“Spencer I won’t—I can’t keep doing this. I’m sick of arguing in circles.” 

“Y/n…”

“I-I feel like you take me for fucking granted Spencer. All I do is work and then come home and wait for you to actually be able to, I don’t know, sleep in the same bed as me for more than four hours.”

The look in his eyes almost took you out but your heart had already been broken long, long before this argument. If anything, you were starting to feel this sense of freedom as you broke his heart. 

“Please. Y/n. Just–I don’t—Just give me a few days to convince Hotch to let me have some time off and we can work on this please.” 

“Wait for the potential of us?” 

Spencer’s jaw loosened. You couldn’t read beyond the initial layer of pain and confusion, which made your chest ache since not too long ago you could have been able to find everything you needed in his expression.

“God Spencer this can’t be fucking news to you. We’ve been drifting apart for months now.” 

“I know, I know. You have been so patient with me and I’ve just been….there was that whole thing with Cat and then….I-I was trying so hard y/n…”

“No, first there was that whole thing with Maeve.”

“That’s not fair—”

“Oh that’s not fair? Really? You’re going to tell me the entire Maeve thing isn’t fair to you?”

“I’m sorry.”

You sighed and closed your eyes. “I’m not saying you weren’t trying but come one Spencer. There’s no need to deny this shit anymore. I hate it when you lie to me about these kinds of things.” 

Spencer’s hand came up to his face and it dragged down, aging him significantly with the fatigue written all over his face. 

“So you’re just going to pack up everything, break my heart, and leave? Were you even going to say goodbye, or was I going to come home to an empty home. A note or....” 

“I-I don’t know Spencer. I just don’t…” 

The tears were starting to creep in, and you had to place the box down before you lost it.

“This isn’t easy for me either…” Your chest heaved. 

The both of you stood in silence, tension simmering surrounding the both of you like heat on a summer’s eve. Neither of you could really look at one another, but it felt wrong to look at anything else. Something was missing but you couldn’t say it outloud. You knew you would always love Spencer Reid but this time it was not enough. 

“I’m tired of arguing Spencer.” 

Your eyes met his. You felt Spencer’s arms around you before you could even feel the tears hit your cheeks. Your arms immediately went to his neck, so familiar. No longer home. 

Spencer’s voice muttered into your ear. “Don’t cry Jolie. It’ll be okay..” 

About three years ago, Spencer had decided that he didn’t like that you had nicknames for him, and he had none for you. He spent weeks workshopping different ones : Sugar, Honey, Pumpkin, Sweetheart, Darlin, Pookie, Lover, Sunny (like sunshine), Sunshine—it was a wild few weeks trying to figure out who he was talking to. Then one day, offhandedly, he was trying to tell you about this french film he had been watching, and trying to get Emily to watch with him. 

He called you ‘tres jolie’, and blushing you had asked him what it meant. He told you it meant pretty. 

And it stuck. 

Now? It stung. 

All you could do was squeeze tightly onto him, not ready to let go.

“You’re so pretty when you’re lying through your teeth.” You whispered after a few moments, pulling away out of his arms. 

“I.” You swallow and step back, out of his reach. “Maybe I’ll...” 

Spencer just looked up at the ceiling, trying to hold in the tears that were streaming down his face. 

You grabbed the last box on the counter and your keys, and walked out, for the last time. 

You awoke in your bed, eyes adjusting to the complete darkness the blackout curtains provided you. 

Another fucking night thinking about your decision those four years ago, and how your life may have gotten better because of it. 

Moving to get up from the bed, you decided to leave the curtains closed for now, feeling as if you could melt from the sun touching you. 

You turned on the bathroom light and started your morning routine. Wash face. Take meds. Brush teeth. Fix hair—

Somewhere in that process, you got lost, and just stared at yourself in the mirror. You weren’t sure for how long. All you could do was replay the last four years. 

Did you make the right choice? You were happy, you had your dream job. 

Maybe it was true what they say, you can only have a career or love, but not both—

The only thing taking you out of this spiral was the ringer on your phone going off. 

This caused some hesitation because your phone’s ringer was always off––the loud noise startling you. There were only a few people who had that emergency bypass, and none of them had called you in four years. 

You peaked out of the bathroom and saw the name light up on your phone. 

Emily Prentiss

______________________________________________________________

The door to the round room opened up and in walked Spencer Reid. “Catch me up.” 

Prentiss clicked the remote, and the TV lit up with a picture of a woman smirking facing the camera while holding a gun up to another one next to her. “Early this morning, Garcia got an email from an anonymous server.”

The second woman was tied up, mouth slightly open, and eyes filled with tears, while a man on the other side just had his eyes closed, tired. . 

Spencer just stared at the photo. 

Rossi nodded at the picture. “She's not obscuring her face, telling us she's got nothing to hide.”

He never pulled focus away from the screen, mouth dry at the thought of what today was going to be. “Any ideas on the unsub?”

“No.” Prentiss sighed. “Only the unsub's demand. That we release Catherine Adams in 24 hours.  I'm having her transferred here for questioning, but we have no illusions. This is just a game to her. We know that. The question is, do we want to play it or not?”

______________________________________________________________

Receiving a call from the FBI was not entirely new to you, since you had been engaged to one of their agents, but receiving one now? Weird. Off brand. Something was deeply wrong from them to have to give you a call. 

You hesitantly pick up the phone. “Hello?”

“Hey Y/n, it’s Emily Prentiss—“

“I know who you are, Emily. It’s been a couple years, not millions.” 

Emily hummed a brief laugh, and you could hear other voices behind her, unable to make out anything. 

“I know this is hard to ask of you, but would you stay on the phone with me and come in?” 

“What?” 

“I need you to stay very calm Y/n, but I need you to stay on the line with me, leave your apartment as soon as you can, and get to the BAU.” 

“Oh my god I totally forgot. It might take me an hour to get there with all this bullshit traffic, could we push the reservation an hour? Would they be willing to do that?” 

Your entire tone changed, having remembered what Spencer had told you all those years ago about if people were listening into your apartment, if they bugged your car—all paranoia that didn’t pay off then, might be paying off now. 

You were sure you could hear Emily sigh, and it sounded a little upset at the fact that you knew what to do–you knew how to handle a dangerous situation, which made her question everything in her life. 

Quickly you pulled on a pair of jeans and threw a sweatshirt over your pajama top and grabbed your keys off of the counter. 

You left your apartment, waved to one of your neighbors, and hopped into your car, still on the line, just trying not to panic. Maybe something went wrong, maybe Spencer wasn’t okay, maybe he had died—you refused to even acknowledge that thought and decided it was something else entirely. 

It was a very tense hour of driving, that was only about forty minutes since you knew how to drive above the speed limit. 

You realized that it was past midday, and you had taken full advantage of the weekend. So at least you had a decent amount of sleep under your belt for what felt like the beginning of an extraneous night. 

As you pulled into the parking garage, Emily Prentiss and someone you had never met before were standing there waiting for you. You placed your car in park, hopped out and walked up to them–only hanging up as soon as you were out of the car. 

Both of them had such grim looks on their faces, but at least they were trying to pretend like the situation wasn’t as bad as it appeared to your face. 

Emily engulfed you in a hug. “Missed you Y/n. It’s been too long.” 

“Well Em, next time I end an engagement with someone I’ll consider your feelings first.” You squeezed him back, dryly laughing at your own joke. At least it caused Emily to snort. 

“Y/n this is SSA Luke Alvez. Luke, this is Y/n Y/l/n.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” He gave a small smile and nodded at you.

“I wish it were under different circumstances.” You nodded back and looked over at Emily.

“Let’s head inside?” 

The three of you moved inside. 

Sure, you hadn’t been here in a while, but you knew your way around the BAU Bullpen if your life depended on it, which was ironic since that was what this feels like. 

As soon as you were safely in their round table room, Luke shut the door, and stood by it, Emily coming and sitting down next to you. 

“What do you know about Cat Adams?” 

That bitch. 

______________________________________________________________

“I would like to go on a date. With you.” 

Spencer stared at her, face stoic as ever. “A date?”

“Yes. I want to look pretty. And I want to have fun.” She looked him up and down. “And I won't even get physical, ok? Unless you want me to.”

Spencer sat down across from her. “Come here. Closer.”

Cat leaned in, a small smile on her face, absolutely intoxicated by being so close to him.

“The only date that I'll be there for is the one where they stick a needle in your vein.”

Cat scoffed. “You're just going to let her father and sister die? I don't think so.”

“I never said it was a father and daughter. You're already slipping.” He stood up from the table. “We'll find them. We always do.”

Cat leaned back and crossed her arms. “Not tonight. Tonight I win.”

His resolution had yet to change, “The score between me and you is two to zero. By tomorrow morning, it'll be a clean sweep. Enjoy eternal nothingness. It's a metaphor for your life.” 

And with that, the door slammed shut behind him.

______________________________________________________________

Both the profilers watched a series of emotions run rampant across your face, before you settled on a somewhat displeased smile. “A lot.” 

They exchanged a look, and you didn’t have the energy to pretend like you didn’t know what it was. 

“Don’t start with me you two. I know profiling. I know what you’re doing. Ask me the questions you want to ask. Don’t try and trick me into giving the answers you want.” 

Alvez bit his tongue and looked away, trying to hide a small smile that appeared on his lips. 

Emily, on the other hand, hid her smile a bit better than him, but part of being previously engaged to a profiler meant you picked up on some of their tricks too. 

She nodded and pulled a file from across the table. “I’m assuming you know the basics since she, uh, is obsessed with Spencer.”

“Glad to see he still has that going for him.” You muttered and looked into the file. 

Emily shot Luke a look when he let out a huff or air, trying his damndest not to laugh. 

“What is the last thing you know about her?” 

You recounted the days leading up to the restaurant, and then the few days after, decidedly stopping short of the engagement breaking off a week later. 

They shared another look, and you didn’t enjoy whatever it was that had moved across their faces. 

“What? What happened?” 

“Y/n..”

“No Emily, I drove from DC to here, I deserve to know what happened. without some weird sugarcoating, alright?” 

Emily then begins to explain to you the past four years of Reid’s life. Cat pretending she was pregnant with his kid in prison, kidnapping his mother, framing him for murder in Mexico, going to prison—

“Spencer went to prison and none of you thought to call me….”

“We didn’t think you’d–” 

“I’m a fucking criminal defense attorney in DC Emily. Of course I’d want to know if he was arrested, especially internationally. I know that law better than all of you. If someone I knew was kidnapped, I’d call you immediately. Faster than the cops.” 

Both of them went silent. 

“So is he out?” 

They nodded slowly, silently. 

“How long was he in there.”

Nothing. 

“I asked. How. Long.”

Luke spoke up. “Three months.” 

“Jesus christ.” You stood up and started to pace around the room, taking the time you needed to calm down. 

Why didn’t Spencer call you—well you knew why Spencer wouldn’t call you. 

“Okay so he’s out.” You said finally. “Why am I here?” 

“Cat’s execution is coming up, and we….we found out that she’s convinced someone to kidnap some….people…close to Reid, and we knew you’d be on that list for him.” 

Your eyebrows went up at people but said nothing of it. Just as you went to say something else, JJ knocked on the door, another blonde woman behind her. 

They entered and JJ gave you a small, yet genuine smile. 

You returned it, but quickly shifted your gaze onto the woman behind. 

Your whole body shifted slightly, into a place of defense, locking your emotions down. You knew all the profilers were watching it happen in real time, which is why Emily walked over and stood next to you, a hand appearing on the small of your back as a comfort.

“Would someone like to tell me what is going on here?” The blonde woman spoke up, arms crossed.

At least Spencer’s taste in partners with attitude hadn’t changed. 

______________________________________________________________

“Victimology is off.”

“How so?” Prentiss looked up at him as he walked into the room. 

“Father and daughter. She’s never done that before.” 

Lewis spoke up. “She usually kills men that remind her of her father. Children–even adult children, are off limits. Do we have an ID yet.” 

Prentiss, Rossi, Garcia, and JJ all looked over at Reid, and he just pulled a hand down his face. “It’s. It’s Issac and Noelle Y/l/n.” 

“Y/l/n…as is Y/n Y/l/n.” Tara looked up surprised at Spencer. 

Reid nodded slowly, just staring at the picture on the projector.

While Luke spoke up. “Who is Y/n Y/l/n.” 

“An old friend.” Rossi quickly interjected, before any more explanation had to be said. It was clear both Alvez and Simmons, that whoever this was, was an extremely touchy subject for Reid. 

Tara, who had only known you for a little while, looked back at the picture. 

Rossie spoke up. “What do we know about the partner who’s helping her?” 

“It’s got to be someone from her prison.” Simmons spoke up. “She hasn’t had contact with anyone else.” 

______________________________________________________________

After all of that, you found yourself back in a place you left four years ago. It looked almost the same as when you had first moved in, but there was less of it. 

Almost as if he was having trouble covering places where things used to be.

There were almost no photos on the walls, since you had taken half of them, and were in the rest. 

Calling someone you once loved a stranger feels wrong. 

