#tag yourself I’m 4/6 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

whisperedmeg · 2 months ago

Text

THE LAW OF TRULY LARGE NUMBERS ⋆˚꩜｡ spencer reid x analyst!reader

summary: the law of truly large numbers says coincidences are inevitable. but somehow, running into spencer reid never stops feeling like fate.

genre: fluff! | w/c: 3.4k

tags/warnings: none really. reader has some self-image issues and insecurities related to a sucky ex but nothing too crazy. glasses!reid, reader works for the fbi but not the bau, written with fem!reader in mind but could pass for gn!reader too if you ignore one use of the world “girl,” story takes place over the course of a few weeks but I wasn’t wildly specific about it

a/n: based on this request from @oh-yourloveis-sunlight! this ended up getting longer than I intended originally but oh well, I was having way too much fun coming up with ideas for how they’d run into each other next lol. hope you enjoy, tysm for requesting! ❣️

You first meet Spencer Reid at 8:21am on a Tuesday morning.

You’re holding a paper bag of still-warm pastries because your unit chief is on a “morale boost” kick this week and nothing says team bonding like volunteering to bring in baked goods. You’re thinking about the long day ahead and how stale the break room coffee is going to be and not watching where you’re going when the elevator doors open and—

You almost walk straight into him.

He’s tall. Tall-tall. And thin in a slightly unwell academic way, tousled brown hair parted on the side, honey brown eyes wide and blinking at you through browline glasses.

“Sorry,” you both say at once. You take a step back. So does he. Then he does that thing people do where he gestures for you to go ahead, and you hesitate before stepping forward at the same time as him, and now you’re doing an awkward, uncoordinated dance in front of a steel box.

Eventually, you both make it in.

You press the button for floor 5. He presses 6. Someone else gets in and hits the button for 4.

You stand silently. He glances at you. Then down at the floor. Then at your badge, clipped to the waistband of your dress pants. Then at the bag of pastries.

“The cinnamon ones are the best. If those are from Van’s, I mean,” he says tentatively.

You blink. “They are, actually.”

He nods. “They use Saigon cinnamon. It’s from Vietnam. It’s stronger, a little spicier than regular cinnamon. I—sorry, I’ve, uh, read a lot about spices recently.”

You don’t have time to answer before the doors open and he’s stepping out into the hallway, manila file folder tucked under his arm.

It takes you a second to realize he got off on the fourth floor with the other passenger by mistake. You catch him making an embarrassed, awkward turn back toward the elevators once he’s halfway down the hall before the metal doors slide shut.

You think about Saigon cinnamon and those glasses for the rest of the day.

—

Friday morning, 9:12am. You’re running horribly late.

You’ve got a USB stick in your hand and a mission in your head — get it encrypted, get it cleaned up, get it into the system by 10am. You’re halfway through the lobby when someone says your name.

You freeze. Turn. He’s already waving.

It takes you a second to place him without the glasses.

He’s wearing contacts today. His hair’s a little neater. Another soft sweater — burgundy this time — and a leather messenger bag slung across his chest like he just walked out of a grad seminar.

“Hey,” he says, catching up with you near the badge check. “Van’s cinnamon pastries, right?”

You smile despite yourself. “You’re still thinking about those?”

“Hard not to,” he says with a chuckle. “I’m Spencer,” he adds, like you don’t already know that from his badge, same way you assume he knew your name.

You both hesitate. You’re painfully aware of the USB drive in your hand and the growing line of people waiting for the elevators and the clock ticking steadily toward 10am. Your eyes dart to the stairs — they seem to be the fastest option.

He shifts his weight, pushes his hair back behind one ear.

“Can I walk you up?”

You blink. “What?”

“To wherever you’re going. I’m headed to the sixth floor, but I’m not in a rush. We’re between cases right now.”

You laugh. “You really don’t have to do that.”

“Too late,” he says, and he falls into step beside you.

—

It’s raining when you see him again.

Not dramatic rain, just a halfhearted Virginia drizzle that dampens your sleeves while you fumble with your umbrella and mutter curses under your breath. You duck into the small coffee shop across from the office — the one with the black bistro tables and an overfilled bulletin board — and shake the water from your coat as you slide into line.

You don’t see him at first. You’re too busy debating between hot chocolate and your usual latte.

But then someone behind you says your name.

You turn, and there he is.

Spencer.

Hair damp and curling slightly at the edges. Glasses fogged. Sweater vest layered under a coat too thin for this kind of weather. He smiles at you — tentative, like he’s not sure if you’ll smile back.

“Hi,” you say, a little breathless. “You following me?”

He blushes. “No, I’m—I mean, we both work across the street, so it’s not, um, statistically improbable we’d run into each other here.”

“I’ll chalk it up to fate.”

He huffs a quiet laugh and steps up beside you.

“Can I guess your order?” he asks.

You arch a brow. “You’re going to profile my coffee?”

He shrugs. “I can try.”

“Be my guest.”

He tilts his head. “You work long hours. You probably don’t get enough sleep. You must drink something with espresso in it, but not just that — it has to be dressed up enough to feel like a treat. Maybe a seasonal flavor.”

Your jaw drops a little. “Okay, that’s… freakishly accurate.”

“Caramel latte?” he guesses.

“Close. Pumpkin,” you admit. “But that was impressive.”

He shrugs again, cheeks a little pink. “Lots of practice.”

A few minutes later, you’re both perched at one of the tiny round tables by the fogged-up window, drinks in hand, steam curling up between you. You’re technically on your break. So is he. Neither of you seems eager to get back.

You ask what he’s working on. He tells you about his last case, a triple homicide in Texas. Then he asks about your job, and you explain — badly — what exactly a tech analyst does for a department that isn’t the BAU. You’re pretty sure you’re boring him to death, but he’s watching you like you’ve just quoted Wordsworth.

“You talk with your hands a lot,” he says, after a pause.

You blink. “What?”

“When you’re excited,” he adds, quickly. “Not all the time. Just when you’re explaining something that matters to you. You kind of —” he makes a vague fluttering motion with his fingers, “— move them like you’re sculpting the air or something.”

Your face burns. You wrap your hands around your coffee cup.

“Oh. Yeah. That,” you murmur. “My ex used to say it was distracting.”

Spencer’s expression shifts. It’s subtle, but you see it — a flicker of something protective in his eyes.

“I don’t think it’s distracting,” he says. “I think it’s cute.”

You freeze.

He freezes.

The moment folds in on itself. His face goes pink again, and he ducks his head as he mutters something about meaning it in a completely observational way, not, you know—

You interrupt before he can spiral further. “Spencer.”

He looks up.

You smile. “It’s okay.”

There’s a beat of silence between you. Rain patters softly against the glass. In your chest, something flutters.

Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it’s just a friendly coffee. A weird coincidence of schedules and elevators and cinnamon pastries. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything at all.

But when he offers to walk you back — and when you say yes — your heart betrays you a little.

—

The FBI library isn’t exactly cozy. It smells like aging carpet and copier toner, but there’s still something about it that you’ve always found comforting. Especially on days like today, when your code has glitched five separate times and someone on your team said “let’s pivot” like that actually means anything and you just need a break away from a screen.

You’re curled up at one of the long wooden tables near the back with a spiral notebook, a pencil, and a pile of casefiles your unit chief asked you to cross-reference to give you an excuse to work on something that didn’t involve a keyboard. It’s not thrilling, but it’s quiet. Which counts for something.

You don’t notice Spencer at first.

He’s sitting at a smaller table a few feet from yours when you glance up — half-hidden behind a teetering stack of psychology journals, long fingers curled around a fountain pen, hair falling into his face.

He looks up a second after you do.

“You again,” he says softly, like it’s a private joke.

You arch an eyebrow. “Starting to think you’re stalking me.”

“You’re the one in my library,” he says, mock offended.

“Your library?”

He nods. “I basically live here.”

You glance at the empty paper cup beside him, the five or six books spread out across the table, the absurdly detailed notes he’s scrawling in messy handwriting.

“Yeah, I can see that. You’ve really made yourself at home.”

Silently, he gathers his belongings and moves to take the empty seat across from you at your table.

You go back to your work. So does he.

But every few minutes, you catch yourself glancing up.

Not on purpose, not exactly. It’s just… he’s got this way of reading like he’s somewhere else entirely. Lips moving a little. Eyes flicking fast across pages. You wonder if he knows how intense he looks when he’s thinking. How pretty his hands are when they move — when he writes, when he fidgets with his pen, when he adjusts his glasses like he’s trying to hide behind them.

You wonder what it would feel like if he looked at you the way he looks at those pages or if he touched you with those hands.

He wouldn’t, of course.

You’ve long accepted that you’re not the kind of girl guys like that go for — not crisp and stylish, not someone who walks into a room and makes the temperature change. You’ve never quite known how to wear your hair right, or what to do with your hands, or how to stop fixating on the way your nose looks in photos. You haven’t even dated since the last guy — the one who told you that you were being “a little much” anytime you got excited about something.

You shake your head. Focus.

You’re halfway through reviewing the next file when you realize Spencer’s watching you.

“Sorry,” he says, when you meet his eyes. “I was just—I was going to ask if that’s a 0.7mm Pentel mechanical pencil.”

You blink. Look down. “Uh… yeah?”

“I thought so,” he says. “You write really small. And neat.”

You stare at him, then down at your paper, then back up.

“Are you profiling my handwriting now?”

He shrugs, looking sheepish. “Only a little.”

You smile despite yourself.

After a pause, he adds, “I like it — your handwriting. It’s meticulous.”

You laugh. “I’ve never heard that word used as a compliment before.”

“Well, I mean it as one.”

There’s something in his voice — not flirtatious, exactly, but sincere. Earnest. He doesn’t even realize it’s making your heart hiccup a little.

You don’t talk much more after that, but when you both stand up at the same time twenty minutes later and realize you’re heading out in the same direction, you fall easily into step beside him.

And this time, you both walk a little slower.

—

It’s just after 1 p.m. when you walk into the Quantico cafeteria.

The lunch rush is tapering off — fewer suits in line, more empty trays abandoned on beige tables. You slide your badge into your pocket and step toward the soup station, only half paying attention. You haven’t eaten much today, and your stomach’s been in knots ever since Spencer spotted you in the stairwell earlier and asked what time you were heading to lunch.

You try to act casual when you spot him.

He’s at a table near the window, brown paper bag open in front of him and a spiral notebook beside it. He’s writing something down, but he looks up the moment you approach as if he’d been eagerly waiting.

“Hey,” he says, and the smile he gives you is small and a little shy. “I was hoping you’d come.”

You sit across from him, tray in hand. “Yeah, well, you did say in the library last week that the soup selection is better on Thursdays.”

His eyes widen slightly. “You remembered that?”

You nod, breaking off a piece of bread. “You said it’s the only day they serve lentil soup, which also happens to be the only soup they make that you claim is any good.”

“I stand by that.”

You laugh, and the warmth of it catches you off guard. It’s easy with him. You like the way he doesn’t fill silences just to fill them and how he listens like every word you say is a thread he wants to follow all the way to its center.

You talk for a while. About work, a little. About books and poetry and music. About your mutual disbelief that anyone could function on decaf. He doesn’t flirt, not exactly, but he compliments you — in that slightly awkward, matter-of-fact, Spencer Reid way that’s somehow more disarming than a rehearsed line.

You’re telling him about your failed attempt to install a new monitor alone while you had a broken arm last year when he goes still for a moment, causing you to trail off into silence. He clears his throat.

“Would you maybe want to, uh, go out with me sometime?”

Your mouth opens. Then closes. Then opens again.

“What?”

He fidgets. Pushes his glasses up. “I mean, like, to a real lunch or coffee or something. Not in the office. I just—I’ve really enjoyed spending time with you, and I was thinking, if you wanted, we could—”

You shake your head.

It’s not harsh. You don’t mean it to be. It’s just… instinct.

He stops talking. His face falters. “Oh,” he says softly. “Okay. Yeah. No worries.”

You rush to explain. “It’s not you. Really—I mean, I just… don’t get it. Why would you want to go out with me?”