Max, as you had learned her name, was just sitting on the couch in your spot . She was looking around as you and Rossi stood by the kitchen counter. 

“Cat had a cellmate named Juliette Weaver. We believe the two were working together, as a way for Cat to get something against Spencer, and as payment, Cat would get Juliette’s ex.”

You nodded. “How does this affect me?” 

“She took your father and sister.” 

Your back straightened and immediately brought out your phone, to call your sister, but Rossi just grabbed your wrist (gently) and shook his head. “If she finds out you know, then it’s all over. She’s doing this on purpose. She knows about you and Reid, but she knows that dragging you into all of this will hurt him more than anything else.” 

His voice had gone low and quiet, so that the girl on the couch couldn’t hear. 

“So why is she here?” You whispered back. 

“Because we don’t want anyone in danger.” 

You closed your eyes and nodded. “I need a cup of tea.” 

Rossi let go of your wrist, and you walked into the kitchen, mostly eyes closed from the stress of the situation. 

The apartment was silent, the others watching as you grabbed a kettle, and started to make tea. It was like second nature to you as you turned the stovetop on, grabbed a mug from the cabinet (careful to not grab one of his favorites), and grabbed some tea from the cabinet. 

It didn’t dawn on you that you were drinking your favorite type of tea until the second sip, while the entire apartment was still silent. 

The pity from Rossi's look was palpable. 

“Don’t even start.” 

He shrugged and stayed silent. 

Until his walkie went off and he looked at Max. “It’s time. Let’s go.” 

Rossi looked back at you and gave you a quick hug, squeezing you tightly. “You’ve got this kid. Remember everything we talked about.” 

You nodded and gave them both a strained smile as they left the apartment, leaving you all alone in this place you once called home, alone. 

Never once, since you left, did you think you would ever be back here. You didn’t even realize you were drinking from one of your own mugs until it was just you. The irony of it was not lost on you, and you sat down in your spot on the couch. 

Well first you sat in Spencer’s seat but it felt too weird, so you shifted back into your spot on the couch. 

______________________________________________________________

“Juliette staked out in Reid’s life. Found out he was dating someone, but then must have discovered his ex-fiancée.” Simmons sighed. “He was probably so focused on Max, he didn’t even realize that someone was digging into his history, following them around.”

Prentiss nodded as they walked and talked. “But if Juliette was able to find Max, that meant she was easily able to find Y/n and her family. It means she must have access to all of her publicly available information. “

“Well at least we found their hidden agenda.” 

“No. We found Cat’s hidden agenda. Juliette doesn’t care about Reid. There’s something we’re missing here. Do a deep dive with Garcia.” 

Simmons nodded at Prentis. “On it.” 

“I’ll go to Reid's apartment and monitor onsite. Is there a trap and trace on his landline?” 

“Garcia’s almost set up.” Simmons walked away from Prentiss, and down towards Penelope’s office. 

“Well this went from bad to worse.” Tara walked up to Emily. 

Emily sighed in agreement. 

Lewis spoke up. “Female narcissists destroy their competition.Y/n  really shouldn’t be in there.” 

Emily just nodded and the two of them headed out of the bullpen. “Walk with me.” 

Tara kept stride with her as they pushed through the doors. Rossi was just getting off the phone with someone and turned to look at the two women approaching him and JJ. 

JJ spoke up when Rossi was finished. “So, the hospital just released the dad– Issac Y/l/n. He's on his way here now.

Rossi scoffed. “Question is, why let him go at all?”

“Matt's on that.” Emily gestures in the direction of Garcia’s office. “Juliette Weaver's real agenda should tell us where she's taking Y/n’s younger sister.”

Lewis spoke next. “I still think the play here is to get Cat and Juliette to contact each other, but I have no idea how.”

Prentiss crossed her arms. “I have a plan, but first we have to talk about Y/n.” 

______________________________________________________________

Just then, you heard the click of the door, and stood up, watching as the door swung open. 

And there he was. 

This was the first time you had seen Spencer in four years. 

And here he was, kissing Catherine Adams. 

The woman you could give partial credit to for ending your relationship. 

After a moment Spencer looked up, and took several steps away from Cat. His eyes were wide and locked on yours. 

It took a lot of self-restraint to not punch the lights out of Cat, and to stand still arms crossed. 

“Y/n?” Spencer’s voice broke a little bit. 

You never would say that Spencer was unattractive. In fact, it would be a lie if you ever said it. But something about the past four years aged him like a fine wine. 

His hair was a bit longer, he had some scruff—his baby face had melted away and standing in front of you was a man who thought you knew everything about, but was now a stranger. 

You didn’t answer him, watching as he took you in, standing in his apartment, for the first time since…

“What are you doing here?” 

You looked over at Cat, who had the most devious smirk on her face. 

Remember what Prentiss had said to you. 

“You know why I’m here.” 

Cat nodded and the two of them moved into the apartment, the door closing behind them. 

Spencer just stood ten feet away from you, eyes never leaving you, and you watched him right back. 

Cat, on the other hand, was walking around, examining the apartment. You could see her take notice of the tea you had made yourself on the counter. You could see the hatred from the corner of your eyes. The two of you were starting to piss her off. 

She spoke up, after a few moments of silence. “Did it make you mad that I was kissing your Fiancé?” 

You shook your head. “No.”

Your focus had fully turned to Cat, but you swore you swore you could hear Spencer take a sharp inhale as you spoke your next words.

“Well, he's not my fiancé and I kind of have some other things on my mind.”

Cat didn’t scare you, but there was just something so off-putting about her. “Like what?” 

“Are you gonna hurt Noelle?”

Cat shrugged. “Not if I don't have to, no. Honestly, if she follows instructions, she might even learn from this whole experience.”

You scoffed. “What does that mean?”

Cat just started fiddling with the chess set on the dresser. 

“Spencer, what does she mean?” You turned to look back at him, his name feeling so good on your tongue. 

Spencer, who really hadn’t stopped looking at you and sighed. “I think…She means that Noelle isn’t learning from her, but from Juliette.” 

You sat down in your spot on the couch, arms crossed. You were on the full defense. 

Spencer noticed where you sat and had to look down to conceal any notions of a smile on his face. 

Cat watched him before turning and looking at you, some more disdain on her face than before. 

“Normally, Spencie and I, we spend our time together playing games, but tonight, I've brought you all here to make a point. You are doing so much better.” 

Spencer spoke up. “With you?”

“I'm not talking to you.” Cat snapped at him before she turned to you. “I'm talking to you. Because, girlfriend, you need to know the truth about your fiancé.” 

“He's not my finacé.” You were unsure about how many more times you could say that outloud. 

“No kidding. When’s the last time you spoke? Right…” Cat walked over to the center of the room, right in front of the couch. “Here?” 

Your head whipped around to Spencer. “You told her about that?”

Spencer was pleading with his eyes. “I had to say a lot of things tonight.”

Cat’s voice caused your head to snap back to her. “Yes, he has. He said that you never compared to me, that, um... That no matter what, he will never get me out of his mind, unlike you. Unlike that girlfriend.” 

You tried not to wince at the mention of that girl Maxine out in one of the trucks.

Spencer sat down next to you. “Everything I said—I was lying to save your family.”

Cat scoffed. “Did our kiss look like a lie?” 

“No.” you just looked down at your hands. 

“Thank you. See, now we're getting to the heart of the matter.” Cat started mocking Spencer. “You see, everyone thinks that Dr. Spencer Reid is... Is just this nice, bookish, uh, genius who, uh, always saves the day and has all the answers. And has zero mommy issues, right? But, um... I know the real him.” 

“Oh, yeah? Who's the real me, Cat?” 

“The real Spencer Reid throws women against walls. And hisses that he's going to kill them.” 

Spencer stood up, squaring off against her.  “That was a very different situation.”

“No, it wasn't.” Cat was holding the smirk back this time, making your gut wretch. 

“Spencer…What is she talking about?” You looked from the psychopath in front of you, to the man you realized you might have never really known beside you.

“You tell her. She's not gonna believe it coming from me.” She huffed. 

Reid turned and looked at you. “Two years ago, Cat had her partner kidnap my mother. Just like tonight. She got under my skin and…”

Your chest hurts. “And you threw her against a wall?” 

Cat’s smirk was breaking through whatever resolve she had. “Don't skimp on the details, Spencie. She deserves to know everything.”

Every single time she said Spencie you swore a shock went up your spine. 

Spencer looked down at his hands, and then over at you. His voice had gotten quieter. “She was pregnant at the time and I knew that when I hurt her.” 

“And?” She stood there expectantly, waiting for Spencer to finish. When he didn’t, her face suddenly became solemn. “The next day... I miscarried. The end.”

Spencer looked at her. “That's not true.” 

“It is most certainly true. Check my medical records.” 

“That doesn't mean I-I would…”

Cat held up her hand to him. “Stop. Look.”

Spencer looked over at you, just sitting on the couch, trying to process everything that was going through your head. 

After thinking about everything you had gone through, especially with Spencer. “I thought you were better than that Spence.” 

It was the first time you had used a nickname for him in years. And he was hearing it for the first time while you were stuck in a standoff between himself and Cat Adams, your sister being god knows where. 

Spencer’s voice cracked. “I'm sorry.” 

Cat squatted down in front of you, a sick smile on her lips. She was enjoying this. She truly enjoyed watching his life crumble to bits. “Notice how your Spencie is apologizing to you and not me.”

You clenched your hands. “He’s not mine…”

Spencer just looked over at you. 

Cat nodded. “That's good. Because men are all the same. Aren't they, Jolie?” 

Spencer’s eyes lit up with an emotion you rarely saw from him when you were together. “Don't call her that.”

And you couldn’t blame him. The word ran you through like a spear and you were sure if you looked behind you, the blade would be through the couch. You tried so hard to not let either of the two people near you see how much it messed with you. Luckily for you, Cat was too busy pushing Spencer’s buttons to see the way her words won against you. 

Cat hissed at him. “What, are you gonna throw me against a wall and choke me, or do you only do that to pregnant women?” 

You finally spoke up. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I want you to see it.” She gestured to Spencer. “I want you to see that he is...no better than he was before, or any man after. They’re all the same.” 

“Stop.”

Cat squatted down in front of you. “I can see it on your face. What's his name?” 

You stared back at her. “It's none of your business.”

That damned smirk of hers returned. “It is exactly my business. In fact, it's my specialty. I mean, I could have Juliette and baby sister go over there if you want. They could take care of him.” 

Reid looked over at you. “Say yes. Give her what she wants.” 

“Hmm. See, he wants you to get me to make a little phone call so they can trace it.” She moved away from you both and sat down in the lounging chair across from you. “They're so good, the FBI.”

You jumped up and started pacing, a spitting image of four years ago. “What is wrong with the two of you? What is this sick, twisted thing that you have? Listen, I just want to save my sister. Will you please just tell me what I have to do to do that?” 

“Tell me his name. Tell me the story. That's it. And then if they can let Juliette exit stage right, then I promise you I will let her go.”

You looked between Cat and Spencer before walking over to the kitchen, and hanging up the phone. After staring down at the decision you had just made, you walked back over and took your phone out. “Here.  Use this. Use my phone. They can't trace it.”

She just watched you. “You'd be surprised.”

“I don't even need a call. Just... just a photo.” You held the phone out to her. “Something to prove to me that she's still alive. Please”. 

Cat just looked up at your face. “Story first.”

“Y/n. Please.” Spencer turned to you, hoping you’d look back at him. “I have been here with her before. She called the number and told the partner to kill my mom.”

“It is so tricky, isn't it? I mean, who are you gonna trust? The lying, cheating, violent psychopath... Or me?”

You looked down at the ground, refusing to look over at Spencer. “His…His name was Mike Davis. We dated for two years. I met him a month after we…we split.”

Cat’s attention on you felt as if there were a million bees stinging your body all at different intervals, pain coursing through your body. “Good. When did it end?” 

“Last year.” 

“Was he good in bed?” 

Spencer stood up. “Shut up.” 

Cat was enjoying this. She was enjoying watching you make Spencer uncomfortable. She was enjoying hurting him in every masochistic way she could. “What? You have to know where you stand.”

“He was good…” You looked back at Cat. “Good at, um, separating me from my friends and my family. Enough that the first time he punched me in the face, I didn't have anywhere to go. And my first response wasn't "get out." It wasn't "go to hell." It was "I'm sorry, Mike." That's when he knew he had me.”

There was a glint in Spencer’s eyes, and you could swear they were tears, but you couldn’t tell from rage or sorrow. 

Cat continued to probe. “How many hospital visits were there?” 

You showed her a small scar on the inside of your elbow. “None. No, he... He knew how to hurt me just enough to hide it all, I guess.”  

“But you found the strength to leave. What did you do?” 

“ I planned and I... I waited.”

Cat’s eyes lit up. “Waited for what? “

“I live here in D.C.” You looked between Spencer and Cat. “but I'm also a resident in Virginia. It takes 60 days for the permit to clear.”

Spencer’s eyes widened. “Y/n, stop talking. Stop talking right now.”

Cat shushed him. “No, don't stop. Here. Give me the phone. Look, I'm gonna enter the text. Stick the landing and I'll hit "send."

You handed her the phone and she quickly typed out a message, her thumb hovering over send. 

Fiddling with your ring finger, you started to speak again. Slowly. Concisely. “When I was ready, I picked a fight. Loud enough for the neighbors to hear. And he came at me with his fist just cocked back, so I pulled my Glock 19 out of my purse. I shot him.”

Spencer tried to interject. “It was self-defense. He was attacking you—”

“That's what I told 911 as he was struggling to breathe on his kitchen floor. That's why the police never charged me. I’m a lawyer, I know how to plead.” You closed your eyes. “But I... after I hung up, I... I shot him two more times.” 

Cat was glowing, spinning around to face Spencer. “Wow, you really have a type, don't you? Quite a dilemma, too. She just admitted to murder.” 

Spencer was in disbelief. “She'll beat it.” . 

“Probably. But whatever feelings she might have still had for you, and whatever Maxine might have seen in you—-it’s all gone.” 

The phone in your hand buzzed.

“Oh, wow. Look at that. Your sister. Alive and well. You're welcome.” 

Your face hardened up, and you stood up straighter. Walking away from the two of them, you opened the door. “I got it.” 

She took the phone from your hand and you turned back to the two of them. There was no emotion behind your eyes as you looked back at Spencer. 

Cat smirked and looked up at Spencer. “I win.” 

______________________________________________________________

The prison transport was quiet, with the two guards sitting across from Spencer and Cat. It had been silent for about twenty minutes, but then, Cat spoke up. 

“Do you know why I did this? Why I really did this?” 

Spencer looked down at his hands. “You wanted to prove I'm a monster just like you.”

“No... Silly. I just wanted to see you again. I just wanted to make sure that you would never forget about me.” She sighed. “'Cause when they do put that needle in my arm, I just want there to be even the slightest chance that... Maybe you're still thinking about me…”

Spencer stiffened as she placed her head on his shoulder. “You didn't have to terrorize 3 innocent people. You could've just written a letter.” 

“Would you have written me back?” 

When Spencer didn’t respond, Cat knew her answer. 

“Bye, Spencie. I really enjoyed our date.” She smiled at him desperately, getting dragged out of the vehicle by the guards to the prison. 

______________________________________________________________

The elevator door opened and Spencer walked out of it, his whole body reeked of defeat, and he barely looked at Emily as she spoke.  “We need to debrief.” 

Spencer just walked right past her, and into the bullpen. His expression changed when he saw you on one side talking to Tara, and Max on the other, looking up at him right as he walked in. 

“Spencer, are you okay?” 

Her voice caught your ear, and immediately you looked up to see her walk over and embrace him in a hug. 

He smiled at her, and grateful returned the hug before muttering that he would be back, and explain everything.

You were never going to get back together with Spencer, but watching it in real time was like unlacing an old wound. 

Spencer walked over to you, and you stood up as he approached. 

“Uh, Tara, would you mind giving us…”

She nodded at him and walked away. 

Both of you went to speak, trying to say something to the other. 

“I should explain all of this.” 

Spencer shook his head. “You don’t have to explain any of that Y/n—it doesn’t.” 

You cut him off. “It was fake—most of it. I didn’t kill anyone, Spence. I was just lying to her to get her to send the text from my phone. It was all…It was made up.” 

He just nodded, staring at you really. 

You gave him a soft smile, and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. Both of you could feel the pulse between it, making you remove your hand and take a small step back. 

“Thank you for saving my sister and father.” 

Spencer watched your resolve fully formed, masking whatever you were feeling. He hated watching it happen to him, watching as you placed whatever feelings you had back into somewhere he couldn’t find. 

Garcia walked over and placed a hand on Spencer’s shoulder. “I just need you both to know, Cat Adams had a miscarriage, but it was months after whatever encounter you had. It’s not your fault. We looked at her records.” She was speaking low for you both, yet both of you let out a quiet sigh of relief. 

“They filled me in on everything that happened between both of you in the past couple years, and they asked me if I would be willing to…help them beat her.” 

Spencer looked up at you, and unlike yourself, every single emotion Spencer was feeling was racing across his face. 

He didn’t like that you knew about everything that had gone down. He was so happy you were okay. He was a little impressed by the way you beat Cat at her own game. He was upset that you put yourself in danger. 

“They gave me an ear piece and everything.” 

Spencer shook his head. “You’re not trained—that’s extremely dangerous of you.” 

You sighed and nodded. “Unfortunately Spencer, this is…this was the life I was used to when we were together. I knew the stakes. I mean the briefings I had with Hotch after you relapsed…” 

Spencer just clammed up and stood a bit straighter. “ I never knew..”

“It was like that on purpose. I didn’t want you to think that you were a burden or too much or—I was doing it for the potential of…” You cut yourself of, flinching at the parallels between this and your previous final conversation. 

You looked over at Garcia. “I need my bag Pen.” You whispered, taking a step away from Spencer. “I shouldn’t…I finished my job. My family is safe…” 

She had a rueful look on her face, but she nodded and took your arm, walking you back over to the desk where your stuff was. 

He looked up at Emily and walked over to her. “I’m…uh. I’m gonna go walk her out and then I’ll be right back.” 

Emily gave him the saddest smile, and just nodded. She knew that nothing she could say could make it any better. 

You grabbed your coat, and your bag, and the two of you walked to the elevator in silence, riding it all the way down to the parking garage, where your car was still there from this afternoon, all of those hours ago. 

You looked over at Spencer, tears in your eyes, having not said anything to him. 

As soon as he met your eyes, you dropped your bag, and Spencer wrapped his arms around you tightly, just holding you and resting his head on yours; trying to give you the comfort that he was rarely able to give you. 

Sobbing into his arms, you just tightly wrapped your arms around his torso and just held onto him tightly. Trying to decompress, trying to truly understand everything that had happened in the past twelve hours. 

It was Spencer who spoke first. 

“I’m so so sorry Y/n.” He whispered. “I never meant any of this to happen to you, and for you to get dragged back here and—” 

You shook your head slightly, but didn’t move from where you were. Neither of you did. 

“It’s what she wanted, Spence, and unfortunately for us, this was always bound to happen.” You whispered. 

The hug felt so good, but something about it was just so different. 

It’s not the way it used to be. 

“I need to go Spencer.” 

He nodded, and this time you moved away from him. His hand came up and wiped away one of the remaining tears on your cheek. 

You closed your eyes, and took a deep breath. 

“Oh fuck, why is this so fucking hard four years later.” You laughed, trying to regain any sort of composure. 

“Y/n…”

You took another step away from him and shook your head. 

“We can’t—I’m not.” You tried so hard to find the right words without bursting into tears again. “Spencer. I cannot put myself back to where I was four years ago. I can’t do it. And yes things have changed, but maybe that is for the better. Maybe you were always meant to be my maybe, and not my always.” 

You took another breath, but kept going. “You are amazing, and funny, and so smart Spence. But this…we ran our course. It didn’t work then, and I don’t know if I have it in me to try again just for it to fail.” 

“Y/n please.” 

“I will always love you but this…It’s time to…It’s time to stop. I have to go back to my life, and you go back upstairs to yours, with Prentiss and Rossi and Penelope and…Max.” 

Both of you winced as you said her name, but you took a step forward, moving to kiss him on the cheek. 

Spencer gently grabbed you face, giving you enough time to back out. 

You didn’t. 

His lips locked with yours, his thumb rubbing against your cheek as the two of you shared one more moment, just for the two of you. 

But it had to end. 

You couldn’t go back to the anxiety, the arguing, the petty disagreements. It wasn’t good for you. It was good for either of you. 

Stepping away again, you gently kissed his cheek, and started to slowly walk to your car. 

Right as you got to your car, you turned around and made eye contact with him one last time before the elevator doors closed, both of you with the most gut wrenching smile slightly plastered across your faces. 

You mouthed goodbye, unable to speak it out loud, and he nodded, tears filling his eyes as he whispered it back to you. 

The doors shut. 

You were all alone in this hollow parking garage. 

Your heart was aching, burning. 

But there was a sigh of relief, that came with the doors closing, and saying goodbye for the last, last time. 

[moonlight-prose]

RIGHT WHERE YOU LEFT ME

➛ 05. ANGEL OF SMALL DEATH

a/n: i am apologizing now and a chapter early because this will be the last bit of happiness before the real angst settles in. i'm talking absolute pain. but for now we get to indulge in logan being content and happy with having his honey exactly how he wants. this chapter wasn't supposed to be this long, but i'm feral for this man. so here we are. enjoy the equivalent to a beach episode in a tv show before the real pain begins!

summary: when the world grows silent and time seems to stand still, you and logan find a reprieve in the serenity of your apartment.

OR nasty fucking him all over the small space until he sees god.

word count: 8k+

pairing: logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, oral (m receiving), sloppy toppy to the highest degree, p in v sex, choking, cumplay, spitplay, dirty talk, wade being a peeping tom, just wade, squirting, slightly dom!logan, accidental edging, face fucking, creampie, logan being a freak and his honey matching him entirely.

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He slept. For the first time in near a decade, he slept long after the sun rose in the morning sky. He resided in a vast emptiness of nothing but darkness. No nightmares, no screams, no fear that ate his heart bit by bit until all but a shell remained. Merely the echo of your breaths as you lay sprawled across his chest—naked skin pressed intimately atop his.

The curtains on your bedroom window remained open from the day prior—allowing the sun to stream in. Catching across your face and forcing your eyes to open with a squint of displeasure. You stirred gently, a sigh pressed to the hard chest against your cheek. The one that rose and fell in time with his heart beat.

Surprisingly he didn't snore as often as you expected. The first night he spent in your bed he was rigid. Unsure of where to lay, or how to curve around your body. Now he remained a heavy mass that slumped into your soft mattress, one arm spread to your side of the bed and the other a weight on your back.

Even in sleep Logan was adamant on keeping you right there. Pressed tight enough to feel every shift, every deep and sated breath.

A sore ache built between your thighs as you turned your head to look at him—admiring the way his face was devoid of a frown. After the fifth orgasm (three around his cock and two from his mouth) you had no choice but to shove him away. The promise of more on the tip of your tongue—as long as you got a chance to rest.

Although you were positive if he tried to fuck you right away you'd be screaming. And not from pleasure. The raw pain of your still leaking cunt is what kept you from shuffling up his body to sit on his now hard cock. It stirred against your stomach, pressed deliciously on your warm skin. You could feel it begin to drip, pooling against the trail of hair that led downward.

Moving slowly, you managed to maneuver yourself down his body—checking with each shift to see if he remained asleep. The sight made you smile; knowing he felt safe enough to find some solace in a dreamless night here in your bed. You watched him toss and turn on Wade's couch long enough.

For now he’d get a chance to actually breathe peacefully. His body no longer at the ready for a fight that would never come.

"Pretty," you sighed, eyes trailing down his stomach to the patch of hair nestled at the base of his already hard cock.

A pearlescent drop slipped down the vein, his chest a steady rise and fall even as you carefully peeked your tongue out to lick it up. You froze when his body shifted, a heavy sigh falling past his lips. Waking him up was the last thing you wanted—given the state of unrest he found himself stuck in for two weeks—but the thought of finally getting to taste him kept you going.

The salty tang of him spread along your tongue as you licked at his cock again. This time less afraid of feeling his body shift. He seemed to be on the very precipice of consciousness. But sleep would hold him captive for just a bit longer.

You moaned softly when your lips wrapped around him fully—hand gently holding what you may not be able to fit in your mouth. If last night told you anything, it’s that James Howlett was not a small man. In fact you had proof to uphold that statement. Yet that alone wouldn't deter you from taking him as deep as you could; even if you choked.

The stuttered breath that left his chest made your heart race the further you went. Pulling off quickly, you let your spit drip out of your mouth, coating his length to help you slide down a bit easier. The wet echo of your hand filled the room—his breaths deep and raspy as he started to feel the tendrils of pleasure take hold in his body.

Biting back another whine, you swallowed him down until he hit the back of your throat. Your hand a steady rhythm along what you couldn't fit. He pulsed on your tongue; precum dribbled down the back of your throat. The taste made your head spin—his cum now leaking from your spent cunt. Coating the inside of your thighs with a combination of you and him.

A match made in the entanglement of two universes. Colliding into one another without mercy.

"F-fuck," he groaned, hips shifting forward and choking you on his cock. You spluttered for breath as he caused you to gag—spit leaking down to his pubic hair.

Even through your gasps for air and soft breathy whimpers, he remained asleep. Lost in a dream of you sucking his cock greedily back into your mouth. Eyes overflowing with tears and lungs begging for just a bit more oxygen. He fucked your mouth gently, hips thrusting unconsciously to stay in that wet heat. To feel just a bit more of a white hot ecstasy you helped him chase.

Cupping his balls, you felt your spit coat them in a sticky layer. You wanted them in your mouth. Ached to feel them on your tongue. And with a gasp of the crisp morning air, you shifted—sucking on them with a soft moan of need.