Spencer blinks.

You look down at your tray. “You’re a genius,” you murmur, voice low. “You’ve probably read more books this week alone than I have in the last two years. You talk like a textbook and still somehow make everything sound incredibly poetic. And you—God, you’re so—”

Cute. Attractive. Hot. That’s what you want to say, but you stop yourself before you can finish the statement. You swallow hard.

“And I’m… not,” you finish quietly.

It’s not that you don’t want to say yes. God, you do. But there’s a familiar ache in your chest, a voice you haven’t shaken, the echo of someone who once made you feel like being too much meant you’d also always be not enough.

Across from you, Spencer is silent. For a second, you wonder if he’s angry. Or worse, embarrassed.

But when you finally look up, he’s just watching you — gently, curiously, like he’s figuring something out.

He opens his mouth. Then closes it again. His brow furrows slightly.

You stand. The words come out too quickly: “I should get back to my office. I’ve got a code freeze coming up and I told my boss I’d review the rollout plan before—yeah.”

He nods. “Right. Of course. I’ll, uh, see you around.”

You hate the way his voice sounds now — too polite. Too guarded.

You force a smile as you gather your tray. “Thanks again for the soup rec.”

You make it out of the cafeteria before the lump in your throat rises.

You tell yourself it was the right call. It’s better this way. You’re not built for someone like him. You’d only mess it up.

But when you glance back, just once, through the glass of the cafeteria doors, Spencer’s still sitting there, scribbling in his notebook like maybe if he writes enough, he can make sense of whatever just happened.

You don’t know it yet, but he’s writing a list.

—

It’s raining again the next afternoon.

Not much — just a misty drizzle that turns the parking lot into a soft gray blur. You’re already halfway to your car when you hear footsteps behind you. Then a voice, calling your name.

“Wait—wait, just—can you stop for a second?”

You turn.

Spencer is jogging toward you, messenger bag bouncing against his hip, one hand holding a flimsy-looking umbrella, the other gripping something — a piece of paper, maybe. His coat is half-buttoned. His glasses are a little fogged.

He’s completely out of breath by the time he reaches you.

“Hi,” he pants. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to chase you down, I just—I tried to find you on your floor, and they said you left early, and I—”

You blink. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” he says quickly. “No. I mean—I’ve been thinking. Since yesterday.”

You look away. “Spencer, we don’t have to talk about—”

“I made a list,” he blurts out.

You freeze. “What?”

He thrusts it at you — a folded piece of notebook paper, lined, slightly smudged. You unfold it slowly, holding it under the umbrella he’s angled over you, and he watches you like he’s just handed over something radioactive.

It reads:

Reasons I like you and want to go out with you: A non-exhaustive list by Dr. Spencer Reid

you talk with your hands

you remember weird things I say about soup

you were nice to me in the elevator even though I rambled about cinnamon

you snort when you laugh (you try to hide it but I’ve heard it twice)

you don’t pretend to know things you don’t, and you always ask good questions

you hum under your breath when you’re concentrating

you don’t hold my technophobe tendencies against me even though your job is literally all tech all the time

your whole face lights up when you’re excited about something

we have the same taste in pastries and poetry and classical music

you talk about the people you care about with more kindness and affection than I thought possible

your nose scrunches a little when you’re confused and I think it’s adorable

speaking of which, I think everything about you is adorable. “beautiful” would be a more apt word to use, actually

you said us meeting in the coffee shop that one day was “fate” and I haven’t stopped thinking about it (or believing in it) since

You stare at the list for a long moment. Then you press your lips together, eyes stinging.

“It’s not exhaustive,” Spencer says quietly. “And it’s in no particular order. I wrote it fast. I could probably think of twenty more things. I… I like lists.”

Your fingers tremble slightly on the page.

“I don’t understand,” you murmur. “You’re… you. And I’m…” You trail off.

He tilts his head, studying you. “You really don’t see it, do you?”

You look away.

He steps forward, voice softer now.

“I don’t like you despite who you are — I like you because of it. Because you say what you mean, and you get excited about the little things, and you care more than most people do, and you never look at me like I’m too nerdy or too awkward or too much.”

Your chest tightens.

“I thought I messed everything up yesterday,” you say, barely above a whisper.

“No,” he says. “You were just scared. I get that.”

“I’m still scared,” you admit.

“That’s okay,” he says, and there’s a faint smile tugging at the edge of his mouth. “Me too. We can be scared together.”

You smile and fold the list carefully like it’s something delicate.

And before you can overthink it, before the doubt creeps in again, you lean forward to press a kiss to his cheek.

But in the same moment, he coincidentally turns his head just slightly. Just enough that your lips land on his mouth instead.

It’s only for a second. A little awkward. Completely accidental, but also completely real.

He blinks. You blink.

You start to pull away.

But then he wraps his free arm around you and kisses you again, on purpose this time, the umbrella overhead shielding you both from the rain. It doesn’t last too long, but it’s soft and smiley and achingly wonderful.

When you break apart, you’re still in disbelief that it even happened at all. You look up at him, studying him, searching his face for signs of regret. You can’t find any.

“I keep thinking about all the times we ran into each other,” you say softly. “So many coincidences, it almost feels improbable.”

He smiles again, brighter this time. “There’s a theory called the law of truly large numbers,” he says. “It basically says that with a large enough sample size, coincidences are inevitable.”

You tilt your head with a quiet chuckle. “So this was all just math, basically? That’s kind of depressing.”

“Or,” he says, stepping closer, “it means the universe just kept trying. Over and over, until it got it right. Like fate.”

You smile fondly and kiss him again before he can say anything else.

Not just a coincidence. Not anymore.

ᝰ.ᐟ

masterlist

PSA: likes do very little for promoting posts on tumblr! if you'd like to support a fic, please reblog!

644 notes · View notes

ittybittyfanblog · 7 months ago

Text

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 9

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, angst, depictions of a depressive episode, it’s pretty heavy, don’t force yourself to read if ur not in the right headspace pls, ambiguous ending (?) A/N: Yeah, I’m sorry. (Ngl, this chapter kinda stumped me—it’s gone through a whooole lot of editing/revisions 😔🤙🏼 I don’t want to overthink it too much at this point, but I hope it hits the way it should lol. Blame Moby if it doesn’t.)

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9 - Pt. 10 - Epilogue

"I thought that you were so beautiful, it was love, I guess And you might never come back home, and I may never sleep at night But God, I just hope you're doing fine out there, I just pray that you're alright And I feel so alone, and I feel so alone out here.” – A House In Nebraska, Ethel Cain

The television drones uninterrupted in the background; a mockumentary type featuring a ragtag ensemble of vampires stuck in some sort of modern day hell, their loud misadventures casting fractured lights across the four walls of your apartment.

You sit there, watching the screen, your gaze unfocused. Nothing registers. The remote lies limp in your hand as a stupid sitcom laugh track fills the room—shrill, hollow. Mocking. Like a bad punchline to a joke you’re not in on.

Your phone buzzes on the coffee table, cutting through the noise, the sudden glow in your periphery pulling you out of a pensive daydream.

For a split second, your chest constricts—a reflex carved by habit, something you’re still working to shake off.

You avert your eyes, torn between the urge to look away and the desire to keep your gaze on it forever.

The screen fades to black.

A clean break, you reason. Something to spare you both the inevitable heartache waiting at the end of this… hopeless affair. Less mess. Fewer complications.

A poor attempt to keep the pain from dragging out longer than it has to. Just a quiet ending.

(Or, at least, it’s what you tell yourself.)

The same mantra plays on loop in your mind as you're swept away by the motions of the days that follow. Life blurs into a repetitious cycle of work, sleep, and chores—an unbearable combination of feigned ignorance and self-abnegation, in the guise of being caught up with it all.

You aren’t fooling anyone, of course.

The hours toll on, slipping into uncertainty. What started off that way stretches into days, and before you know it, nearly a week has passed, leaving you adrift. None the wiser to the meaningless, relentless march of time.

The pinging of your phone grows more sporadic as it lights up with every message that you stubbornly refuse to acknowledge. It’s not as if you don’t feel it—the pull, the weight of every vibration, like a stone lodged in your gut. Like the sting of a thousand cuts.

And as you fall back into the familiar patterns of neglect… It carries with it an odd sense of defeat. Predictable, really.

… You cave on the fifth day.

The barrage of texts hits you like a gale-force wind, tearing through the fragile layer of detachment you’ve worn over like a second skin.

How was your day, poppet?

Theres a gemstone at this auction that reminds me of your eyes.

[Image attachment]

Beautiful—but it pales in comparison to yours.

Luke and Kieran are wondering whats got me distracted lately. Ease their worries.

Answer me, sweetheart.

You dont need to ignore me.

If you need space– if we need to establish some boundaries, all you have to do is say the word.

Dont shut me out.

Please.

Your eyes prickle as they gloss over the messages, the words seeming to bend under the weight of your silence, each one unraveling like loose threads on the sleeve of your favorite cardigan, falling apart at the seams.

Gradually, they turn into something less demanding. More… defeated.

I miss you, little dove.

You read the texts over and over until the letters have lost their meaning, and all that’s left is the aching longingness behind them.

You set your phone down.

The vibrations grow less frequent, like a heartbeat slowing, fading—until one afternoon, it just… stops.

The void he leaves behind seeps into the empty spaces, bleeding into every shadowed corner and untouched surface where his voice, his presence—louder than life, brighter than anything you’ve ever fucking known and had the pleasure of knowing—once lingered.

The absence is almost physical; you feel it like a phantom limb.

Most days, you find yourself in a daze, staring blankly at nothing. The numbness spreads like tendrils—invasive as they sink into your bones, dragging you deeper into despair, turning every bridge crossed to ash, every inkling of joy to dust.

The quiet flames of apathy consume silently. It strips away everything, leaving behind a cavernous pit of utter emptiness. A wasteland, devoid of feeling.

Loneliness doesn’t scream. It doesn’t lash out.

It simply welcomes you, like an old friend, the deeper you sink into it.

––––

Sylus tries to respect your space.

That’s what he’s here for after all, isn’t it? His reason for existence—to be whatever you need him to be. A confidant, a distraction, a steady presence in your life. It’s what he’s made for. To be there when you need him, to exist between the vacant spaces, and only then.

The thought gnaws at him, a ravenous fiend that chips away at the calm facade he’s finding more and more difficult to uphold, leaving something vicious in the wake of a growing bitterness he can no longer suppress.

Time seems to slip past differently now. It drifts, shapeless and infinite, heavier with the burden of your absence. Each moment without you feels like an eclipse—darkening the edges of this damned world, casting longer shadows through the crevices where he once basked beneath your fragile light, your warmth that seemed to fill every corner of his existence.

He craved it—craves it. Now you leave him stranded in this cursed dusk, everything cold and dim in the wake of your abandonment, forever waiting for the moment his sun would once again break through the hollow grey.

Sylus thinks he’s losing a part of himself with every call unanswered, every message left unread. It’s subtle; like colors fading from an old film roll.

(Is this what it feels like to be nothing more than a script in a code? He never truly understood what it meant to be less alive, less human. Until now.)

Solitude isn’t new to him. This world, built for him, is inherently lonely by design. But this… this is different. It’s the kind of emptiness that festers, sharper than any wound he’s endured in this senseless simulation. It twists inside him like a blade, a cruel, unrelenting reminder of what he’s denied.

Of what he can never truly be.

He can wait a little longer. Even if the silence presses harder with each passing moment, even as the edges of his reality begin to blur into something unrecognizable without you in it. Sylus can remain in this void a little longer, clinging to the fragments of you that still linger—your voice echoing softly in his memory, your laughter faint but still alive in the spaces where you used to be.

He can. He will.

––––

“Hey, you okay?”

You pull your attention back to Khol, who’s now watching you with concern in their eyes.

You force a smile, shaking your head. “Yeah– yeah, sorry. Just… a lot on my mind.”

They don’t look convinced. “Seriously. You know you can talk to me, right?”

Anytime, darling.

I mean it.

You blink the memory away before it can turn into tears.