Your hand pumped him rapidly, building his high until there was no denying what was happening. Scraping your teeth along the soft skin of his balls, you felt them draw up tightly. Logan's eyes flew open with a sharp gasp of air, his face tilting to see you between his thighs—your chin and mouth covered in a mix of your spit and his precum.

His mouth opened to speak, to give you a filthy comment you'd no doubt feel down your spine. Only for you to take him down your throat in one swift thrust. Tugging sharply on his pulsing balls to draw him right over the edge.

He came with a raw shout of your name, spilling into your mouth with enough cum to choke you. Until it began to leak out around your spread lips—trailing the sticky mess down your hand. His chest heaved as he struggled to breathe—head pushed back into the pillow and back arched with the force of his release. And you kept going.

You licked up every trace of his spend with an eager tongue and sighed out moans. A hand yanked you up his body, fingers gripping your chin to keep your mouth open as you looked at him with eyes glazed over—your body covered in a sheet of sweat.

"Share," he rasped, tugging you closer.

Smiling, you cupped his chin and guided his open mouth towards yours. Allowing whatever cum remained on your tongue to drip down onto his awaiting taste buds. The shiver that ran down his body caused you to clench around nothing—empty and aching for this to continue.

He moaned, pulling you in for a kiss that had you clambering into his lap. Your tongue sliding against his and fingers delving into his bedhead of hair. The passion from last night still lingered in your veins. A silent plea for his touch to drag down your naked form; for him to consume you entirely. Yet you remained content like this—in his arms, lazily kissing until you had no choice but to come up for air.

"I can make us breakfast," you murmured, running your thumb along his cheek—your breath a warm caress on his face.

A hum purred in his chest, hands cupping your ass and kneading the flesh with a sleepy grin. "That sounds good."

"Got anything in mind?"

His eyes trailed down your throat to the way your breasts were pushed up against his chest. You felt your nipples tighten at the heat from his gaze. The want in his touch that left you craving for more. Vanessa really wasn't kidding when she told you he'd lock you in this apartment. Ravishing you every way he knew how; showing you everything he learned in his two hundred years on Earth.

"I do," he replied, voice low and thick with sleep.

"Yeah?" He nodded, an air of serenity lighting up his eyes. The sight felt new—unlike the Logan from last night—but you could feel the warmth of it slide down your spine. Encasing you in a cocoon of domesticity that thrived in the afternoon sun. "Pancakes?"

"Mm." Lips trailed along your jaw, tracing the line of your neck with gentle bites that were soothed by his hot tongue. "I've got somethin' else in mind honey."

Heat pooled between your legs, slicking your skin with a fresh wave of arousal. You felt his nostrils flare—your scent thick in the air and drawing out a side of him that begged to take a bite out of your plush form. He wanted to eat you alive. It sent a thrill of fear through his body.

You longed to explain that you felt the very same way about him.

A low growl emanated from your stomach, pulling him free from the shackles of lust that clamped on his neck. The flutter of your heart was only furthered by his soft laugh; hazel eyes now a bit clearer as he listened to the cues of your body.

"Actual food then," he said, tapping your ass lightly to shift you when he clambered out of bed. Searching for the jeans that were thrown to the side.

You tried to swallow the flare of disappointment that soured your stomach and Logan could tell. He knew you wanted to stay there tangled beneath the sheets. Your bodies stuck to one another long enough to cause discomfort. Fuck he'd never wanted anything more. He could sense the danger in letting his heart be filled by you—the fear of this going a different way.

Silencing it was near impossible when all he wanted to do was listen to it.

Pressing a kiss to your furrowed brows, he handed you his flannel. Watching in adoration as you struggled with the buttons. Similar to him twenty four hours prior.

Not bothering with his belt, he walked out into your living room—seeing the trail of clothing left in your wake of need. He gathered what he could, tossing your robe to the back of the couch. His boots placed by the foot of the coffee table. While you stumbled behind him on unsteady legs that still shook from last night's activities.

Pride flared hot in his chest at the sight; his cock twitching in interest at your messy state.

"I can make the pancakes," you announced, trying your best to walk to the stove without your knees buckling beneath you.

He laughed, reaching an arm around your waist to tug you back and into his chest. "I know how to make pancakes bub."

"And if I don't believe you?"

His lips pressed to your ear, teeth biting at the lobe. "I used to be a teacher honey. Who do you think kept those kids fed most of the time?"

"The other X-Men," you huffed, though the smile on your face told him you were more than happy to stay in his arms. "Weren't they professors too?"

"Yeah right," he scoffed. "Jean was considered a fuckin' fire hazard and forget Scott. He couldn't even find the kitchen if he wanted to." He walked you both towards the counter, turning you to sit you on it with a messy kiss that had his teeth digging into your lip—pulling at it gently with a groan. "Storm was better. She knew how to handle the little shits when they came up with strange food demands."

You smiled, curling your arms around his waist. "I like hearing you talk about them."

A flicker of grief filtered through the joy, reminding him of what he once had. But as usual, he smothered it with a puff of air—craving the taste of a cigar between his teeth he could bite down on. Something to let his pain sink into other than you.

"It's been awhile."

"Well you should talk about them. They're your family Logan."

His body went stiff, hands pressed flat to the counter, and you let the words sink into his skin. You watched his mind come to life with old memories long past. Good memories. Ones that involved cooking in a kitchen full of students and jokes with the people he loved most. He felt the weight of grief begin to lift off his chest with each moment of laughter, each piece of love he once forgot.

All the horrors he'd endured buried the good under a wave of bleak nothingness.

To have them back brought a light he forgot once belonged.

"They uh..." He cleared his throat, moving to grab a mixing bowl you stored somewhere deep in your cabinets. You weren't one for cooking often; the dinner with Logan being an exception. "I forgot how it feels."

"What?"

"Havin' them back. Even if it's just through this." He smiled—more to himself than anything—and flicked the stove burner on.

A part of you knew that was the end of the conversation for now. After spending decades avoiding his past mistakes—his trauma that might never heal—he finally felt safe enough to open the door. Even if it barely remained cracked enough for you to peek through. This was him taking a step towards keeping true to the promise he uttered against your lips last night.

The intent of staying no longer an echo of words that held no weight behind them.

There existed—between you and him—a sense of fulfillment that sprouted from the seeds of the you he knew before. A version that was capable of handling his grief, because you shared in it. You mourned his family for one sole reason: they were your family too.

If you could give that to him now, you would. Offering him a place of serenity despite the chaos he lingered in was enough. You could see it on his face—the peace he'd been searching for...now in his grasp. He'd be damned to let even a sliver of it go now.

The scent of batter being poured onto a grill filled your apartment, setting the hunger in your body alight with a new vigor. He moved with such fluidity and ease. As if he already memorized the layout of your kitchen from the last time he was here; his hand reaching for things in drawers you forgot were there. You traced your gaze along his bare back, down the curves and sinews of his muscles that rippled beneath his skin.

Skin you clawed at with need; that ripped beneath your nails and healed over seconds later. You longed to place your mark on his body, to see a trail of hickeys lead down into his jeans. But that remained a disappointment you could live with. As long as he let you try over and over again.

"Careful honey." His hand pressed to the counter, back hunching as his nostrils flared. "I gotta feed ya before anything else can happen."

"I'm not-"

He turned, eyes narrowing at the way your thighs pressed together to alleviate the growing ache. "Then spread 'em."

Your breath grew heavy, eyes lidded as lust washed over your body with a demand you couldn't fight again. The sight of you practically panting at the sight of his grin—so sure that he'd find you dripping onto the marble counter—left you clamoring for some semblance of control. Surely you could wait until he'd finished cooking. You needed food more than him.

But the longer he watched you—scrutinizing every part of your trembling form—began to shift that truth to something else entirely.

"C'mon bub. Show me the mess you're makin'." A whine echoed in the small kitchen as he flipped another pancake onto the plate. "Be good and I'll reward you."

Fuck.

Your legs parted, flannel pulled up, as you revealed the slick lips of your cunt that begged for his attention. A groan rumbled in his chest, his eyes greedy in the way he devoured the sight of you so ready for him to slip right in. The spatula nearly bent in his hand—the smoldering scent of a forgotten pancake became an afterthought as he stepped closer.

"Logan the stove," you breathed.

He flicked it off without looking, the small pile of pancakes slid beside you with a fork. "Eat."

"But-"

The pointed look shut you up within seconds, his hands parting your thighs to spread you even further. Until he was standing before you with intent hammering in his heart. Cutting through the pancakes, you moaned at the taste as it hit your tongue. Only for Logan to drop to his knees—his thumbs pulling you open for your slick to pour out right onto the counter.

"What are you—oh-" you gasped, a hand digging into his hair as his mouth sealed over your cunt with a husky moan.

He watched you while his tongue licked over every part of you. Plunging into you as you swallowed down the buttery pancake—your mouth parted with another heady moan of his name. The challenge was clear enough for you to understand without further questioning. You were meant to eat. As he indulged in devouring a breakfast of his own.

The tip of his tongue flicked at your clit, drawing a whine from your throat—the fork nearly slipping out of your hand. Only for him to grasp it and drag it back to the plate. He stopped, keeping his mouth directly over your throbbing center, yet never touching you. The action was enough to drag even a sane person to madness.

"I'm sorry," you whimpered, the burn of tears stinging your eyes as you cut another piece and placed it on your tongue.

He continued with a growl. Sucking at you lewdly until all you could hear was the echo of his mouth moving over you wetly. His thumb rubbing quick circles over your clit, tongue thrusting deep enough to drink down every drop of you that poured out.

Having managed to eat two of the smaller pancakes, you felt the tendrils of pleasure begin to rush through your body—pulling and tugging at each nerve with a familiar heat you'd grown to love. He moaned, eyes fluttering shut as he ate you with a drunken hunger. An urgency to feel you pulse around his tongue.

"Logan I'm gonna-" You gasped, fingers yanking on his hair.

The fork clattered to the counter—your hips dragging along his mouth with a cry as you broke for him. Unlike before this felt like a rush of fresh air. An echo of love that lingered in his tongue, in his promise to keep you. Your chest heaved, legs trembling over his shoulders, and the ache of want still stuck to your skin like the humid air of summer.

He didn't quell your hunger.

He merely lit the match for something stronger.

"Good job," he murmured, catching your lips in a kiss that had you wrapping your body around him, arms twining around his neck. "Mm. Think I found somethin' better than fuckin' syrup."

The skin of your cheeks burned hot as he smiled; his tongue licking at your open mouth. Words were lost as you kissed him with an eagerness that threatened to break you. This is what you longed for. The promise of a life overflowing with small bits of joy. Pieces of a future that echoed with what you built together.

Certainly not a perfect Polaroid, but you supposed that's what made the sun spots so endearing. It captured the truth of what still had to be figured out. The pain that you'd one day have to face head on. But as he kissed you slowly, hands grasping gently at your flesh, you felt certain that things would be okay.

Because he would be there, standing beside you with his hand in yours, ready to face it with you.

The midday sun cast shadows along your living room, turning dark spots into shade you now lounged in. Logan sat at your kitchen table with a plate of food you'd made an hour after your kitchen escapades. The quiet of having him there, watching you with a warmth in his eyes that burned lovingly against your skin, left you craving more of this.

"I like you in my shirt," he said, pushing the now empty plate to the side.

You smiled, leaning against the edge of the table as he kissed your bare thigh. "I like you in no shirt."

"Yeah I bet bub," he chuckled.

The heavy press of his palm to your leg kept you still—even as you continued to burn from an hour ago. You didn't rush him into the act, because if anything you had an excess of time. One more day off from work left you with the knowledge that you would have Logan more times than your body could handle.

He was quickly turning into an addiction you held no intention of kicking. How could you? When the sweetness of him spread along your tongue like the finest whiskey known to man. When you were so devoted to a relationship that barely started to bloom. Yet you felt as if you'd known him your entire life. Your heart was waiting for him to appear—claim you without question—and you could do nothing but respond with a desperate yes.

"Still needy for me honey?" he teased, standing to his full height with a soft grunt, his hands spreading along your hips.

You scoffed, pushing at his chest; even if he did resemble a brick wall. "You're imagining things Howlett."

"Oh it's Howlett now huh?" He nipped at your jaw, smiling at your soft bubble of laughter that burrowed its way into the depths of his heart. "Thought you liked callin' me James."

The breath caught in your throat when his tongue slid along your throat, heat pooling in your stomach. "Logan," you sighed, fingers tangling in his hair to draw his face up.

"That's better," he growled, cupping your chin to connect his lips to yours.

The raw needy ache of last night reared its head in your body, screaming out for him as he licked into your mouth with a purr. One you felt reverberate through your chest and down to the very tips of your fingers. He was yours to kiss, yours to love, and without knowing it you managed to tame the lonesome Wolverine that begged for a hint of your affection.

"Can't fuckin' get enough of you," he mumbled against your neck, sucking at the tender skin as his hands kneaded at your ass. "Got me goin' feral honey."

"I don't mean to."

"I know." He pushed his hips into yours, dragging you along his jeans with a stuttered breath. "'M gonna fuck you."

Your eyes met his gaze—a pool of slick now staining the dark denim he leaked into. "Here?"

He nodded, teeth bared in a ravenous smile. "When you eat dinner here without me..." Tugging the flannel open, he sucked at the top of your breast. "You'll remember me bending you over this table."

No words could counter what he just uttered as if he was reading straight from a novel of your life. His hands guided you to turn around—your palms flat on the wood and breath heavy in your chest. The audible echo of his zipper sent a flare of want through your body. Slick now coating the inside of your thighs, dripping down for him to see the slight shine of it in the sunlight.

He grunted palm sliding along your cunt and jolting you with a shuddered breath. Though he'd already eaten—twice—he was intent on indulging in a dessert so sweet he would go to the grave thinking about it. His cock—hard and throbbing—slid along the lips of your cunt. Coating him in your slick with a soft puff of air that blew across the back of your neck.

"Press your cheek down for me honey," he said softly, hand gripping your neck and guiding you until your back had no choice but to curve—ass presented to him with a soft moan. "There we go. Lookin' like a damn goddess."

"Oh fuck-" you sighed, the ache between your legs now a searing burn that could only be put out by him.

"You want my cock?"

You nodded, a stray tear falling to the table. "I do."

He huffed, lips pressing to the shell of your ear. "Begging so sweetly for me. Can't believe you thought I'd leave willingly."

The comment was more for himself than you, but you mewled for him, hips pushing back into his until the head of his cock tapped your clit. Drawing a high pitched cry from your parted lips still shiny with his spit.

"Please," you gasped, nails scratching along the wood. You'd see the marks later and be placed back into this memory with a visceral shove. As he intended

"I know, I know."

Lining himself up, he pushed forward with a broken gasp—his face buried against your shoulder. The stretch was divine. Last night's pain dispersed the second he slid into you with one thrust, your walls clamping down around him tight enough to choke a moan from his throat. The breathy grunted fuck had your head spinning, another gush of slick pouring out of you until it leaked between you.

Yet he held himself there, panting against your back as his cock twitched inside you. Begging him to move. He gave you a moment to catch your breath, to find something in your mind to latch onto. Yet what remained when he already sent you to the stratosphere? What could you attach yourself to when you were floating above the clouds?

"Need you to move," you whined.

He kissed your ear, grinding against you with a rasped grunt. "So fucking tight bub. 'M tryin’ not to cum."

"But I want you to-"

Pulling back he thrust into you with a stunted shift of his hips—cutting off your words as you moaned. Your eyes rolled back when he began to move in earnest. His hips slapping against your ass and hand bunching the fabric of his flannel to pull you back along his cock. And you took it.

You were reduced to a moaning wet mess when he fucked into you with a growl. Searching for the place that would draw you over the edge with ease. The cry that wrenched from your throat—your body trembling in his grasp—told him he'd struck gold. A smile curved over his lips as he kept that angle. Thrusting into you with a needy growl you heard bounce off the cabinets and walls.

"That it?" His hand gripped your throat, pulling you up and off the table. "That's the spot huh bub."

A sob fell past your parted lips, tears spilling down your cheeks when his other hand found your clit—fingers pulling up the hood to press right against the nerve. A burning sensation began to build in your stomach. Unlike what transpired in the times before.

This felt like more. All encompassing and treacherous enough to split you right down the center.

Your fingers scrambled to clutch his wrist. Unable to discern if you wanted to push him away or keep him there.

Logan merely chuckled, going faster with ease. You choked on your spit, your knees buckling, but he merely clutched you tighter. Keeping you right where he wanted as he fucked you within an inch of your life. The wet squelch of his cock plunging into you only made the fire burn brighter. You swore you could feel the flames lick along your skin—eating you alive.

"Got no words for me honey?" he grunted, teeth biting at your jaw. "Don't tell me I fucked 'em all out of your head."

"Hngg-"

"What was that?"

Nails dug into his skin and a cracked sob ripped from your raw throat when you came. Your walls pulsing around him as something wet gushed down your thighs. It splattered against the table, causing Logan to feel as if all the breath was punched from his lungs. His fingers still moved, spreading the mess and pulling every last drop from your spent body.

Even as he fought to ram his cock into you without mercy—desperate for his own high. You whimpered with each shift of his hips, eyes squeezed shut and mouth open with gasped breaths. And Logan had never seen a prettier sight than this.

He felt his heart clench, breath aching for lungs, as he fucked you through it. Until your body sagged against his with a sigh—eyes fluttering open to reveal your dazed expression. His heart twisted at the sight, cock throbbing with a needy ache he could no longer ignore.

"Y-Your turn," you panted, reaching up with a shaky hand to draw his lips to yours.

"Yeah?" His hips shifted forward and your mouth dropped open. "You want me to fill you up honey?"

The quick nod was all he needed to start chasing the built up high that threatened to strangle him. But the shrill echo of your phone across the table killed him like a shot to his head. He bit back a snarl of rage when your eyes lazily dragged to the face down device. Your heart picking up speed at the thought of who might be trying to contact you.

"I can ignore it," you mumbled.

The temptation to murder whoever was on the other line built up like bile in the back of his throat. But like a better man, he swallowed it down with a grunt. Pulling himself free with a hiss as his cock slapped against his stomach—covered in the sticky white cream that was your cum and aching for a release that would have to come later.

"Might be your work." He tapped your ass, carefully placing himself back in his jeans with a pained grunt. "Go on bub. I'm okay."

A glimmer of disappointment flared to life in your eyes before you were answering without checking the screen. The soft hello barely audible over the rush of blood that blared in his ears. He knew he wouldn't die from this. But fuck if he didn't feel like his body might combust at the sensation of being edged so hard his chest hurt.

"Wade?"

His head whipped towards you—a look of blistering fury crossed his face as he ripped the phone from your grasp. "You motherfucker," he snarled.

"You should really fuck with your knees Log. Save that adamantium skeleton." His voice was light, cheerful, and Logan had never wanted to rip him to shreds more.

"Are you watching us?" Your eyes widened and before Wade could give a snarky response, you were facing the still open window.

Wade stood across the street in his living room, waving with a knife. "Gotta give you pointers peanut. I've never been so hard in my life."

"Oh god," you sighed, covering your face. You reached for the phone; Logan gave it over before he could crush it in his fist. "Wade!"

"Whoa sweet angel! Don't go screaming my name after your man just made you see Natasha Romanoff in the afterlife. Did you tell her I said hi by the way?"

"It's rude to spy on people Wade Winston Wilson." His face fell as Logan snickered behind you. "Now I want an apology. Or I'm calling Nessa."

Though you couldn't see him well, you caught the way his face paled. "Right. I'm sorry. I won't be a perv next time. Even if you do have your window open and are screaming Logan's name so loud they can hear you on Knowhere."

"I wasn't-"

"And for your information FYI, I didn't spy. I just happened to see him and you bent over a table and assumed." He smiled, toothy and proud. "Can't fault me for being right on the money."

In an attempt to control your breathing (so as not to ask Logan to cut off Wade's limbs) you smiled through the flicker of annoyance. He was your friend. The person who was there for you in times when you needed someone. You couldn't really stay mad at Wade—even if the actions did call for the anger.

Especially not when you were still in the throws of recovering from the greatest orgasm of your life.

"I'd say I could do better, but now I'm not so sure angel face. I think Logan's won this round."

Surprisingly, you laughed. "He definitely won this round."

Logan stepped in closer when he was mentioned—his head dipping to hear Wade's voice through the phone. Unconsciously you found yourself leaning into his warmth—your body seeking out the gentle aftercare from the man who held your heart in his hands. His arm went around your waist, lips placing a gentle kiss to your shoulder, and Wade groaned audibly in completely disgust.

"Would you get a room. God it's like watching an episode of WandaVision. Only this time it's the deleted scenes where they were allowed to actually fuck." He smiled, fingers forming a faux gun as he winked.

"We all know the robot dicking her down extravaganza exists Marvel. Don't lie."

"Your fault for peeking in on the show Wade," you replied, eyes fluttering shut as Logan fixed the flannel to cover as much of you as possible.

"I get it. I'm an unpaying customer. Therefore not wanted." He sighed, gesturing to no one in particular. "I mean what about those guys? They get a free show!"

"Wilson," Logan bit out, his claws sliding free to cover the top of your thighs.

Another weary (yet dramatic and totally Oscar worthy) sigh came through the phone. "I'll just dance the Lonesome Tango tonight. Don't mind me, taking all of the domesticity in so I can vomit."

You smiled when Logan nudged your cheek with his nose. "Goodnight Wade."

"Hardly good! Ness is out for the day and what about me? Don't I have needs? Am I not just a boy looking at the couple he's going to third wheel someday saying: please save some pancakes for me?"

The gasp that flew from your mouth was loud enough to be heard through the open window as Logan ripped the phone from your ear. Cussing out the man who stared at you with a Cheshire grin big enough to fill up an entire room. He waved, tossing his phone to the couch as he leaned out the window.

"Turns out you are gonna dance again peanut!"

Before you could shout a response, Logan was slamming the window shut with a growl. His claws slicing through the already fragile wood at the base of it as the lock slid into place. The middle finger he offered was all Wade got before Logan was dragging you back towards the bedroom; the decision to buy you some fucking curtains now solidified in his mind.

"Favorite movie?"

He groaned, dragging your legs over his lap as you curled into his side. "I've been alive too fuckin' long to choose honey. Tell me yours."

A wince overtook your features as Logan ran his hand up and down your bare leg—his gaze determined to trace every detail of your face a thousand times over. Hoping that over time he'd find new things to fall in love with. New pieces of you he'd grow to cherish. He settled on the shape of your lips—watching them move with each words you spoke.

"Okay don't laugh at me. It's a good movie." You toyed with his fingers, thumb tracing the spaces between his knuckles where his claws broke the skin to come free. "The Mummy."

His eyebrows pulled together. "Isn't that the one where they...fight a fuckin' mummy?"

You nodded, laughter falling on his perked up ears. "Listen! She's a librarian who gets to go on an adventure and fall in love. I'm an archivist who...well meeting you has been an adventure and..."

You fell in love.

Saying the words out loud felt wrong. Misplaced. Yet you'd never felt something sit in your chest so perfectly and feel like it belonged. Love had always been a complicated formula that felt impossible to crack. After all, no real theory ever mixed well with something so convoluted.

But nothing else could possibly make the same amount of sense with you as those three words did.

Logan watched every thought cross your face; every problem you struggled with now on full display for him to see. He willed himself to say them aloud. To simply let them fall free and settle in your heart with ease. But the last person he said them to now hated his very existence. They held an entirely different heart yet wore the exact replica of your face.

That only seemed to complicate the matter further.

So he pressed a kiss to the space between your eyebrows until the skin smoothed, and pulled you out of the internal battle you seemed to be losing.

"Tell me about your family bub."

You perked up, eyes alight with the joy that lingered from hours before. "My sister?" He nodded. "Oh well she's a teacher. Works at a high-school in the city."

"Guess you were bound to have another teacher in your life huh?" His heart twisted when you laughed, your fingers curling into his hair—toying with the sides without even realizing it.

"I guess so." You sighed, settling against his body. "It's funny, because I'd have never met Wade if it wasn't for her. This used to be her place before she—ya know—got married and stuff. Wade actually sold her the car I borrowed the day I met you."

His hand traveled higher, slipping to the curve of your hip. "Sneaky little fucker," he muttered.

"Although I think nearly killing me in the street is what really made me like him."

Logan jolted, his hand pinching your chin to face him. "What the fuck do you mean nearly killing you?"

The smile on your face did nothing to appease the fresh wave of anger that filled his body. If anything he only felt it eat away at him faster. Like a parasite with no cure. You were so calm about the entire situation. So nonchalant as you explained to him what actually happened.

That alone terrified him.

What if one day something like this happened again? What if the person who would cause you harm was someone he couldn't save you from?

Dread weighed heavy on his stomach like a rock he never intended to swallow. Even as you spoke he could feel the way it pulled at him. Dragging him into a darkness he'd never escape. He endured it once before, swam to the shore and climbed his way out, but to lose you was to put an end to his existence in this universe.

Logan couldn't die.

But he'd sure as hell find a way to if you were no longer by his side.

"I know he didn't mean to almost hit me with his knife. He was aiming for the guy behind me." You placed a kiss on his wrist, right above his pulse point. "Anyways we laugh about it now. Wade calls it fate. And since I met you...I kinda feel like he's right."

The breath caught in his chest. "Honey you got no idea..."

Lips trailed up his arm, sending chills down his spine as you placed kiss after kiss along his body. Right to his chest. Your tongue licked along his nipple—sucking it into your mouth and drawing a stuttered moan from his parted lips. His cock twitched in his jeans, the lost orgasm from earlier now raring to life with each delicate brush of your mouth on his skin.

Scraping your teeth on his pec, he felt his hips shift in an effort to find even a brief second of relief. You smiled at the feeling of him hard and aching against your thigh.