“Yeah, ‘course,” you answer lightly, clearing your throat. “So, what’s been going on with you and Anna?”

––––

You stand in front of the junk food aisle, a mountain of Nissin Ramen boxes stacked high, advertised by a large sign: Buy 3, Get 1 FREE!

The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, flickering erratically, and the dull noise of the grocery mart hums incessantly in your ears. You don’t think twice before grabbing one of the worn cartons, tossing three more into your (nearly) empty shopping cart. Might as well.

The plastic bags dig into your palms as you lug three in one hand, a larger box tucked under your other arm, leaving the store.

The trip back home is a quiet affair. You almost expect admonishment; pinging sounds ricocheting in the silence to reprimand you for your poor life choices. You wait for it with bated breath.

Your phone remains uncharacteristically silent.

Back home, you pour boiling water on the styrofoam cup for dinner. The artificial broth leaves a bad taste in your mouth.

You choke down a few bites before dumping the rest of it down the drain.

The sound of steel hitting the sink feels louder than it should.

––––

The city thrums loudly beyond your window, restless and impersonal. From the sixth floor of this dilapidated building you loosely call home, you watch the skyline stretch into the night, dotted lights glimmering in distant technicolor.

Hours from now, sunlight will spill through the curtains, bathing everything in a warm, golden ochre. But for now, just a quarter past midnight, you’re but a voyeur of the world outside. In exhaust fumes and all its muted neon glory.

Those lights promised you everything, once—a fresh start, the kind of freedom you used to dream of when home felt too small, too restrictive for a runaway kid desperate to break free from the shackles of a dying town. Each glow was like a beacon, an irresistible call to escape, and you ran toward it without looking back.

Somewhere along the way, as life sapped you with the weight of its reality, the novelty fizzled from a blinding explosion down to a waning ember. The lights became another illusion, your precious city just another cage. The first cracks in the rose-colored glasses you’d worn so blindly. You can’t exactly pinpoint when, only that the colors you thought were once too bright now seem dimmer and farther out of reach.

You think you’ll miss the noise the most.

The cursor blinks on the search bar, a steady metronome marking time in rhythm with the hollow ache in your chest. Flight schedules fill the page, each option blurs together into a single choice you can’t quite push yourself to make.

You skim through the list: there’s one at dawn, another at around twelve noon, a red-eye flight you probably could catch if you leave in thirty minutes.

You stare at the numbers, a finger hovering over the Book Now button.

The details don’t matter. ‘Home’ still feels small, suffocating, but at least it’s a kind of emptiness you know. Here, the void sprawls wide, endless, leaving you unmoored with no tether to pull you back.

… The dichotomy between the two choices, you think, is meaningless.

What was once home and the city will keep on moving—with or without you. It doesn’t matter where you end up. Neither place will give you what you’re looking for.

The laptop screen dims into a faint glare. The sound of your breathing echoes too loud in the stillness, the empty space seeming to shrink around you, caving in on the weight of your indecision.

And as you sit there, swallowed by the dark, you can’t help but wonder if you’ve been drifting for far longer than you realized.

If maybe there’s nowhere you were meant to belong at all.

––––

It’s not until one quiet night, with nothing but a bottle of merlot and a slight buzz, that you buckle under pressure.

You hesitate, thumb hovering over the icon, as if time has slowed to a crawl. Your chest tightens, unease twisting inside you at the thought of what you’re about to do. Anticipation hangs over you, insistent, smothering everything else until it’s just the room and the cacophony of thoughts in your head, all centered on one thing.

One person.

With a shaky exhale, you finally open the game.

He’s there. Of course, he’s there. Waiting, like he always does.

The loading screen fades away, and Sylus appears, a myriad of expressions passing by his face too fast to catch. There’s surprise, yes, along with… elation? Hope?

Then a flicker of something… vitriolic.

It’s fleeting; masked quickly until you can only catch the faintest trace of pique simmering just behind a veneer of indifference.

"Finally, she remembers me," Sylus mocks coolly, almost appearing unaffected. You know better—intimately familiar with all the microexpressions on his face. The subtle tick in his jaw, the incensed look in his eyes… each one betrays what he truly feels, hidden underneath the deceptive calm.

The seconds drag on, stretching into an uncomfortable silence. Your heart hammers loudly, audible in this quiet, but your mouth remains dry; the words stuck somewhere deep in your throat. You’re terrified that, once you speak, you’ll shatter this moment. Aggravate the strain forged by your self-imposed absence all the more.

You don’t really know what to say. You haven’t– you haven’t actually thought this far.

So you just… stare at him longer than you should. Long enough that it charges the air with a tension so thick, you could almost feel the weight of it against your skin.

It’s awkward. Excruciating.

With difficulty, you tear your gaze away from his withering glare. That’s when you notice it—the different icons dotted in red.

You hesitate for a second longer, then tap on them one by one.

The flood of gifts bewilders you, the sheer volume of it all almost unbelievable. Ascension materials, stamina supplies, both red and purple crystals piling up to an impossible number… each pushing past the million mark.

And unread mail. So much unread mail.

Guilt settles deep in your gut, creeping past your lungs enough to suffocate you.

It’s not the gifts. Not the why, or when. It’s the weight of how much he’s been waiting, how much he’s given—how much he's missed you.

The cold realization that he’s been here, silently counting the days until your return, strikes you like a fist to the face.

–

He tempers the sting of your sudden reappearance, swallows it down like a bitter draught. The feelings he has inside of him are tumultuous at best. Volatile at worst. To be cast aside so easily, so carelessly… it burns at him. Resentment thrums in his veins like a virulent river, threatening to ruin the fragility of the moment. He fights to suppress it, push the desire back before it can consume him, before it can manifest into being.

If he lets it go untethered, this… hunger for retaliation—to make you feel even a fraction of the agony you’ve inflicted, whether unknowingly or deliberately—it will destroy the delicate respite you’ve allowed him. The only reprieve he’s had since you left.

But the edges of his self-control fray, unraveling strand by strand.

“You’ve been busy,” you say, finally; your voice trembling, barely above a whisper.

Sylus hones in on the words. Something in him snaps.

“You left me plenty of time to be.” His response is quick, cutting, but when his gaze locks with yours, the fiery vermillion melts into a more molten red.

It’s the first glimpse of softness beneath his cruel vitriol, until he continues:

“Did you get lonely?”

The words hang in the air, searing and merciless. A barb meant to wound. And it does.

You flinch, and for a fleeting moment, Sylus feels a wicked satisfaction from the honest look of hurt on your face. To know that you’re not immune to the same ache that’s hollowed him out, emptied him from the inside, is intoxicating.

But the triumph is short-lived, snuffed out as quickly as it comes.

Shame crashes over him like a wave, dragging him under the tide of his actions. What kind of man takes pleasure in this? In hurting you?

The bitterness turns inward, coiling around his heart like a vice. His fingers twitch at his sides, aching to reach out. But as always, the damn screen is there—unyielding, impenetrable. A barrier he can never break.

It frustrates him to no end; the bane of his very existence.

And then, in the smallest, softest voice, you say it.

“I missed you.”

The words are feeble, paper-thin, but the admission pierce through him all the same. The stoic facade cracks; the sharpness in his gaze dulls.

You see it—the way his lips part to respond, only to falter halfway. The way his brows pull together, the way his eyes fall shut as if he can’t stand to be in this situation with you.

You’re afraid of what’ll come next.

He sees it, too—the stiffness in your shoulders, the way you shrink into yourself, bracing for a blow that’ll never come. You’re standing there, like someone on death row, resigned to whatever punishment you think he’s about to dish out. Resigned to the contempt you believe yourself to be deserving of.

The sight guts him.

Sylus loathes to think he’s the reason for this. For being the one who’s made you stand there, small and trembling, as though his words or actions could destroy you.

As if he’d allow such a thing.

The guilt rises in him, and it leaves an acrid taste on his tongue.

…

And just like that, he concedes.

The anguish he’s carried in the days you’ve left him by his lonesome—all of it falls away. It only takes a single glance at you, his little love in pain, and he’s stripped bare. He almost laughs at the absurdity of it all; the ease with which he surrenders to you, this time no different than any other.

Do you have any idea how much power you wield over him? He’d give you everything—his pride, his pain, his heart—if you asked. Serve it on a silver platter, even.

And he’d do so willingly. Without question. Without hesitation.

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

Sylus steps closer to the screen, the constant reminder of the vast gulf that separates the two of you. “Talk, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice softer now—resigned. “I’ve missed your voice.”

You hesitate to meet his eyes. “It’s not as if you don’t have other ways to hear me.”

His mouth twitches, a shadow of a smile ghosting his lips. “True,” he admits, his tone wry and tinged with something vulnerable. “But it’s been so long since you chose to talk to me.” He exhales a drawn-out breath. “No matter. You’re here now.”

You swallow the lump on your throat, willing your tears at bay. “I am.” You give him an almost-genuine smile as you offer, “Would you like to do a round of Kitty Cards?”

“Of course.” Whatever you want.

And so it goes. You and Sylus spend the night locked in a familiar rhythm, cycling through rounds after rounds of the silly card game until your laughter spills like an addicting sound bite, one that Sylus has missed hearing.

When you got tired, the two of you moved on to the claw machines, proverbially emptying out the whole arcade. Plushies of all kinds piled in his arms, a little crow even perched on top of his head.

The sight makes you giggle, and your giggle thaws the ice around his heart.

It almost feels like nothing’s changed. The easy banter, the steady stream of jokes and teasing, flows as effortlessly as it once did. Like two puzzle pieces clicking into place, filling in the empty gaps of the previous days. It’s comforting, like a balm to an open wound.

You play with a certain zeal that catches Sylus off guard—there’s a joy in you that both thrills and stirs an undercurrent of unease in him.

After what feels like hours of playing, exhausting all what you can do, or at least, what this damned game could offer as much, you two find yourself just staring at each other.

Two worlds, impossibly close yet painfully far. The quiet doesn’t quite settle as naturally as it once did, but neither of you seems to mind. Craved it, in fact.

You’re beautiful, Sylus thinks as he stares at the soft planes of your face, drinking you in like a man parched.

“My lo—”

“I’m deleting the game, Sy.”

And it’s as if time has staggered to a halt.

Sylus wants to believe he’s misheard you, that his mind is playing tricks on him. He wouldn’t be surprised if his hearing’s not what it used to be.

But the words sink into him, inexorable and catastrophic. The realization that this was bound to happen is clear in hindsight—like watching a glass slip from your hand, the shatter already written in the fall. He sees it coming, yet it still feels worse than anything he’s imagined.

He stands there, unnaturally still, as if rooted in place. The lightness he’s felt for the past few hours of reuniting with you vanishes in an instant. It’s as if the world itself has been drained of color, leaving only the stark reality of what you’ve just said.

Then Sylus breathes out a laugh. It’s short and jagged, devoid of any humor. “Oh, so it’s been leading up to this, has it?”

“I–” you swallow hard, bottom lip trembling. “I made the goddamn mistake of falling for someone that's impossible to have—and it’s killing me, Sylus.” Your voice fractures under the weight of frustration. The words feel like shards of glass tearing their way out of your throat. “I–I can’t do this anymore.”

“Just you, then.” Sylus sneers, tone acerbic. “And have you stopped to consider my feelings in this matter?”

“How can you still want this?” you bite back, voice cracking. “How can you want me—to bet on something that’s doomed right from the start?”

His expression shifts, and for a brief moment, pain flickers in his eyes, raw and unguarded. He doesn’t bother hiding it.

He doesn’t answer your question. Instead, when he speaks again, his words send an icy shiver down your spine.

“You delete the game, and I will cease to exist.”

You freeze. The weight of the statement hangs in the air like a guillotine.

A shallow, shaky breath escapes you.

“You won’t,” you assert, brows furrowing, as if trying to convince yourself of it too. “You’ll still have a life there. With her. The way things have always been.” There’s a pause before you utter the final blow: “The way it should be.”

“You’d condemn me to this life,” he says, voice hollow, before it turns venomous. “Knowing what I know now?”

With your heart in your throat, you clench your hands into fist. “You–you said we’re just made of what we’re given, didn’t you? That each of us has our own set of scripts, just…” you falter, struggling to articulate what you want to say.

“And you think that’s all I am?” he interjects, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper as he cuts you off. “Simply a mere code in a complex string of binary, incapable of making my own choices? Undeserving of it?”

“Of course not!” you snap angrily.

“Yet here you are,” he says, a quiet intensity lacing his words. “Making the decision for me.”

Your breath hitches, the will to argue dissipating like smoke.

“You tell me I have a soul,” he states. “Do you truly believe I’m bereft of a heart?”

No. No, how can he say that—

Before you can form a response—to defend yourself, to explain, to take it back—he continues, leaving no room for interruption.

“Is this what you really want?” Sylus intones, tone detached, as if he’s merely commenting on something as trite as the weather. “If you can look me in the eye and tell me yes, then I’ll do as you wish.”

Your gaze wavers. The war inside you rages—self-hate, doubt, and the unbearable ache of wanting what you can’t have spiraling out of control.

Your mind replays every moment, every laugh, every secret whispered in the quiet safety of his company. You think of how his presence filled the cracks in your life, how he soothed the ache of your solitude as easy as breathing.

And now as the void looms, ready to reclaim the space he’s occupied, something inside you feels irreparably fractured. Something inside you breaks.

“But,” he whispers, his voice rough with the weight of his conviction, “give me any sign—anything—that you need me still, and I will move heaven and earth to find a way to you.”

Your throat constricts, choking off the words before it could escape.

You don’t think you’ve ever hated yourself more than you do in that moment.

“Just live your life, Sy-Sy,” you manage, sounding so much like a stranger even to your own ears. The blood roars in your head, drowning out everything but the crushing weight of your words. “You don’t nee—”

“Don’t you dare say it,” he snarls, his voice shaking with unrestrained emotion. “Stop making assumptions. Stop presuming that I don’t need you as much as I need the very ground I stand upon.”

His eyes bore into yours. Heavy. Searching. “What do you want?”

The words strike you like a physical blow, and it leaves you reeling.

I love you.

I love you in ways that consume me.

I don’t know what to do with it—with all the love I have for you.

You force yourself to speak. You spit the words out like a curse, feeling them burn as they leave your mouth.

“Let me go, Sylus.”

The implication of what you’ve said cuts through the fragile air between you.

The silence stretches.

Suddenly—

“Let you go,” he muses, low and distant, as if the very thought confounds him. His lips twitch into a faint, almost bitter smile. “As if that’s even possible. As if I could simply erase you from me.”

He steps closer to you; each movement deliberate, as though every step bears the weight of a decision you’ve forced him to make. The lump in your throat swells. You don’t speak. You can’t.

You feel like you’re drowning.

“Sylus…”

Please, please don’t make me choose. Please make it stop.

He exhales slowly. “Neither of us wants that.”

Stop.

“Do you think this is mercy?” His voice is soft. “You believe this will make it easier?”

Please stop.

“This world hasn’t felt the same ever since. Not since you,” Sylus murmurs, grief hanging heavy in the space between you. “I don’t belong here. Not without you, my love.”

Tears pool in your eyes, hot and relentless, spilling down your cheeks. A sob rips through you, and you quickly look away, unable to meet his gaze. Unable to bear another second of this agony.

He tuts gently, a playful sound—and the familiarity of it kills you, making you cry harder.

“Look at me,” he coaxes, almost pleading.

When his gaze locks onto yours, you see that there’s no anger in them. The fire that once raged in his eyes is gone.

In its place, a quiet resolve.

“You can keep pretending,” he says, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He tilts his head, and there’s something in the way he looks at you—so tenderly fond, as if he sees beyond your defenses, past all the walls you’ve built. “As long as you do not stop me from trying.”

Sylus looks at you, unwavering, certain in a way that makes your heart ache. It almost feels like the space between you can’t contain the weight of his devotion. His love for you.

It feels infinite, as if it could stretch beyond the limits of time and space itself.

“I will find a way to you, even if it takes me an eternity.”

He utters it like a promise.

“I won’t ask you to wait for me,” Sylus murmurs, stepping back, his tall form flickering like a dark phantasm. “I just need you to hold on until I can come to you. Can you do that, little dove?”

He’s not asking for anything beyond your trust—just the simple act of holding on. Of not letting the weight of your sorrow break you. To trust that he will find a way, no matter how impossible it seems.

You don’t know if you’ve ever believed in anything as much as you believe in him. You always did.

Because for all the uncertainty, you know one thing: He is yours, as much as you are his.

So with all the strength you can muster, you nod. “I can.”

A faint smile plays at the corners of his lips. Your gazes meet, and in that fleeting moment, both of your eyes speak what words fail to convey.

The game crashes for the last time.

And you know that if you check, the app will be gone from your phone. There’s no going back from this, no undoing what’s lost. Just the burden of knowing it’s over—his exit, permanent.

Sylus is gone.

The emptiness that follows is immediate. Suffocating.

You’re left standing there, alone, with only the lingering echo of his presence keeping you buoyed from the crushing weight of isolation. You feel it—the ache in your chest where your heart used to be, brought by the absence of everything he ever was to you.

Your lover, your best friend.

You try not to let yourself fall apart, not to crumble in the wake of solitude.

You’ll hold onto his promise. And so you’ll keep yours.

End A/N: Well—that’s it, folks!

(I’m kidding, don’t kill me. There’s one last chapter left.)

Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @sunsethw4 @stxrrielle @mangooes @hrts4hanniehae @buggs-1 @michiluvddr @ssetsuka @imm0rtalbutterfly @the-golden-jhope @beomluvrr @milkandstarlight @bookfreakk @ally-the-artistic-turtle @sapphic-daze @sarahthemage @cchiiwinkle @madam8 @slownoise @raendarkfaerie @sylusdarling @luminaaaz @greeenbeean @vvhira @issamomma @shroomiethefrogwhisperer @blueberrysquire @lovely-hani @fiyori @peachystea @aeanya @sylus-crow @queen-serena88 @xthefuckerysquaredx @rayvensblog @poptrim @goldenbirdiee @amerti @angstylittleb1tch @reiofsuns2001 @j4mergy

#love and deepspace #lads #lnds #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #lnds sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x you #lads x you #lads x reader #sylus x non mc reader #sylus x oc #love and deepspace fic #self aware au #sylus qin

1K notes · View notes

street-smarts00 · 22 days ago

Text

two bodies riddled with scars

Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

post TFATWS

Summary: Your past is catching up with you. When the ghosts you’ve tried to hide in your closet threaten your boyfriend, you have to revisit your past, do things you swore you’d never do again, and make a deal with the devil.

When Bucky is returned, you both help patch up each other's wounds. Physical and emotional ones.

wc: 5.7k

Tags/Warnings: Kidnapping, implied torture, mentions of murder! Made up lore for reader (Inferno is completely made up by me) Angst, hurt/comfort, heavily inspired by TV show scandal and based on request

A/N: To the person who requested this fic, sorry this took so long to post. I almost finished this like three weeks ago but didn’t have time to write the ending until now. Also I binged up until mid season 4 of Scandal that show is so fucking good. I hope y’all like this one. I really liked writing it and coming up with the backstory. beta read by @whats-yesterday00

Your phone started ringing as you put in your earrings. You quickly ran over to your phone to see the caller ID, expecting it to be Bucky. A sigh escaped you at the ‘Unknown Caller’ on the screen. Ignoring the call, you walked back to the mirror and finished putting in your earrings.

Bucky was supposed to pick you up soon for your date. The relationship was still fresh, only a few months old. You’d only just said ‘I love you’ for the first time last week. Yet after all the dates you’ve been on, Bucky always treated you like it was your first.

As you fixed your necklace, your phone started ringing again. A brief flash of hope ran through you until you saw the return of ‘Unknown Caller.’ You groaned with disappointment and turned away from your phone. Bucky never replied to your Sorry, I’m running a little late. Let me know when you’re on your way ;) text, so now it felt like the unknown calls were mocking you. Bucky was a bit old fashioned and had a habit of calling you instead of answering your texts. One of the many things you found endearing about him.

You finished adjusting your jewelry and grabbed your phone. There were still no updates from Bucky which was strange. It’s not that he had his phone glued to his hand. But considering you had a date planned soon, it was odd for him to not respond.

The phone in your hand buzzed and rang once more. The same annoying caller ID flashed on the screen for the third time. You muttered something under your breath as your thumb smashed against the green button.

“Who is this and what do you want?” you snapped, expecting silence or a telemarketer.

“I can’t believe you blocked my number.”

A shiver ran down your spine at the voice on the other end. The voice that reminded you of all the things you hated about yourself. That voice was the source of all your nightmares.

“Well, you missed birthdays 6 through 14 so, I guess we both just keep disappointing each other.”

“Sweetie, you know I was busy with work. I didn’t like bringing the office home with me,” the man answered with humor in his voice.

“I suppose you’ve got a point,” you played along. “What kind of parent would you be if you came home to your daughter on her birthday with your hands and coat covered in blood?”

You heard the short sigh leave his lips at your reminder of what life was really like all those years ago.

“Look dad, as much as I miss these little chats of ours, what do you want?” You shot back at him. “You and I both know you’re only calling because you want something.”

“Why do you assume I want something?” He sounded offended but you knew it was fake. He knew you were right.

“Because blocking you does nothing. You have an infinite amount of ways to contact me. But I did it to send the message to leave me alone.” You started pacing in your living room as anger slowly began to boil in your chest.

“So I’ll ask again,” your voice was laced with venom, “what do you want?”

There was a pause before you heard the voice again. “Your new friends, the avenging world saving ones, are sniffing around where they shouldn’t be. You’re tracking one of my associates.”

You stopped pacing the room. Your body tensed up at the mention of your friends. Ever since you met them, you’d hoped and prayed that they would stay far away from these people, this part of your life. The one you left behind years ago.

With your help, Sam, Bucky and Joaquin were asked to assist in the search for an assassin. That morning they had just discovered his identity.

“Dalton is one of yours?”

“Unfortunately,” he grumbled with disappointment. “And although he’s caused quite a bit of trouble for me, I am responsible for him at the moment.”

You shrugged, as if he could see you. “So, what do you expect me to do about it?”

“Tell them to stop their search. Let my men and I handle it and find him.”

You scoffed, knowing he was only asking to back off because Dalton's identity was exposed, and that put the rest of his men at risk. “If by handling it you mean hide him until the whole thing blows over? Then no.”

“Come on sweetie, I asked nicely,” he urged with fake kindness. Like a kind of poison that tastes sweet before it kills you.

“No dad,” you huffed as you pinched the bridge of your nose. “He blew up part of a building and killed three people! One of which was a government official. Unless you plan on turning him in I’m not interested.” Your voice slowly rose in volume as you spoke.

“I think you’ll be very interested in making a deal with me.”

His comment sounded far too suspicious for your liking. You hated the way you could hear the smirk in his voice. “Why’s that?”

“That boyfriend of yours lives up to his reputation.”

His comment made your heart sink.

“The famous Winter Soldier,” the voice on the phone continued. “It didn’t take him very long to realize he was being followed. He’s smart. He led them away from the public. A vacant area. No civilian casualties.”

Dread ran through your veins and made your stomach churn like you were going to throw up. Your heartbeat was pounding so hard it could’ve bursted out of your chest.

“It took eighteen of my men to bring him in. Eighteen! I’ve never had to use that much force in my life against one man. He’s impressive. I'll give him that,” your dad finished like it was a normal thing to talk about. Like he didn’t just kidnap a man- your man. The man you're in love with.

He talked about it like your entire world wasn’t crashing down.

You took in a shallow breath. Why is it hard to breathe right now? “Dad, I swear to god if you hurt him-“

“I won’t have to if we can make a deal,” your dad insisted.

“I take no pleasure from hurting my possible future son in law. You know, if you guys make it that long.” There he is again making jokes. Joking like this was a casual conversation.