"You didn't get to cum earlier," you murmured, kissing along his jaw, nose brushing his cheek. The slight brush of your hand dipping along his stomach and down into his jeans drew a ragged groan from his chest. "Fair's fair baby."

Soft skin of your palm met his still leaking cock and the surprise that flickered across your face at the knowledge that he'd been dripping all night for you turned his mind numb. His kiss seared your entire being as you stroked him slowly. Logan shoved his jeans down the best he could with you blocking his way, simply to feel your palm drag down his length to cup his balls still covered in your sticky cum.

A breathy whine you never heard before slipped past his lips—his head falling back when your mouth latched onto his throat. Teeth and tongue sucking a mark that would fade within seconds. But catching a glimpse of the purple bruise made your heart flutter.

The wet slide of your hand filled the room with each pump. His hips canted up into your fist, fucking the slick hole you formed around him with panted grunts of nonsensical words.

It didn't build steadily like before where he held the capability of holding out. Now he felt helpless to the burn that forced its through his veins. The tension pulling taut in his stomach.

Only for you to pull away.

"W-What?" he rasped, his eyes flying open to see how you fell back on the bed—fingers popping open the shirt button by button.

"Come here," you breathed, hooking your foot around his hip. "Don't you wanna fuck my face baby?"

His mind went blank. Eyes dazed and mouth open as he watched you smile up at him—mischief shining bright in your gaze. You were an angel sent from who knows where bestowed upon him like a gift. An apology for all he'd gone through.

If the light he saw as he took his last breath was your face, he'd die a happy man.

Beckoning him forward with your hand on his thigh, Logan knelt above your chest. He could see how you longed for him to press weight against you—the feel of your palm against his ass telling him enough. But risking it would never be an option. He knew how much his skeleton as a whole weighed; you would not survive five seconds of it atop your body entirely.

"So pretty," you cooed, wrapping a hand around his cock as he shuddered. "Can I taste you Logan?"

He nodded dumbly, hand cupping the top of your head to keep himself grounded. Only for his soul to leave his body at the feel of your lips sucking him in. The wet heat of your mouth felt like a death to his heart. He'd never recover.

Yet one truth remained ingrained in the back of his mind.

He didn't want to survive.

"Fuck," he breathed, canting his hips down and into your waiting mouth.

The second his tip brushed the back of your throat, Logan knew he'd never last. He was a man lost in the depths of your body. Finding his way back to himself was never an option. You suckled on him with a whimper, letting him slowly thrust into your mouth as your fingers dug into the flesh of his ass.

Moans fell from his mouth with ease; words eventually following suit. "You fuckin' like this huh? You like me sitting on your face?"

Another muffled sound vibrated against his cock. His balls began to draw up slightly—thighs practically numb with the pleasure that consumed him. He sunk deeper, fucking your throat with a wet gasp, his body curving over yours and hand pressing to the mattress for stability.

"Fuck your mouth is heaven." He panted through the flames that licked at his spine, fighting to stay with you. "Gonna make a mess of you."

A jolt of lightning echoed across his skin when your hand slipped between his legs to fondle his balls, massaging the tender skin as tears dripped down into your hair. Whatever sanity he held left would wither away with the tendrils of his oncoming orgasm. But this isn't how he wanted to finish.

Ripping himself away, you barely got out half a question of what he was doing, before you were yanked into his lap—his tongue invading your mouth in a messy kiss. Spit spread across his cheek, but you seemed to get the hint when he grinded up into your dripping cunt.

"I promised to fill ya honey," he grunted, guiding your hand to wrap around his pulsating cock. "I don't break my promises."

With a sigh of his name pressed to his mouth, you guided him to your entrance, sinking down slowly to engulf him into your throbbing walls. A rough noise tore from his throat at the feeling—his body barely giving him enough time to comprehend that he'd been on the edge for far longer than he realized.

"Shit!" His thumb found your clit, working you over with quick circles that had your body curving into his. "'M not gonna last. Need you to fuckin' cum for me bub."

"Let go," you mumbled, dragging yourself up and off his cock. Only to sit back down hard enough to make him go blind. "Fill me up baby. Make it spill out."

His teeth set into your shoulder, claws sinking into your already ruined mattress to steady himself. He clutched you to him with a hoarse shout of your name as he came. Rope after rope of his spend spurted into your waiting body, drawing a soft breathy moan out from your swollen lips. You held him close, lips sliding along his neck, and talked him through it.

"Thank you baby," you sighed, grinding your hips along his lap. "Feels so good. So warm."

The lilt of your words bled with the adoration you felt for him in the center of your chest. The fact that you didn't finish didn't feel necessary when you had him like this. Entirely wrapped around you—face pressed into your chest and soul desperate to brush against yours.

"One of these days I'm gonna die like this bub."

You smiled, dragging your lips along his temple. "Would that be so bad?"

"Mm." Teeth scraped your skin as he slowly fell back onto the bed, taking you with him. "Probably not."

What lingered in the space between was a silence you reveled in. A peaceful kind of calm that created a bubble of warmth for the both of you to exist. Not completely in the world, yet never out of it entirely.

His body practically overheated beneath your skin, but you didn't mind the closeness. In fact, you found that you craved that above everything else. How he held you, allowed you to see the soft side of him that would normally be withheld.

This was the memory you'd hold close to your heart over the years. The one that'd always remain to give you a sense of peace in an otherwise crazy world.

"I'm really happy I met you Logan." The words weren't exactly what you wanted to say. But they felt close enough to exhibit the same emotion—the one that clawed at your heart, looking for a way to break free.

He hummed, dragging a hand down your spine. "Me too honey."

Settling atop him fully, you rested your ear where you knew his heart lay beneath layers of muscle and a cage of adamantium. The steady beat lulled you into a tranquil state. Where time no longer felt real and comfort became your only option.

Oh how you longed to remain here with him. Bound to nothing and no one, but each other.

note: i'm so sorry for what's about to befall these two.

[asidian]

Alright. It is time. Buckle up.

Why you should be watching Dead Boy Detectives: the targeted-specifically-at my-readers edition.

Meet the leads, our two ghost boys:

Edwin Payne: Fussy, repressed intellectual type from the Edwardian era. Exceedingly gay for his partner and best friend. Tortured in hell for seventy years on a technicality because he was ritually sacrificed as a prank gone wrong. Endearingly awful at people and dealing with emotions or his own wants.

Charles Rowland: Impulsive, people-pleasing wildcard from the 80s. Heart eyes 24/7 at his best friend but has zero self-awareness. Badly abused by his asshole of a father. Beaten to death because he saved a kid from bullies. Endearingly awful at sorting his own emotions or talking about his problems.

Some highlights:

/slaps hood you can fit so much trauma in these two

Both leads get sobbing breakdowns that happen on screen. The actors are incredible at crying

Both leads get much-needed hugs

The absolute devotion between the two of them. The shared history that lives in their dialogue and how they work together like people who have been each other's Most Important Person for literal decades

I mean, I'm talking in-canon Orpheus and Eurydice reference level of devotion here

The protective way Charles puts himself physically between Edwin and damn near every threat in the show

They're just fun together. Their interactions and banter and how they work as a team is a delight

Their shared plot arc literally involves them learning to talk to each other and communicate more so that they can be there for one another about their respective issues

The symbolism. God. They are metaphorically and literally one another's light in the darkness

But what about stuff that isn't the main duo? Just wait, there's more:

This show is unabashedly, unapologetically queer. It's there in the text and the subtext. The whole show lives and breathes it

So many good, complex, well-written female characters. The Bechdel test gets blown straight out of the water in episode one and they never look back. Headstrong amnesiac psychic learning to be a better person! Quirky meta commentary matchmaker! Cynical lesbian butcher! Delightfully sadistic witch! They are all amazing.

[audience voice] But I'm here for the hurt/comfort. How can I whump ghosts? Worry not, my friends. Canon has you covered. Not only are there ways, there are ways that happen on-screen. The hurt/comfort and rescue are also on-screen. Yes, it is amazing

Absolute chaos, really cool supernatural cases and creatures, a surprising amount of humor, charming writing, and a cast that absolutely nails it on the acting and chemistry

There is an extremely suggestive trickster type who is also the king of cats. He's a cat in human form. He hits on Edwin nonstop. Charles gets blisteringly jealous

All of the leads have well-thought-through, fully developed, emotional character arcs. They're all messy and flawed and sometimes lash out in their pain, but at turns can be incredibly supportive and kind and loyal

A character who is a crow who is also a boy, who is tortured by his witch/creator and also is crushing hard on one of the leads

There are so many incredible details in the setting, costume choices, prop decisions, etc. that you only catch after you know what it's laying the groundwork for. The level of care that went into this show is phenomenal

It's only eight episodes. The time investment barrier to entry could not possibly be lower

Anyway, tl;dr, if any of this sounds appealing to you, you should give this show a watch.

Dead Boy Detectives is well worth your time. It's easily my favorite show in years.

[fujosh1dreamer]

Guess I'll talk about episode 4... Which I absolutely loved. It was very painful and at some points hard to watch but that's the point I believe.

Now that the situation with Angel has been thrown into our faces we can't really turn a blind eye. I loved everyone in this episode but especially charlie.

I wanted her to throw hands I was like yes pls. Just one really good hit, just to make Val start thinking twice. But I guess its a little too soon for that.

Surprisingly the episode did change my opinion of Vox. At first I was like oh silly TV man, thinking of his as just someone for Alastor to mess with. But after this look-

I'm not liking him too much. Guess I'll have to wait and see, but Vox looking at Angel with such contempt pissed me off. If someone has another interpretation of his expression I'd love to hear it.

Love Angel and Charlie connecting in the end. You cant even be mad at Charlie because she came from a place of love. She didn't fully understand the situation she just knew Angel didn't want to be there.

They made up in the end.

She apologized and they made up. Angel understood and forgave Charlie which warmed my heart. They're so cute!!!

And of course we have the song between Angel and Husk which slapped.

Love them.

What an episode!!!

[nrdmssgs]

Kissing König on the forehead

Masterlist Kissing Ghost on the forehead Kissing Price on the forehead

TW: mentions of social anxiety

His life consists of you. Literally: you have become the measure of everything. There are no more 'Fridays' or 'Novembers' - there are days, weeks and months, until he sees you again. No more rooms in his house - there is a wall to which he pressed his back, giving you more space to pass by, when he first saw you. There is a stove where you burned your fingers, making his heart ache when he saw your tears for the first time. There is a window, by which he fell on his knees and frantically stroked and kissed your hands, after he heard your timid confession. Anything beautiful he witnessed, anything meaningful he heard or read, made sense, only when he thought, how would he share it with you.

König knows, It's too much, his eagerness to be by your side constantly, his hunger for your touch, his feelings - he is too much. And he is afraid, so terribly and utterly afraid, that one day you see it too and leave him. So he restrains himself, tries to be less vocal, clasps his hands around his elbows to not hug you every minute, he is around. König carefully plans every conversation, you two will have, when he is back from deployment. Sometimes these imaginary chats end good, other times - you yell at him, but what is even worse - you cry. Your tears, even ones, he imagines pain him so badly - he immediately takes out his phone and texts you.

"I am so sorry, Schatz."

He snaps back to reality only when he gets your worried answer. Of course, you get scared and want to know, what happened. So he has to come up with some excuse.

"I am sorry for not being right now with you. I know, it's evening back at home, and you are probably watching some show, and I remember, how you like cuddling, while doing it. I'm sorry for not being there."

König finally puts the phone away, hissing at himself for this episode.

When he finally returns, you refuse to wait for him at home and come straight to the station. He allows himself to squeeze you in his arms, but deep inside his head, König counts. "One-two-three-four-five-it's time to let her go, you can't just stand there and embarrass her with your tenderness in front of everyone. You are becoming too much once again."

You interrupt his inner tirade. "Let's go home, love."

An entrance door shuts behind his back, and he finally takes a deep breath in, feeling the familiar scents of your shared house. König hears some strange repeating noise, lowers his eyes and notices that you are immersed in the fight with a jamming zipper on your jacket. On the very next moment, he kneels before you, moves your hands away from the zipper and tries to figure it out himself. It takes him a while, because he is afraid to pull too hard, finally destroying the jacket. You look at him warmly and laugh softly. "König don't worry, I can handle it."

At that moment, zipper finally breaks. König frowns.

"You couldn't just mind your business, you idiot? Now she is going to finally see, how overwhelming you are, how you break everything, you care for, how you smother those, who you love. Is that what you wanted?" An angry voice inside his head shouts and silences everything around, including König himself. He doesn't feel his lips starting to tremble, forming some apologetic mumbling. He doesn't hear, when you try to reassure him.

So you take a quick step forward, and embrace him, pressing your lips against his forehead. Maybe that angry voice exists only in his head, but it's not the first time, you witness König tearing himself apart for no reason.

"You are overthinking again, love. But its going to be ok, I promise." Another kiss on his forehead.