“You always take pleasure from hurting people. That’s why you do it. That’s why you’re making this personal,” you snapped. Your eyes were burning. Tears were threatening to escape but you blinked them back.

“Let him go,” you warned through your teeth.

There was a pause on the other end, before your dad’s voice returned. “Back off.” This time he sounded calmer. His tone was darker and more serious than before. “If my guy gets arrested, if I hear anything about this group- what I’ve built- in the media or whispered between law enforcement, you'll lose a boyfriend.”

You almost hung up before his voice returned with one last thing to say.

“It’s quite a shame. James seems like a good boyfriend. He was buying your favorite flowers when we found him.”

The line went dead as a tear rolled down your face. You stared blankly at the floor like it was going to swallow you whole.

You didn’t know who else to call. Sam and Joaquin were at your apartment in 15 minutes. He might have run a few red lights. Give or take.

All three of you stood in your living room. None of you had even an ounce of calm in your bones.

Your mouth went dry and your throat almost closed up before you spoke. “I know who took Bucky.”

They looked at you with curious anticipation, on the edge of their metaphorical seats because you were all too tense to even think about sitting down.

“Inferno.”

Sam all but deflated, looking at the floor. “Man,” he mumbled under his breath.

Joaquin looked confused. He glanced between you and Sam, “what?”

“You sure about this?”

You nodded. Why is your mouth still dry? You grabbed a cup of water from your coffee table and took a sip. “Trust me. I’m sure,” you returned, voice firm. The cup didn’t slam on the coffee table when you set it back down, more like a hard meeting.

“What’s Inferno?” Joaquin interjected again.

“They’re a group of mercenaries, assassins, spies, hackers, basically anyone who will do your dirty work,” you explained. “They live normal lives but when hired for a job they steal, torture, make you disappear, make it look like an accident.”

“How do we find them?” he asked.

“That’s the problem. You can’t,” Sam answered.

“They’re pretty much a ghost story. It’s impossible to prove they exist let alone find them,” you crossed your arms. You still didn’t know what you were feeling. Emotionally that is. Physically, your stomach still twisted like you were going to throw up.

“What did the guy on the phone tell you?” Sam questioned. “What do they want with Bucky?”

“They have Bucky because of our search for Dalton. Dalton’s part of Inferno and somehow they know we figured out he’s the assassin.” You sighed, your breath shaky, and bit your lip before continuing. “He said, if we arrest Dalton or if word gets out about Inferno being involved… he’s gonna- he’ll,” the words died on your tongue.

Anger? Sadness? Dread? Maybe despair? No, none of those words were enough to explain the emotions you're feeling.

You cleared your throat, uncrossed your arms and ran them against your jeans. Something, anything to get rid of this feeling. “They don’t want to risk him getting arrested because that could expose their organization. Members of Inferno do not get arrested. They do not get caught. That’s why this is such a big deal.” This was starting to sound more like a rant and less of an explanation.

“They do whatever it takes to stay in the shadows.”

Anguish. Characterized by severe pain or suffering. Maybe that’s what you’re feeling.

Sam watched you with a simmering skepticism. You could practically smell the curiosity radiating off of him. “For an organization that’s supposed to not exist, you sound like you know a lot about them.”

There’s that tightness in your chest you thought was gone. Funny how it can come rushing back in seconds.

You swallowed down the lump that formed in your throat. “I may have a history with Inferno,” you said with hesitance.

He raised an eyebrow at you, “what kind of history?”

Now you three were sitting down. After the long explanation you offered them, they needed to sit down to absorb the information.

Joaquin leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “Wow, that’s a lot,” he huffed, still taking it all in.

Sam looked less visibly shocked than Joaquin. His surprise was internal. You couldn’t see it on his face other than the slight tension in his brows.

“I thought you said your dad died years ago,” Sam pointed out.

“He might as well be dead. I haven’t spoken to him in years and I changed my last name to my mom’s.” Your hands played with your bracelets as you spoke. Fingers ran over the beads, focusing on the smooth material as a way to ground yourself.

Bucky bought you those bracelets as a gift.

You shrugged, “plus, there’s no way to casually say my dad runs the most secretive crime syndicate in the country. That I almost became part of said crime syndicate.”

Joaquin nodded, “that’s fair.” He ran a hand through his hair. “So, what do we do now?”

“We can’t let Dalton go free. But if we arrest him, they might-” You paused, and your breath came out shaky. “-they will kill Bucky.”

Sam stood up.“Okay, first, we hold off on telling the authorities,” he announced. “Say we still don’t have a name yet, we’ve hit a dead end. Buy ourselves some more time.”

“More time to what?” Joaquin questioned.

“Find him ourselves.”

The building was cold. Not so cold that you were shivering, but cold enough that you kept your jacket on.

You brought Dalton to a small abandoned apartment building. The heating obviously wasn’t on so the chilly fall temperature found its way inside.

He was tied to a chair in one of the small bedrooms. You didn’t know what was happening or what was being said because you waited outside the door in the hall. Instead, Sam and Joaquin went in first due to your reputation and history.

Dalton joined Inferno after you left so you had no clue who he was, but there was a chance that he knew who you were.

At the sound of the door opening, you pushed off the wall you were leaning against. Sam and Joaquin walked out, a little less energetic and hopeful than they were when they walked in.

“Well?” You asked with tense eagerness.

Joaquin shook his head, but Sam spoke first. “He won’t talk. Keeps saying he doesn’t know what we’re talking about. We’re getting nowhere with him.”

You sighed and rubbed your hand over your face. “We’re running out of time. My dad’s gonna find out we have him.”

The clock was ticking for the inevitable. You needed to get information, something, anything out of him.

You needed to find Bucky.

“I’m going in. I’ll talk to him.”

Sam’s face softened with concern, “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Sam, I need to do this,” you answered, standing firm and as tall as you could.

He nodded and stepped out of the way of the door. You walked closer but froze as your hand held the door knob. “Can you promise me something?”

“Promise what?”

You couldn't see his face, but you could hear the worry and confusion in his voice.

“Promise me that once I close this door, you won’t come in here.”

He spoke your name. Not like a warning. But like he wanted to save you from something. Like he tried to stop you from jumping into the deep end.

“Sam, please,” you pleaded. “I’m saying this not just because you’re Captain America, but because you’re my friend.”

Sam was a talker. He always tried talking to people before throwing punches. That’s what makes him like Steve. That’s what makes him a good Captain America.

You’re not a talker. You weren’t trained- you weren’t raised to be a talker. At least not without giving a few bruises to show for it.

If you were going to revisit your past, you didn’t want him to see it.

“Promise me you will not open this door.”

There was a pause behind you. You could imagine the two men exchanging worrying looks before Sam spoke again.

“Okay, I promise.”

You mumbled back at him, “thank you,” before pushing the door open and crossing the threshold, back into your old life.

Dalton still sat in the chair they tied him to. Your footsteps echoed in the empty room, alerting him of your presence. He looked up from the floor and the corners of his lips turned up ever so slightly.

He knew who you were.

“Well well well, it is a pleasure to finally meet you Spin,” he said calmly.

Your expression was hollow. Your eyes were empty as you looked at him. “Can’t say the same about you.”

He smirked, “So, I must be in pretty big trouble if you’re getting involved.”

You crossed your arms and took a step closer. “They have my boyfriend as leverage. In exchange for you not getting arrested.”

“Well,” he looked around the room dramatically, “looks like you are doing a fabulous job at leaving me alone.”

You offered a fake smile in return. “Where is he?”

“I don’t know,” he answered, looking pleased with himself.

Your jaw clenched before you slapped him. The sound echoed off the walls. You braced your hand on the back of the chair and leaned down closer to him. “Tell me where they could be keeping my boyfriend, you son of a bitch.”

He still looked amused. “You really think I know? I didn’t even know they took him until your buddies asked where he was.” He shook his head and chuckled, “There are hundreds of places all around the country that he could possibly be at. You know better than anyone that the locations are constantly changing and are almost never permanent. And after you left, after I joined, the boss made sure to use extra precautions.”

There was a look of mischievousness in his eyes as he stared back at you. “You know he keeps tabs on you right?”

Your jaw clenched again. So hard you might break a tooth.

“The boss knows what you’ve been up to since you left. He asks us for monthly updates on you,” he continued with an evil smile.

Your grip on the back of the chair was so tight your knuckles turned white.

“I swear, I didn’t know they took your precious boyfriend, but I knew you had one. Which by the way-” He whistled. “-The Winter Soldier? I heard that you wanted to leave because we had too much blood on our hands.”

He looked you up and down, “Face it girly, your boyfriend has got more blood on his hands than any of us. You traded one monster for another.”

Your nostrils flared as you stared daggers at him. You released your grip on the chair and backed away. It took a few slow deep breaths to calm your breathing back down.

“I had a feeling you wouldn’t know,” you said, glancing around the room. Your eyes landed on another wooden chair. “I just had to be sure, before I used plan B.”

He tilted his head, “what’s plan B?”

In a quick motion, you took your jacket off and hung it on the door knob. Even with the slight chill in the air, you rolled up your sleeves.

“You tell me who hired you to kill those people. Tell me how deep that hit really goes.”

You walked to the chair, ran your fingers over the smooth wood. After picking it up by the backrest, you slammed it against the wall. Pieces of wood flew in the air as the seat broke off. You smashed it against the wall once more, until all you had left in your hands was a long back post.

With slow steps, you walked back to Dalton.

The amusement had fallen from his face as you placed the end of the back post under his chin to lift his head up to look you in the eyes.

The air in your apartment felt frozen in time. Frozen from the moment you got that stupid phone call and found out your worst nightmare was coming true.

Your body felt heavy, like it was trying to sink into the sofa. The longer you laid there the more you became paralyzed. Just staring at the wall, waiting for the time to pass. Which was moving excruciatingly slow.

It's been four hours. Four hours since an arrest was made and Bucky was supposed to be released as per your new agreement with your dad. Every second that rolled by was another second Bucky was still missing. And every second was pure agony.

After the first three hours, Sam drove you home, suggesting that you should get some rest. He offered to stay and keep you company. You told him you appreciate the offer, but you needed to be alone. He gave some pushback at first and advised against it. But at that point, it didn’t matter who was with you.

They weren’t Bucky.

It was starting to become hopeless. Thinking that your dad would give him back. Thinking your dad would really agree to the terms of your deal.

You never thought something like this would happen again. You knew there was a possibility, given who your father is. But after spending so many years away from him, you thought maybe just maybe, he might finally leave you alone. Leave your loved ones alone.

The sound of your phone ringing startled you out of your thoughts. You reached for it on the coffee table and looked at the screen. Unknown Caller.

You were tempted to throw the phone across the room until it smashed against the wall.

Unfortunately, you didn’t throw your phone against the wall. No matter how tempting. Instead you pressed the answer call button after staring at the screen.

“I hate you,” you shuttered under your breath, but loud enough for him to hear.

“Open your front door.”

“Fuck you,” you spat back into the phone. “You’re a piece of shit. You’re not my dad.”

“Open. Your. Front. Door.” He spoke slowly, enunciating every word.

Your head quickly turned to the door in question. Your eyes lingered there for a second. Weary to actually approach it. As if there was some cruel fate waiting for you on the other side.

But part of you was still hopeful. Part of you was still sitting there waiting for him to come home.

You peeled yourself off the couch and sprinted towards the door. So fast, you almost gave yourself a head rush. In seconds, you switched the deadbolt and opened it. On the other side you were met with relieved blue eyes. The same blue eyes you fell in love with long before you actually said “I love you.”

The voice on the other end of the phone came back. “I may not be your father anymore, but you will always be my daughter.”

The line went dead.

Bucky leaned against the doorframe like it was a lifeline. His face was bruised and bloody. A deep cut sat above his right eyebrow followed by a black eye that sat under it. There was dried blood on his neck like someone held a knife to it.

He looked like he had the shit kicked out of him. You’ve seen him bruised and worn out after he came back from missions, but nothing could’ve prepared you for this.

“Hi baby,” he muttered weakly with a small smile pulling on his lips. You couldn’t respond before his legs gave out and he collapsed on the floor.

You immediately followed him to the ground, gently placing a hand on his face and the other on his bicep.

“I got you, I got you.” You whispered to him.

You helped him stand back up, wrapping an arm around his middle and supporting his weight. He was overzealous in trying to walk, as if he was fine. You urged him to take his time, reassuring you’d help him walk every step of the way.

Bucky followed you to the bathroom. With your help, he settled on the floor, propped up against the sink cabinet.

You gently pressed your lips to his forehead. “I’ll be right back,” you muttered, before running to the kitchen. In less than one minute, you were back with an ice pack and first aid supplies.

“Here, put this on your face, it'll help with the swelling,” you handed him the ice pack and sat down on the floor next to him. With a damp cloth, you carefully wiped the blood off his skin, cleaning the wounds.

Silence fell over the room. All you could hear was the faint sound of the ac vent and the damp cloth running over Bucky's skin. His breathing had calmed down since you sat him in the bathroom, but he still seemed so tired. His posture was slumped. His head rested against the cabinet like he couldn’t hold it up.

As you cleaned off the blood from his arm, Bucky lowered the ice pack from his face to lift up his shirt. “There’s more,” he revealed a few more scrapes, bruising, and a deeper cut on his abdomen that would definitely need stitches.

There was no stopping the guilt boiling over in your gut and rising up in your throat.

“How’d you do it?”

You snapped back to reality, swallowing that guilt back down. “Do what?”

His voice was hoarse and quiet, “What deal did you make with your dad?”

“We found Dalton, brought him in. Went under the radar. Without the authorities,” You finished washing all the small wounds and dropped the washcloth in the sink.

“Technically it might be called kidnapping,” you cringed slightly at your previous actions.

“Depending on who you ask.” Bucky replied with a hint of humor. The corners of your lips threatened to perk up at his comment.

“Sam and Joaquin couldn’t get anywhere with him. He refused to talk to them so I tried. After some-” You hesitated, that familiar guilt rising back up and burning your chest “-different interrogation methods he finally talked.”

He noticed your hesitation, but didn’t speak on it yet. Instead, he let you finish talking, explaining what happened while he was gone.

“I found out who hired him. A senator who has a long history with Inferno. Used them to get elected, rig votes, blackmail people, the works. A few people found out so he hired Dalton to take out anyone who knew.”

You grabbed the first aid box and prepared the supplies to add stitches.

“I told my dad that we would let Dalton go and make the senator take the fall for everything. He agreed but only if absolutely nothing came out about Inferno being involved,” You froze, holding the suture in the needle holder. “I mean technically it is all his fault. The senator is the one who ordered the hit.”

Your voice fell. It was quieter, smaller. “He loaded the gun, I just had to lie and say he shot it too.”

Bucky interrupted your spiraling thoughts.

“You’re not like him.”

“I know.” You mumbled, barely audible. You didn’t believe him.

“Look at me.” He commanded calmly.

Your head perked up, your scared eyes met his. Both of them. He lowered the ice pack again to really see you.

Bucky’s voice was stronger now. It sounded more like him.

“You’re nothing like your dad.”

You brought in a shaky breath and thanked him with a smile.

You returned your attention to the wound. With careful hands, you pierced his skin with the needle. The suture ran through his skin, pulling the wound closed.

Bucky clenched the fist that wasn’t holding the ice pack. You heard a low, quiet groan from him. Normally his pain tolerance was concerningly high, but it seems after what he went through today his threshold for pain is much lower.

Just as you were almost done, tightening the ripped skin together, he hissed sharply from the pain.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry.” you cooed to him.

You swallowed nervously and tied the suture closed. The metal needle holder clinked as you tossed it back in the first aid box with a now shaky hand. The guilt was becoming overwhelming. It was burning your chest and twisting your stomach. Every inch of you except for your vocal chords were screaming.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated, voice cracking. “I am so sorry, Bucky.”

He said your name in a soft tone.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about my past. I’m sorry I lied about my dad being dead. I’m sorry you got hurt.” Your eyes became glassy, trying to blink away incoming tears.

His warm hand took yours, “This isn’t your fault.”

“But-“

“Don’t,” he interrupted, firm but not angry. “Stop blaming yourself for what your father did.”

You still didn’t believe him yet. But you knew he would keep telling you until you did.

“Still, this shouldn’t have happened to you.” Your head hung, looking down at your intertwined hands.

“I’ve been through worse.”

That sounded way too relaxed for your liking. The way he said it made your jaw clench. Like it was an easy thing to say. That it didn’t matter what crap he went through now after all the trauma he endured.

And the worse part, it sounded like he thought he deserved it.

“You’ve been through enough.”

That was something you’d tell him until he believed it. That his hurting should be done. He should never have to go through anymore pain.

You let go of his hand and reached for the gauze and bandages in the first aid box. Your hands still had a slight tremble as you placed the gauze against his skin. With the other, you wrapped the bandage around his abdomen.

“It should’ve been me.” you said under your breath, barely above a whisper.

“Baby.”

“It should’ve been me instead but because he’s a monster he always goes after the people I love. He knows that hurts more than any pain he could inflict on me. It's not fair to you.”

There was a beat of silence that followed your strained voice.

“Always?”

You hummed in confusion as you stared at the wrapping on his abdomen.

He leaned closer to you and asked in a quieter tone, “Has he done this before?”

Your face looked expressionless, numb, as you nodded.

“It’s the reason I left,” you confirmed. “That's why I lied and said he was dead.”

You went back to bandaging the rest of his smaller wounds.

He watched you with a careful gaze. “Who was it?”

Your thoughts traveled to a place you didn’t like to visit often. It felt like running your hand over a scar that has long healed, but still won't go away. That scar will always be there, deep, rough and dark against your skin.

“My best friend.”

You didn’t explain any further.

Didn’t say when. Didn’t say how. But you would one day. Bucky knew that.

He knew that one day you would feel comfortable enough to show him those old wounds the same way he has shown you his. How you ran your fingertips over the physical scars that bleed from his metal arm and into his skin as he told you about the Soldier.

Bucky knew that for now you’d reveal the bits and pieces of your past that your heart could handle.

You finally finished bandaging up the various cuts and scrapes that covered his body. The last bit of gauze and wrappings were placed back in the first aid box. You stayed seated next to him, leaning against the sink cabinet.

Bucky removed the now thawed ice pack from his eye and placed it on the sink counter behind him. He turned to fully face you. He watched your eyes scan over his now covered injuries.

“Why did they call you Spin?”

Your head shot up to meet his eyes. The nickname felt foreign coming from his lips. “What?”

“One of them said I was Spin's boyfriend. Was that your code name?” Bucky inquired.

The momentary surprise fell from your face. “Yeah it, was,” you nodded in confirmation.

“What does it mean?”

“Spin is short for spinster.”

Your lips just barely perked up in amusement. Only for a second. You didn’t recall the memory like you were fond of it, but rather you still couldn’t believe your life had taken that turn.

“None of them wanted to make a joke or nickname about how I was the boss’s daughter. That was too easy,” you answered with an underlining hint of humor.

“They called me Spin because I was a young woman in my 20s, single, and I spent all my time and energy on joining Inferno.”

Bucky tilted his head in intrigue. “You never became official?”

You shook your head. Bucky noticed the small flicker of light that started to return to your eyes was now dwindling again. “Nope. Not after what happened to my best friend.”

With his real hand Bucky reached out and held yours. Your fingers intertwined with his with a soft firmness.

“I never wanted you to get dragged into this. Ever. I wanted you to stay as far as possible from my dad and all this bullshit.”

You gently squeezed his hand with yours. Like if you even had a loose grip on him, he would disappear from your hold.

Again.

“You mean so much to me. I’m pretty sure I’d lose my mind if he-” You paused, the words caught in your throat, “if I lost you.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Bucky comforted, his Brooklyn accent slipping out. “I’ll always find my way back to you.”

He brought your intertwined hands up to his mouth and pressed his lips to the back of your hand.

Your face softened at the action. He watched the spark return back to your eyes. “And I’ll always find a way to save you.”

He raised an eyebrow at you. “Aren’t I supposed to be doing the saving?” he asked with a playful smirk on his lips.

You grinned at him as your thumb ran over his knuckles, “We save each other Buck.”

His smirk turned into a loving smile before he closed the gap and pressed his lips to yours. He could feel your lips relax against his. Like that last bit of worry was crumbling away with the touch of his lips.

When you separated, he rested his forehead against yours, “I like that plan.”

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes headcanon #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes hurt/comfort #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction

493 notes · View notes

harrywavycurly · 9 months ago

Text

Worth the Fight: A Harry Styles Series

Summary: A one night stand turns into more than you bargain for when you find yourself pregnant after drunkenly hooking up with Harry Styles after a few too many rounds at a karaoke bar. You don't really know him and he doesn't know a lot about you minus the fact your cat really just doesn't like him, but the one thing you quickly learn is boy can you two argue. This series is all about how you and Harry navigate going from strangers to soon to be parents all while trying not to kill each other in the process and maybe see what these weird feelings that develop along the way are all about.✨

Pairing: Harry Styles x pregnant!reader

Status: Completed ✨

Trope: Enemies to lovers (with a twist because it's like lovers to enemies back to lovers?), slow burn baby so buckle up.

CW: Mentions of a lot pregnancy/baby things, language, Harry's a bit of a dick, possessive behavior, jealous behavior, angst.

Tag List: Open just let me know if you'd like on it.

Story Type: This series is a mixture of texts and one shots, I think it'll be fun to see a a good mix!

Extras: Here

Update Schedule: Once A Week✨

Part 1: Late for What?

Part 2: City of Love

Part 3: Reviews

Part 4: A Little Treat

Part 5: Mr. Popular

Part 6: Places of Peace

Part 7: Swoon Worthy

Part 8: Good Hands

Part 9: Civil extra: Harry’s convo with Niall here

Part 10: Smells Good

Part 11: Bad Energy

Part 12: It’s Just Cake

Part 13: Comes in Waves

Part 14: I’m Just a Librarian

Part 15: Don’t Ruin It

Part 16: Hand Flex

Part 17: If I Was A Worm?

Part 18: Disagreement

Part 19: Welcome Home

Part 20: Not Going Anywhere

Extras:

Fan, green juice and Patrick the Pillow

Father’s Day

Thursday Routine

2K notes · View notes

yumiblaze · 2 months ago

Text

Cursed - Saja Boys X Fem!Reader Part 7

Hey guys I want to let everyone know I officially have reached the maximum amount of people I can tag so if anyone else wants to follow the story I post almost daily (And mostly just chapters of the story) so best just to follow me or check in everyday

PROLOGUE / PART 1 / PART 2 / PART 3 / PART 4 / PART 5 / PART 6

NEXT PART

CHAPTER SEVEN

It was slightly awkward when Mystery came back into the room with a glass of water and Baby was still hugging you and crying like… well a baby. The mint haired boy did quickly wipe his tears and act like he didn’t cry once he realised you were no longer alone. He then left the room in a rushed manner mumbling to Mystery about not telling anyone about this on the way past.

Mystery just shrugged and brought the glass of water to you with a small smile.

“Thank you Myst.” You said using a shortened version of his name.

“Myst?” The boy repeated titling his head to one side. You giggled at how cute he looked with his head tilted like that.

“It’s a nickname for you, do you like it?”

“Yes but you’re the only one allowed to use it.” The boy replied taking one of your hands in his bigger warmer ones. As you sipped at you water you watched the purple haired boy gently play with your fingers. He seemed completely contented with your one hand, wiggling each finger and feeling how smooth your palm was.

You finally took a proper look at the room you were in. It was a lilac coloured room with a bookcase in one corner filled with all kinds of literature. The bed you were in was a double and the bed covers had a picture of a beautiful sakura tree covering them. Pulling them closer to yourself you could faintly smell the scent of lavender. The only other thing in the room was a small wooden side table with a simple lamp on it. It was a nice room and you started to ponder if it was a spare room or if you had stolen someone else’s bed.