"You are not overwhelming to be with, you are not annoying. No." By this time, you know all the terrifying things König's mind whispers and shouts to itself.

"No one is going to get tired and leave you. Especially not me." You kiss his closed eyes, not caring for remains of dark camouflage paint on his skin.

"You are overthinking, and it is ok, because it shows, that you really care. It's not your fault." You press your lips against his face, so that he not only hears, but also feels, what you are saying.

And that silents Königs anxiety and self-doubt. He suddenly feels tired, but endlessly loved. He finally comes back home, pulling you into a long and tight embrace, not counting seconds this time.

[solarmorrigan]

[cw: weight loss, body image issues/body dysmorphia]

Consider: Steve whose migraines become unmanageable for a while, or who falls into a harsh depressive episode after everything with Vecna, or who experiences reduced mobility or chronic pain due to the many varied injuries he's picked up over the years, or any combination of the above

Steve who loses his appetite and who isn't able to keep up with the workout routine he used to have and who loses weight and loses muscle mass and fucking hates it

He's always been on the lean side, but he hasn't been skinny since probably eighth grade, when he was still gawky and growing into his frame. But this is different; this isn't awkward adolescence, something he'll grow out of, this is the sight of his ribs through his skin and his hipbones jutting out and his wrists getting too skinny for his watch. This is feeling cold all the time and struggling to lift things he used to be able to pick up without much trouble

(It's fear, too. Not just a fear that he'll never get back to where he used to be, but fear that something will happen and he'll be too weak to stop it. Too weak to help. Too weak to protect anyone the way he should)

There are days he can't quite stand looking at himself; can't stand the sight of baggy clothes that used to fit perfectly, can't stand looking at tired eyes staring out of the sharpened angles of his face. He feels insubstantial this way. Like anyone could look right past him - right through him

Eddie never does, though. He never treats Steve differently, except to worry about his health - but never what he looks like. He hugs Steve as tightly as before, kisses him just as hard as before, whistles at him when he catches Steve in the middle of dressing, just like before. Like he isn't disappointed that Steve doesn't look good anymore, like he isn't even bothered

He'll hold Steve, and pull him close on bad days, and he'll let Steve be upset, but he'll never stand for Steve speaking badly about himself. He'll always push back, sometimes gently, sometimes loudly, always reminding Steve that he loves him, and what he looks like is a part of that. Reminding him that Eddie loves it all

"But you can gain it back, if you want to. When you're doing better," Eddie tells him

"What if I'm never doing better? What if I can never get back to where I was?" Steve demands. "What if this is just my body now?"

"Then it is." Eddie kisses his shoulder, his neck, his cheek. "Then I'll help you learn how to love it as much as you did before. As much as I still do."

And he says it so openly, so honestly, that even on bad days, Steve thinks that maybe - maybe he could be okay

[pirateprincessblog]

2 batteries away

𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫.: if he can choose to spend time with someone else rather than you, daryl would do it. not because he hates you. he simply doesn't have any type of connection with you. and you are so young. but when rick demands that you join him on a scavenge hunt, he doesn't have much of a saying into it, and chooses to act unbothered. he also chooses to ignore the way you tease him the whole trip, your hips swaying just a bit more when walking than usual. 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: daryl dixon x female reader 𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: alexandria, pre-negan 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5k 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: big age gap, reader is half daryl's age 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: voyeurism, masturbation, breath-play, subtle ddlg, toys, subtle dacryphilia

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: swearing 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: i am on season ten of twd (my first time watching) and it feels like this man's clothes keep getting tighter and tighter each episode and i am so here for it. also the way his arms magically always glisten in the sun as he subtly flexes when the camera is on him? give me a break I BEG

Also I miss Rick very much 🥺

*

"i have a special request. if i'm allowed to do that." a playful voice calls behind you.

you turn around, squinting. the sun is high up in the sky, and right in your eyes. you make out carol's short hair, and nod at her as a sign to keep speaking.

"i'm gonna need something i can make cookies or cakes with. hazelnut, chocolate, almonds,... you know. cake stuff." the woman smiles.

"i'm going out for ibuprofen and possibly viagra, not chocolate."

"viagra? for who?"

you chuckle under the cap rosita has given you, and try to subtly glance over at the man loading the car with weapons. he grunts, glaring at you and instantly shutting down the bullying party you wanted to start.

"i don't need no damn viagra." he slams the trunk door shut, and walks past you, intentionally pushing his shoulder into yours.

you fall a step back, holding in a laugh. carol has her hands on her hips, but her laugh isn't hidden. she knows daryl can't say anything to her.

"oh, come on. i know that you like to stay quiet and mysterious, but a little joking in hard times never hurt anybody." the woman defends you, scrunching her eyebrows at daryl.

"it's hurting me." he yells from the car, slamming the door shut.

"how am i supposed to survive this trip with him, ricky?" you complain, shoulders hanging with rising irritation with the situation.

"you survived a walker flooded prison with nothing but an axe before you found us on the other side, and you're telling me you can't survive a grumpy old man for a few hours?"

"thing is, i killed walkers. i cannot kill him. boo-hoo, the precious tracker. i also, when i see a footprint on the floor facing a certain way, know that someone is headed there. wild, right?"

rick pats your head, messing up the cap in the process just to tease you.

"bring me some shirts on the way back, i'm getting sick of these flannels. and get yourself something nice."

one would think that he gave you his credit card to buy him those shirts at the nearby mall. telling you to get yourself something nice, that idiot. the less fun truth is that you are headed towards a landfill two hours away from alexandria, in hopes of finding anything. glenn and morgan haven't had any luck for a few days now, so rick decided to change the route and the team. daryl and you, apparently, make a great one. that pain in the ass of a man.

"i'm leavin'. you stay and talk 'bout me all you wan'. i'm the one actually doin' something for this place."

"stuck up much? see," you open the car door, sitting inside annoyed, "with the viagra, you'd be a much more pleasant person to be around."

"enough with the damn viagra. fuck's the matter with you?"

"god, just start driving and drop me off somewhere in the middle of the road and i'll find my own shit from a different place. rick doesn't need to know."

"no," he simply responds, not sparing you a glance.

rick waves at you with a smile on his face, knowing damn well what he did putting the two of you together for such a long quest. he's so going to hear from you tonight. if you make it out alive while trying to kill daryl.

"so, what are you hoping to find? booze, peanut butter, new clothes? i'm starting to think you stapled those clothes to your body."

he says nothing, eyes focused on the road. you sigh. maybe you're the problem. you're poking him too much, knowing he has zero patience and doesn't very much like your company. you decide to keep quiet for the rest of the drive, only occasionally glancing over at him out of boredom.

you can't lie, he is an attractive man. you don't know why you're mean to him. he is gorgeous to you, your taste in older rugged men not failing you. you're surprised rick isn't the one you fell for. but next to daryl, he looks too... neat. daryl is just perfect. most of the time his deep raspy voice has you subconsciously rubbing and squeezing your thighs, led by a tingling sensation in your lower stomach. his clothes have recently gotten very tight on him, the buttons of his black shirt threatening to pop and give you a view of your lifetime. he has been working out a lot, you've seen him. fuck, not only have you seen him, you also stayed there, secretly snapping pictures with your polaroid your father had left you before disaster struck. you only had a few films left, yet no self control. something about seeing daryl all sweaty as he did push ups, grunting and almost moaning, thinking that nobody can see him, did things to you.

"wha'?" he asks, sensing your intense gaze.

you turn your head away, flushed. "nothin'."

"mmh."

he keeps it short and stern, and if your panties weren't drenched as your brain replayed the memory of his glistening arm muscles, you'd probably make a sassy remark. he raises an eyebrow, probably also wondering why you aren't being mean for so long now.

"shoes." he says after some time.

"what?" you ask, absent-mindedly staring into the tall trees and the walkers hidden among them.

"i'm hoping to find some shoes. it's gettin' hard to walk in these. i also hope i find sum more arrows."

you nod, surprised that he has actually graced you with an answer. you thought he'd say something like cigarettes or alcohol. you hated people who smoke. but daryl is an exception. he looks damn hot doing it.

"you?" he asks.

"well, new underwear would be nice. i ripped all my good panties, and let me tell you, these thongs are not apocalypse friendly."

"shit, girl, oversharing much?"

"what, you disgusted by female underwear?" you poke back, playfully.

"not female underwear. your underwear."

you're offended. you squint at him, and have to fight the urge to smack the back of his head.

"for your information, you don't look or smell all flowery and fresh yourself. i could use your hair to grease up carol's tray for her cakes. and your fingernails? they have their own ecosystem at this point."

and back to the bickering it is. he grunts again, furrowing his eyebrows. he secretly glances at his fingernails. indeed, they had a layer of dirt under them, but daryl thinks that he has bigger issues than some dirt that will get washed off anyway.

"oh, i also wish to find-"

"yeah, lost interest." the man interrupts. "also, for future conversations, you do not mention your... thongs... to people that are ol' enough to be your father."

ew.

ew.

ew.

he did not.

"what, is that how you see me? you could be my father?"

how utterly disappointing. there you were, sitting next to him, imagining him going feral between your legs, all while he is viewing you as his child. there goes your masturbating material for tonight.

"well the age fits the description."

"fuck you. seriously." you sigh, turning your body towards the window so you can fully ignore him.

arriving at the gates, you immediately notice a few things that you will be taking home. how foolish of you to not take a truck instead of the crusty old car.

"watch it." just as he says it, an arrow passes by your head, followed with a loud thud.

you don't have to look back to know that a walker had managed to sneak behind you, while you were foolish enough to stay swooning over his arms glistening in the sun with sweat.

"damn it, girl, i don' know what it is with you, but you gotta snap outta it. i can't keep saving ya ass."

"yes, dad." you reply, annoyed.

"hey." he calls, hand reaching to cup your jaw and turn your head towards him. "shut it before i make ya."

if it weren't for the feeling of his rough hand on your face and his raspy voice sending you a warning turning you on, you would've slapped him and told him not to touch you. but oh, you were going crazy inside. you found a new way to push his buttons, and you're going to have so much fun with it.

you walk behind him into the landfill, the smell of junk pinching your nose. daryl is also bothered by it, seeing his scrunched expression as he scanned the first piles of garbage.

"there." he points his crossbow a certain way.

you follow the invisible line, your eyes landing on what seemed to be several taped boxes. they could have three things inside: food, weapons, or traps. weird how nobody has discovered this place yet. or maybe they have, and they took all valuables already.

daryl doesn't wait for you. he makes his way towards the boxes, keeping his crossbow ready if something goes wrong. you, on the other hand, have tucked your knife safely and are walking around like there isn't walkers scratching at the fence, waiting to sink their teeth into your skull.

"dammit."

you hear rattling. you turn around, only to find the man kicking the boxes angrily. the can he has just thrown on the floor rolls up to your feet, and you crouch down to examine it. it is food, but expired. eating it would be like playing russian roulette.

"i mean, we can still... ya'know, take it with us. what happens happens."

"dixon, if i'm gonna die, i'm gonna die from a bullet or a bite. not from a rotten macaroni."

he raises an eyebrow at you, amused with your laid back attitude. he doesn't give you much attention, just silently walks next to you while scanning his side of the landfill.

"ah, sweet!" you cheer, running towards a pile.

"wha'?"

you almost trip over the broken wooden chairs, trying to get to a certain little box in the pile.

"the hell are ya doin'? we're losin' time!"

your eyes instinctively roll at his voice. you know he has nothing smart to say. finally reaching the box, you jump back on the floor, eagerly opening it. seeing that the item still has the foil sealed on it, you victoriously raise it in the air, cheering.

"you have made it a goal for yourself to die today, didn't ya?"

"nah, not anymore. i found something that will keep me occupied and will fuel my will to live a little longer."

you continue your way forward, leaving daryl to stare at the box you have discarded, trying to figure out what it is. but he has decided he has no time for your immaturity. he needs to ask rick to not ever put him with you on a hunt again. he's lost a lot of time already, and hasn't found a single thing to bring back.

"clothes." you point, the pile of fabric sitting on top of a garbage hill.

"you gonna go get 'em?"

"why would i go? you go."

"you wanted your... thongs... so, you go get that."

you scoff, setting the newly acquired item on the ground and slowly climbing up the hill.

"what is this, anyway?" his curiosity wins.

you sit on top of the pile, examining the clothes and discarding the ones with holes in them.your eyes dart to the man below you, and you chuckle when you see him crouch and take the item in his hand.

"it's a wand."

"wand?"

"yes."

"for?" he keeps pressing, his eyes never leaving the pink gadget.

"masturbating."

thud.

you look down, mortified. he better not break it.

"careful with that, what's the matter with you?!"

"you're fuckin' crazy, girl."

you silently mock him, sticking your tongue out at him and repeating his words with exaggerated face expressions. he really gets on your nerves. you gather the clothes you have found into a bed sheet, tying it up and putting it over your shoulder, then pick up the gadget from the floor. it seems alive, it didn't break. you only hope it works. you're young, inexperienced, surrounded by people that are either too young or too old for you. though, the old part never was a problem for you, it was for them.

feeling bored, you decide to keep poking him. he is just so grumpy, and silent. and inviting to irritate.