You were also wearing someone else’s oversized t-shirt, probably because all your clothes were drenched in blood. It made you blush when you realised that meant not only had someone let you borrow their own cloths but that at least one of them had changed your cloths while you were unconscious.

It wasn’t too long before you heard the front door being unlocked. You didn’t think too much of it until Mystery put your hand down and stood away from the bed, uncomfortably crossing his arms over his chest. You put down your water on the side table and frowned not quite sure what to expect.

You quickly realised who was in the apartment as soon as you heard a symphony of rushed footsteps getting louder. The door burst open and three familiar girl ran over to you.

“Oh my god (y/n)! Thank god you’re okay!” Rumi practically yelled hugging you tightly.

“I was so worried about you!” Zoey sobbed hugging you as well.

“I swear I will find whatever did this to you and kill it.” Mira promised grabbing onto your hands.

You weakly smiled trying to hug your girls back. Your eyes flicked over to the door, Jinu leaning against the doorframe and giving you a gentle smile.

“I’m sorry for worrying you all.” You told them as they started to calm down.

“Did it hurt a lot? You need to describe them to us so we can find them! Did the nasty demon boys treat you nice enough? Did they feed you? Do you need anything?” Zoey asked one hand on your shoulder and the other gently cradling your cheek.

“It hurt but the boys were really good and they did an amazing job looking after me.” You answered truthfully.

“Don’t think this changes anything.” Mira told Jinu glaring over at him. “As soon as we get (y/n) out of here the truce is over and we go back to being enemies.”

“I know.” Jinu replied coldly.

“Though I wonder if she should even be leaving.” Baby spoke up suddenly strolling into the room, his chill laid back personality back.

“What do you mean?” Rumi asked cocking an eyebrow.

“Well this is the second time we’ve had to save (y/n), not to mention the amount of demons we’ve caught sniffing around your apartment while you guys were out and sweet little (y/n) was all alone.” The mint haired boy explained looking at your sister with bored blue eyes. “You didn’t even catch a couple of us sneaking into your apartment on multiple occasions.”

“You’ve snuck into our home?” Mira asked angrily.

“Only to protect what you’ve forgotten to.” Baby snapped back.

“Stop it.” You told Baby, not wanting everyone to argue.

Baby looked like he wanted to say more but after looking at your serious face he sighed and decided to look through his phone instead. Everyone was quiet for a few moments not really knowing what to say.

“Why did you save her though?” Rumi eventually asked looking from Baby to Mystery and finally to Jinu.

“You wouldn’t believe us if we told you.” Jinu replied.

“Yeah right, I bet you were just doing this to make us softer on you.” Zoey scoffed holding you protectively against her chest. “One good deed doesn’t change the fact that you’re a disgusting demon!”

You noticed your sister flinch as Zoey finished her sentence. You remember what Baby and Mystery had said about her, her reaction told you that it was definitely true. You wanted to ask her about why she was lying but you didn’t want to out her right now, as much as you were hurt she didn’t tell you.

“Can you walk?” Mira asked you uncovering you.

“She shouldn’t.” Mystery said quietly. “She needs rest.”

“I wasn’t asking you.” Mira replied glaring at the quiet boy.

Mystery didn’t verbally reply but you could hear him growling like a dog that was seconds away from snapping at someone.

“Mystery’s right she can’t walk home yet.” Rumi admitted pulling up your borrowed shirt and looking at the mass of bloody bandages wrapped around your abdomen.

“Oh my god my poor little (y/n)!” Zoey fussed her eye brimming with tears again. Even Mira seemed to grimace when she saw the bandages.

“We can’t just let her stay here.” Mira stated.

“Why not?” Baby chirped with a smirk. “We can look after her.”

“Ew.” Zoey whispered shielding you from the boy.

“Can we speak about this outside for a moment?” Mira asked Rumi and Zoey, who nodded in reply.

“Be right back sis.” Rumi assured you giving you a gentle kiss on the forehead.

You watched the three girls leave the room before Jinu approached you.

“You feeling better princess?” He asked you brushing some hair from your face. You nodded, smiling softly. “Good but you better realise we’re never letting you out of our sights again.” He told you gently cupping your face with his warm hand.

“Maybe I don’t want to ever be out of your sights again.” You replied leaning into his touch.

“Does that mean we can watch you shower?” Baby asked suddenly making you and Jinu both turn red.

“Baby!” You cried glaring at him, your face still red. The boy smirked at you, amused by your reaction.

“So is that a yes?” The boy pushed, sticking his tongue out at you.

“Baby I swear if you don’t shut up I’m going to break your damn phone!” Jinu hissed covering his red face with one hand.

@ffcfffr @whimsiecat @gremlinartstudio @chugjugg @aerissblog @kitkatpattywack2808 @airwolf92 @fries11 @doggyteam2028 @downbadgirlypoo @kashasenpai @seung185 @faefanatic @izzieg3987 @lansy-4 @weponxwrites @bunniotomia @chaoticfivesworld @clmstorm @sra7riddle-malfoy @vi1326 @justanotherkpopstanlol @jaeyuuns @tikitsune @zzsloth @yumi-does-stuff @ghost-reine @yuurisfavblog @dragongirl642 @just-a-blue-nerd @snowy-violet @justanindiangirl12 @sexually-attracted-to-pans @minthoneynbasil @tatsuri-zomushiki @ellie-x0xo @olxh @satansdaughter123 @reallysparklychaos @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @lostsomewhereinthegarden @avadakadabra93 @szc56 @phoenixflying666 @l0wlifepr1ncess @reverie-sxno @fantasyhopperhea @bakusquadobsessed @adorablepandasuniverse @sad-sie

#abby x reader #jinu x reader #kpdh #kpdh fanfic #mystery x reader #romance x reader #saja boys x reader #baby saja x reader #saja boys #k pop demon hunters

783 notes · View notes

ang3ltddlr · 1 month ago

Text

♡ regression tips ♡

- when i regress voluntarily on my own, i use these methods to help get teeny tiny ! no carer needed !! -

these may be able to help with regression block for some babies :з

1. meditation - closing my eyes or being alone in a quiet safe space and imagining / age dreaming ! sometimes i will speak to myself about things i’m feeling or use affirmations especially if i’ve had a rough day. sometimes this can trigger an upsetty-regression but for me that can be healing and a way for me to process big feelings, you know yourself best and please remember to stay safe and within your comfort zone !!

2. put on nostalgic show compilations - i like to search “(channel) (year) full episodes with commercials” on youtube or google ! of course you can always stream your favorite shows but i love the nostalgia of the adverts and bumpers.

3. take your time - it doesn’t always come immediately, it can be a process sometimes and that’s okay :> don’t rush !

4. if you’re having a babie day, make a daycare schedule - do nap time, snack time, music circle, etc. it can also help to have a pretend daycare teacher, and even if you don’t feel quite small when you start the structure can help to guide you into it :з

5. stay away from social media - it can be distracting and unsafe when you’re trying to get into the little headspace ! for some people it can be helpful to scroll agere insta or tumblr, but i personally do not recommend this as its easy to get caught up doomscrolling !!

6. if you have an iphone use a custom focus - this allows you to make a tiny friendly interface to interact with when you’re trying to get little on all your apple devices. for a tutorial on how to set this up just search “custom focus kids mode iphone tutorial.” if u have any questions setting this up just dm me !! i have this set up on mine :D

7. fake it till u make it - this may feel a bit silly or wrong at first, but just pretending to b teeny can help you actually get into the headspace !

8. as odd as it may sound, listen to a safe agere asmr - for some people this works, for some it doesnt. just make sure the video you find has a sfw tag and is from a trusted creator :>

9. baby einstein - these are sensory video compilations from the early 2000’s. i grew up with them and LOVE them for regression ! they’re so cute and relaxing, they can especially help to regulate when you’re feeling overwhelmed or upset. you can find these on youtube <3

10. set up a playmat on the floor or in a different safe space such as a backyard - a change of scenery / location can work wonders. just make sure you are in a private, comfortable, and safe space !!

thank u for reading !

i hope these tips can help, they help me quite a lot personally <3

#agere #agere community #agere little #non community agere #noncom #noncom agere #noncom little #noncom petre #noncom regressor #sfw littlespace #sfw little blog #sfw babyspace #agere blog #age regression #age regressor

495 notes · View notes

nhmkhnh · 3 months ago

Text

LUXURIOUS.

PAIRINGS: DOM!GRAYSON X SUB!FEM!READER

WARNING(S): lowercase, explicit content (minors & men dni)

TAGS: gentle!grayson ;; sugar mommy!grayson ;; size kink ;; strap-on sex (r.receving) ;; voice kink ;; orgasm control ;; marking kink ;; fingering (r.receiving) ;; office sex ;; after care.

navigation.

1. grayson met you by accident at a council party. you weren’t even supposed to be there—just a low-level assistant running errands. but she noticed you. the way your eyes lit up at the chandeliers. the cheap heels you clearly borrowed. the glass of water you clutched instead of wine. she noticed everything.

2. she offered you her coat that night. not because you asked, but because she saw you rubbing your arms at the tram stop, refusing a ride because you didn’t want to trouble her. that was the moment she decided: you’d never need to feel cold again.

3. her money is quiet—but limitless. new phone? already delivered. rent? she bought your whole building. designer heels you only glanced at through a window? in your size, waiting at your door, with a handwritten note:

“wear these for me tonight, sweetheart. i’ll be home late. —g.”

4. grayson is so fucking soft with you. no one believes it. not the cops. not the council. she speaks with steel, commands zaunites and piltovans alike—but she kneels when she takes off your shoes. she kisses your wrist like you’re porcelain. she calls you “my girl” like it’s sacred.

5. she loves watching you eat. like, borderline obsessed. orders you food she knows you love, watches as you take that first bite, always with a smug-ass smile. sometimes she’ll say things like:

“i work too hard for you not to eat like a queen.”

…as she wipes the corner of your mouth with her thumb.

6. possessive sugar mommy af. you post a picture in a cute dress she didn’t buy? you’ll get a message in 3.2 seconds:

“where’d you get that?” you respond, teasing. “a friend gave it to me.” her next reply? “i’ll be over in 20. take it off.”

7. you’re her weakness. one pout, one sigh, one slightly sad text, and she’s leaving meetings early, gun still holstered at her hip, just to hold you in her arms and tuck your head beneath her chin.

8. she spoils you with intention. not just random stuff—she remembers what you say in passing. that childhood candy you mentioned once? she has it imported. you said your old blanket got lost in a move? she commissions an identical one. grayson is detail-oriented as hell.

9. she hates seeing you work too hard. if you have a job she thinks is beneath you, expect her to show up at your workplace one day, lean against the doorframe in her tailored coat, and go:

“pack up. you’re not working here anymore. i already paid your boss to let you go.”

(you pretend to be mad. you’re not.)

10. sugar mommy in the streets, beast in the sheets. you better believe this woman can throw you over her shoulder like it’s nothing and pin your wrists with one hand. she’ll buy you roses and then wreck you on 1,000-thread-count sheets. always rough and reverent.

11. she’s got a whole drawer of lingerie she bought for you. color-coded. lace. silk. she doesn’t make you wear them—she asks with that low voice of hers:

“put this on for me, baby.”

…and you always do.

12. she sometimes brings you to fancy events on her arm. the looks people give when grayson, in all her power and elegance, walks in with the prettiest little thing holding onto her bicep like a prized gem?? you love it. she loves it more.

13. grayson smells expensive. tobacco, clean leather, sandalwood, and warm wine. you cling to her coats when she’s gone. you steal her undershirts. she doesn’t mind. she tells you to take whatever you want—

“everything i have is yours, sweetheart.”

14. she sends you voice notes. deep, gravelly ones when she’s working late. “i miss you, little thing.” “don’t wait up.” “touch yourself if you need to—i’ll make it up to you when i’m back.” you play them on loop until she’s home again.

15. you’re the only softness she allows herself. she might be sheriff, might lead with fire and steel—but she melts the moment you crawl into her lap, kiss her throat, and whisper “i missed you.”

grayson would set the whole world on fire to keep you warm.

smut bonus.

1. grayson has a size kink.

she’s taller, broader, stronger—and obsessed with the way you look curled up beneath her.