"so, dixon, you've never heard about one of these?" you wave the gadget in front of his face.

he spares you a glare, and continues walking.

"come on, we're talking. nobody's around. tell me, since all of this started, how many times have you even approached a girl? do you even mastu-"

"'m not in the mood to be picked on right now."

"i'm not picking on you. i promise. just trying to converse."

"you want to be useful? hold this. it's in my way." he throws his vest at you, now only wearing a tight black t-shirt.

you scowl at him, shoving his vest into your backpack.

"you're so fun to be around. i get why rick put us together."

he grunts, leaving you behind. rolling your eyes, you go down a different path, hoping to find something useful to all of alexandria and not just you. turning a few lefts, you find yourself standing in front of a little shed like structure. you bang on the door with your foot, and when hearing no growls, you bravely enter. it is dusty and dark, with a singular armchair and a few cupboards.

you open each one of them, happily shoving all the food you managed to find into your backpack, opening a protein bar along the way and chewing on the oats and dried fruits. you missed having those with yogurt for breakfast.

not only will carol be happy with the amount of nuts and flour you have found, rick will be proud of you. you might even ask for a reward when he sees the amount of canned tuna and jam you have found. you forgot what pancakes taste like.

after clearing the room, you peek out the window. daryl is in the distance, going through piles and kicking stuff out of his way, as if playing. you've collected way more than him, and the sun is at it's highest point. the shaded room seems like a perfect place to take a nap, or just rest your feet and ears from him.

you plop on the armchair like a star washed up on the shore. it feels so lonely lately. rick has michonne, carl has enid, rosita has her boytoys, even gabriel might be having more fun than you. as wrong as it was, you stay up listening to the noises coming across the street. they're loud, there's no way you could ignore them even if you wanted to. even rick had to step in and ask them to be quieter. but what is a problem to someone else is a solution for you. is it wrong to touch yourself while listening to someone else fucking? yes. but is it the only way that works for you? also yes.

you eye up the toy that peeks from the backpack, then glance out the window. daryl is busy with his crossbow, having found something that he could use on it.

fuck it.

you unbuckle your pants, not bothering to take off the panties. your fingers are quick to pop the batteries that come with the package in the gadget, and when the lid clicks, you admire it for a second. there it is, in all its glory. waiting to be abused every day by you, until you find a replacement. hopefully a softer and live one.

taking off the thin protective foil from the head, you position yourself on the armchair. you glance at the window again, carefully monitoring daryl. now, if you thought that eavesdropping and touching yourself was bad, what was this? watching daryl's fingers work on his crossbow, arms glistening in the sun, all while the pink toy softly vibrates on your pulsating clit.

you sigh at the newfound pleasure, rubbing the toy up and down your slit, while your eyes stay focused on the man unaware of your situation. he probably even forgot about you. or is thankful that you have left him alone. even better for you. you get to be a pervert without him ever knowing.

you arch your back, throwing your head on the backrest as you focus on chasing the release. it's been awhile, it won't take you long. your eyes open again, just enough to see if the man is still in his spot. your fingers change the vibration strength on the gadget, and instantly, you gasp. it is so intense, and so much, but you don't want it to stop. this thing is your new best friend, you better get used to it.

something else peeks out of the backpack, the leather catching your attention and giving you an idea. like an animal in heat, you grab the vest, burying your nose into it and spreading your legs further. daryl's scent takes over your senses, making you lose control and become a moaning mess. you are getting wetter by the second, the toy now slipping up and down your slit with ease and giving you maximum pleasure.

"fuck- daryl-" you can't help but gasp, enveloped in his manly scent and fabric.

your hips hopelessly rub against the toy, chasing and chasing after something that isn't quite getting closer, even though it feels like it.

"the hell?"

your eyes widen at the interruption. you drop the vest in your lap, hiding the crime scene from him. the man stands at the door, expression unreadable. yours is one of horrified mixed with desire, the way he stares down at you angrily sending arrows to your core.

"daryl- i- did you, uh, find anything?" you try to play it off, foolishly.

"yeah. i found an animal in heat it seems. couldn't wait for alexandria to do that shit?"

"I-"

"is that my vest?"

he slams the door shut, leaving you two in darkness. you gulp, moving the gadget from your core and letting your panties fall back in place.

"i'm sorry, i'm sorry-" you stutter, failing to put a sentence together while he intensely glares at you.

"ya ain't sorry." he grunts. "ya know why i despise being around your ass? you're inappropriate."

"no, look," you try, but he points a finger at your face, making you close your mouth.

your eyes burn, tears announcing their arrival.

"it's not like that-"

"shut up, dammit! i'm talkin' now! do you have any idea in how many uncomfortable situations you've  put me? all those snarky dirty comments, all that flirting, now this? do you understand what that does to me?!"

he's yelling, frustrated and angry with you. but why are you getting wetter? why can't you think rationally? he is scolding you for being inappropriate, and you continue to be even more inappropriate by sexualising simple yelling. not your fault he looks damn hot while he does it, though.

"you're- you're half my age. i can't allow myself to play your games, no matter how tempting."

what?

"what will alexandria think? they already have no good opinion on me. engaging with someone half my age the way you want me to engage is- it is a horrible idea. i'll be out faster than i was in."

silence swallows the room. you still lay on the armchair, half naked with his vest covering you. he paces around the room, fingers running through his hair as he tries to gather his thoughts. you think whether it's time to finally say something, but you wait another moment. you need to gather your thoughts too.

tempting, he said. so he thought about it too. he saw past your jokes, and has been controlling himself so well. if only you knew what it would take to shatter that control, even for just a moment.

"since when do you care what other people think?" you start.

"since rick chose to trust me."

you hum, understanding.

"listen-"

"so you've been thinking about it." you're the one to interrupt now.

his head snaps up, looking at you with his eyebrow raised, as if asking you where you're going with that statement.

"there's nothing wrong with it. it's not like we're getting married or something."

"i'm older than you. way older than you."

"so?"

"i could be your father."

"if you say that word to me one more time i swear i will turn this landfill upside down to find another sex toy to shove up your asshole."

"why do you get so triggered by it?"

you roll your eyes, looking anywhere but at him. you press your thighs together, missing the warmth and buzzing from earlier. fun killer.

"because."

"why?"

"doesn't matter."

"tell me," he presses further.

you finally look at him, frustrated. "because i have fucking daddy issues and the thought of you being so much older than me turns me on. there."

you get up from the armchair, putting his vest on so that you can cover yourself. it almost reaches your knees, hiding your body from his gaze. he says nothing, and does nothing for a few moments. you have your back turned to him, hands resting on the counter of the half chipped kitchen cabinet. your head hangs low with embarrassment from the confession that just left your mouth.

tears stream down your cheeks, luckily hidden by your hair. but daryl doesn't miss the little sniff that comes your way. he sighs, then paces around the place a little more. when you don't hear him anymore, and finally face the fact that nothing will be the same with him anymore, you dare turn around. you almost gasp when you come face to face with him, his chest pressing against yours.

"wha- what are you-"

"shh..." he hushes you, eyes roaming your face.

you aren't sure what to do, or what he wants to do. if he tries to comfort you by giving you a hug, you will break down. and you will never face him again. you thought it was only sexual, but the way he looks at you and hushes you as you cry is awakening new emotions inside of you. ones that you will push down for now, because it is not the time.

"daryl, i'm sorry." you hiccup, genuinely feeling sorry for ruining whatever you had with him.

you feel his hands on the back of your thighs, and before you can react, he picks you up and places you on the counter. you instinctively spread your legs, letting him in closer.

"don't be. or else i might regret this."

you look at him doe eyed as he places his hand on your neck, gently holding you just beneath your jaw and softly pressing into the sides of it. he brings his head close to you, eyes half closed as he stares at your lips.

"daryl." you whisper, not sure of this anymore.

"just hush."

and with that, he presses his lips into yours, softly moving them with rhythm only known to the two of you. his other hand caresses your thigh, then creeps to your bottom and pulls you to the edge of the counter, enough to have your crotch press against his.

you can taste your tears while you kiss him, and he probably can too. he doesn't say anything, hell, you even feel him twitch between your legs. you grind on him, unable to control yourself. it is different than the wand. it's warm, and it responds back. it's better.

"hey," you call, slowly pulling away. "i don't want you to do this because you feel sorry for me or something like that. are you doing it because of that?"

"nah."

before you can continue bombarding him with questions and overthinking, he places his lips back on yours, this time a little rougher than before. you open your mouth, tongue eager to taste him properly. and fuck, he tastes good. you hated cigarettes and alcohol, but from his mouth, you adore it. you finally give in, arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him impossibly close. finally.

it doesn't take long for him to have you whining and grinding on him, wanting more than just kissing and thigh grabbing and occasional choking. you beg into his mouth, quietly at first, but with each kiss he gives you, you become louder and more demanding.

"touch me, please, please, please," you're desperate.

he smiles, for the first time in a while, and snakes his hands under your top. you hurriedly take off the vest and the top, to make it easier for him, but he pulls his vest back on your body. you are now wearing nothing but panties and the leather vest, making daryl incredibly impatient.

"ya just needed some attention, didn't ya?" he kisses your neck, his hand cupping your breast and thumb playing with the hard nub. "some sense fucked into ya to shut that mouth."

for someone that almost never talks, he is quite the talker now. and you can't complain, when his words have you clenching around nothing down there.

"needed someone older to take care of ya."

you moan at his words, spreading your legs further and raising your hips into his crotch. his hand reaches down to your panties, landing a light slap on your clothed clit as a warning. there's growling outside of the shed, but not enough to make you care. you'll get what you want, and no amount of walkers will stop you, even if it'll be your last.

daryl moves your panties aside, pulling away from you to see you. he hums, thumb coming to contact with your clit and circling it a few times. you shake under his touch, throwing your head back. it isn't something you haven't done before, but the touch is foreign, and different. his fingers are rough and big, an opposite of the soft flesh of your clit. he rubs your slit up and down, enough to smear your arousal so he can touch you better.

"fuck..." you trail, grabbing the edges of the counter and digging your nails into the hard surface.

"didn't find a boy your age to open you up?"

you shake your head. he hums again, fingers now circling your tight entrance.

"that's a shame, then. i'm gonna have to take my time with you."

"what? why?" you ask, disappointed.

"i'd split you in half, little one."

every word in that sentence sent arrows to your core. fuck, just how big is he?

"then, what are we doing?"

he turns around, leaving you yearning for his touch while he grabs your discarded toy from the armchair.

"you share toys?"

"sometimes."

"good."

he pulls himself out from his pants, and you are left with your jaw dropped. it fuels his confidence, the way you're staring at him as he rubs himself up and down. he isn't big. he's huge.

"daryl, how will that fit in me?" you ask, actually concerned.

"it'll take a little time. i'll train ya, and you'll take it like a good girl, the way i teach ya. but ya have to start listening to me and stop pissing me off."

nodding eagerly, you push your hips towards his hands, searching for his touch again.

he turns the gadget on, pressing it against your clit. you moan out loud, grinding on the buzzing toy and sliding with ease. you hear him grunt, and even a quiet moan. your eyes drop to the situation between your legs, and when you see him pressing his cock to the gadget, you swear you could squirt all over him. he rocks his hips with yours, pushing you up against the wall and grunting in your mouth, just like you moan into his. he doesn't break eye contact with you, instead getting off on it.

"i'm gonna cum, daryl." you whine, hands reaching into his hair to pull.

"give me a second."

you'd give him two if he wanted. you try your hardest to focus on not yet cumming, but the way he sweats and grunts for you doesn't make it easy.

"daryl-" you warn, moans becoming high pitched and inviting the walkers around the shed.

he sticks two fingers in your mouth, keeping you silent and helping himself get closer. you only needed to swirl your tongue around him a few time and take him all the way to his knuckles to have him moaning and cumming all over your stomach, rubbing the toy up and down in a sloppy pace.

you follow, pleasure washing over your body along with a thin layer of sweat, the sight of his seed on you making it more intense. you are dehydrated, hot and filthy. and you love it, because he is the same. you'd be like that every day, if it meant getting him the way you just had him.

"you didn't have to..." you say as he helps you dress up, wiping his seed from you with his bandana and discarding it.

"i wanted to. before, today, too."

"you sure?"

"yes."

you nod. he sees that you are not convinced, and he sighs. he pulls you in for a hug, resting his chin on the top of your head.

"i rarely regret my actions. trust me."

"yeah, well, i hope i'll get more of these actions you speak of."

he chuckles, planting a kiss on your forehead.

"you know, for someone who just came all over me, it's weird to see you so sentimental and comforting."

you don't even finish the sentence, he already playfully throws the bandana at you, rushing outside to hide his smile and to hide from your attempt at attacking.

"oh, you- you- you asshole!"

"right back at ya."

***

yippie! my first twd oneshot, idk how to feel about it lol. had this in the drafts for a while now. feel free to send feedback, doesn’t matter if it is good or bad 🩷