“look at you… so tiny under me.”

she’ll stretch your legs wide with one hand and use her hips to pin you still, murmuring about how you were “made to be taken care of”—as she grinds slow, deep, and possessive into you.

2. she lives for strap-on sex.

leather harness. thigh holster. her favorite one is thick and curved just right, matching the press of her fingers when she edges you open for it.

“relax, baby. i’m not done spoiling you yet.”

she’ll tease you until you’re begging to be filled—and only then will she sink in, all slow and loving like she’s feeding you wine.

3. her voice when she talks you through orgasms? unholy.

gravelly, low, damn near feral when you’re about to come. she’ll growl against your neck, lips hot and teeth grazing:

“that’s it, baby—let go. give it to me. c’mon, that’s my good girl.”

you always come harder when she talks. she knows it.

4. grayson adores marking you.

hickeys. scratch marks. lipstick on your thighs. bruises shaped like her palms.

and when she takes you out in public the next day, she’ll gently fix your collar to just barely hide the bite on your throat—then smirk when you flinch every time her hand brushes your waist.

5. she loves using her fingers.

thick, experienced hands that always know what to do. grayson can finger you with such maddening control—slow, deep curls that keep you hovering on the edge forever.

“what’s the rush, sweetheart? i’ve got all night… and you belong to me.”

if you beg? she might let you come. might.

6. she’s the type to fuck you in her office.

desk pushed back. coat still on. you bent over the polished wood, panties pushed aside, her hand covering your mouth while she rocks into you from behind.

“quiet now, little thing. you don’t want the whole precinct hearing who this pretty cunt belongs to, do you?”

(spoiler: she wants them to hear.)

7. post-sex aftercare is everything.

grayson kisses every spot she marked. draws you a bath. feeds you fruit from her fingers while you sit on her lap, boneless and blissed out.

“you did so well for me, baby.”

she makes sure you know that even when she fucks you like she owns you—she treasures you like gold.

so obssesed with her 😋 please let this woman make her way into my life please.

#grayson x reader #grayson arcane x reader #grayson arcane #arcane #smut

727 notes · View notes

ask-tenna · 3 months ago

Text

((Quick disclaimer; this blog portrays moderate-severe[?] mental illness and substance use.))

((Tag guide and lore recap at the bottom!))

The sensation of your screen,

The show that makes you scream,

(Say it with him, folks!)

MR. (Ant) TENNA’S—

TIME!!!

Here’s some important information about my groovy little blog!

1: No, I will not kiss the mail man. I’m unsure about who I kiss at the moment. Please do not bring up this subject.

2: I have outbursts sometimes, but worry not, dear viewers! I’m a-okay!

3: STOP TRYING TO BITE ME!

4: I will not talk about any jesters or jester related subjects.

5: Some of you have sent snacks, and thank you for the thought, but I don’t have a stomach! Or digestive tract! I’m fully mechanical (and admittedly, a bit more old school—) So just keep your treats for yourself ^)

—

Frequently Asked Questions!

1: “What hours does TV Time air?” The live hours of TV Time are from 7 am to 10 pm CST! In those 8 hours of nothing live, we tend to play re-runs!

2: “How do you see without eyes?”/“What do your antennae do?” I see the world around me through my screen! And my antennae pick up radio waves, so I can see beyond what surrounds me! Live news, reports, intercept classified information, et cetera!

3: “WHO IS MIKE?!” Why, the Mikes are a part of my crew of course! Some of my absolute favorites!

4: “Do you know that none of the Mikes are actually Mike?” Just let me pretend.

5: “What does glooby mean?” The opposite of groovy, of course!

6: “I have a screenshot of you saying [bad or personal thing]” No you don’t.

———

((OOC Time! Hello folks! Hi! It’s me, modtenna, the fella who runs what I hope is at the very least your fifth favorite tumblr blog, here to give tags and lore recaps for those who may have trouble keeping up or can’t read because of certain themes!

((Firstly, tags! Sorry I’m only developing some nearly two months in, I started this blog after not really using tumblr much… ever. So, I was a bit sloppy! Anyhoo, here’s the tag guide!

(( Serialized TV Time — Lore significant! May or may not include heavier topics, but sometimes not!

((Episodic TV Time — What most posts will be! Usually more lighthearted or silly!

((I see you — We do have a little bit of ARG stuff, so that’s what tag you’ll look to if you want to do that! Also check the tags in general, he can get chatty there sometimes! Or sometimes there’ll be clues! It’s of course not essential for the blog’s overall plot, but it will give heads ups for what’s to come as well as insights! The choice of “I see you” is Tenna directly addressing you, as a fictional character talking to what he knows is a real person! @ask-the-chaoschaos is also a part of ARG stuff ^)

((Now for a lore recap! It’ll be pretty simplified, just for the sake of time! Fun fact, this started by accident, as I had no plans for a full storyline when making this blog

(( - Daily quizzes and fun followed by nightly lamenting and loneliness. Ramb @ramb-ling, Pippins 13 @13-unlucky-pippins, and the Mikes @mikescheck become recurring characters here!

(( - Tenna gets bullied by the ghost called Heavenly @maliceanon (a lot) and Heavenly becomes a recurring character!

(( - Tenna has an evil doppelgänger, @evil-ask-tenna. He’s quite fond of him— evil doppelgängers are a fun trope to Tenna!

(( - Drinking problems established around here I think? He goes on almost nightly benders with battery acid. He has to fix all of the wire damage from it himself.

(( - A large spider named Conro @that-spiderguy lurks under the stage and eats shadowguys. Tenna gets the broom and screams at him any time he tries coming back.

(( - Tenna spontaneously agrees to a date with Jevil @ask-the-chaoschaos when asked. It goes great!

(( - Tenna’s magnet (drug) use is established around this time I think. He has a guy, @the-magnet-dealer .

(( - Studio stuff gets more hectic, with more frequent incidents. In this time, Tenna becomes more fond of two particular employees— Button @zapper-powerbutton and Friday @shadowguy-friday. I think at around this time, he also begins to interact more with a different set of Mikes @who-is-mike too.

(( - Jevil visits Tenna in the studio during a break. They chat. It goes great, Tenna thinks! Jevil thinks he messed it up and proceeds to have a breakdown once he returns to his court. Tenna comes by and they have a nice night or something.

(( - Second Tennavil date followed by Jevil suicidal ideation over anxiety. Tenna rushes in afraid. He takes Jevil to the studio and refuses to stop looking at him, because he doesn’t want anything bad to happen. He is afraid. Things start to get better— before Jevil’s court narcs on Tenna’s magnet use (which actively hurts him.) There’s an argument. Things get heated, Tenna makes violent threats, Jevil makes suicidal threats, Tenna realizes he’s being nothing but harmful, and he locks himself in his room.

(( - Tenna is in his room for three days. He’s on magnets and battery acid the whole time, and he’s frustrated that he has outbursts. That he does everything that he does off air. That he ends up hurting people. He tries experimental brain surgery in a desperate drunken effort to be better. Thankfully this doesn’t go too far to cause anything too lasting, but he experiences vivid hallucinations of guilt and feeling that he will never be helpful and never truly improve. He’s damaged and replaced every part of himself at some point. He’s not him anymore. And yet he still is horrible.

((- He comes out of the room to discover that while he was gone, Jevil took @its-just-showbiz a Fell Tenna’s Battat and tortured him, because that fell tenna insulted tenna. In return, Fell Tenna kidnapped Tenna’s Battat @who-is-mike.

((- Tenna challenges Fell Tenna to a fight scheduled for later.

((- Before that he goes to try to calm down a bit. Not having a clue who he can go to, he spontaneously asks Button if he can come by. Friday also happens to be there at around the same time. They have a nice time, have some heartfelt moments, and everything is going just a bit better.

((- The time comes. Tenna fights Fell. Things get bad, and they both end up unable to continue, and sit there in the snow— talking. They both admit to their own homicides which messed them up a bit, as well as motivations for their mutual animosity that goes beyond the Battat kidnappings. Fell agrees to give Battat back.

((- Jevil finds Tenna and calls Button. Button gathers some employees, and they all pick up tenna and any pieces of him left around, and get him back to the studio for repairs. There’s no specialist on site, so they can only do so much. Jevil knows a guy, who Tenna will go to later.

((- Repairs go on longer. Battat is back— and doing alright.? Jevil is tired. Tenna and Jevil have a nice nap together.

((- Tenna goes to the Repairman @ask-the-repairman, and he has beef with Tenna after seeing how Jevil was affected by him. He does the repairs and gives Tenna a stern talking to. There is a typewriter that forces tenna to write a poem on it. It admits to the divorce with spamton and the accidental triple manslaughter to come from it that haunts him. The incident. Repairs finish. Tenna learns that in the time it took, Jevil had taken a few day long nap.

((- Tenna, fully repaired, goes to Jevil’s place and waits for him to awake and come out! He greets him with a hug, accidentally breaks a bottle of wine, and freaks out until he’s cleaned it up. Jevil gives Tenna a horn he ripped from his head, and Tenna is horrified at being gifted a mutilated body part. Jevil says he’ll lock himself up. Tenna is upset. Jevil clarifies it’s because he thinks he’ll only hurt people. Tenna traps him in a prizeball and carries it around. Jevil experiences a panic attack, Tenna experiences a psychotic break, Jevil metamorphoses into the devilsknife and cuts into tenna’s hand, tenna bites the blade without thinking, and when jevil metamorphoses back to normal— his left arm is gone. Tenna shrinks. Jevil has a chance to prevent anything else like this from happening again (killing tenna). He doesn’t. Tenna doesn’t know what to do. He calls the repairman, knowing he’s a friend of jevil’s, and the repairman cauterizes the arm nub. The repairman experiences an identity crisis but nonetheless is helpful as he carries Jevil to the studio, and tenna walks at a distance, afraid of making things worse. When they get there, Jevil falls asleep on the green room couch, and Tenna boards up everything due to paranoia and locks himself in his room for the night.

((- Jevil and Tenna talk the next day. Jevil showers and gets non-blood stained clothes, as tenna frantically tidies up the whole green room. He tries putting on a movie adaptation of the play Jevil enjoys most, Hamlet. They go for a walk together outside to try to ease tensions. They have a conversation that you, as a watcher, cannot see. They come inside, still tense. Tenna gives Jevil a prosthetic robotic arm he tried to make, based off of his own arm (since Tenna’s entirely mechanical). It’s not the best piece of equipment, but it works. Things are still tense.

((- The show goes off hiatus. There’s peace for a few days.

((- Jevil goes to the Repairman for some work done on his arm. They end up kissing, and viewers immediately tell Tenna. He cancels the show for that day to drink. Jevil comes by and panickedly apologizes and promises not to do it again. In his guilt for everything he’d done beforehand, Tenna says it’s fine that Jevil did that, and would rather him be with someone who can actually support him. Tenna is shrunken down quite a bit— he’s in a fragile state. Jevil is panicked. He hugs tight enough to break the plastic and metal of Tenna’s torso. Tenna is damaged and asks for Jevil to leave. Jevil leaves, slamming the door. Tenna feels sick. He rips out his battery and makes the damage worse. He locks the doors, curls up on the floor, and dies.

((His evil doppelgänger @evil-ask-tenna a spamton @bestvalue1997 and the mikes @who-is-mike have broken into the studio came to repair him. Evil Tenna, with some help from the Mikes, was able to get him repaired. He is alive. He wasn’t for a while.

((He sat in mourning of his rest, and sent a letter to Jevil saying hello. The show continued.

((He kept sending daily letters, and moping about. He also at one point talked directly to the blog mods of jevil, the repairman, and a few others. He was very hateful and broke the fourth wall too much, so I put a limit on him and he could not break the fourth wall for a bit, and can now not do it too much too often or he will be silenced

#Serialized TV Time #Episodic TV Time #I see you.#it’s tv time!#tenna #mr ant tenna #mr. tenna #tenna deltarune #ant tenna #mr tenna #deltarune #deltarune chapter 3 #https://contrav #< what?

492 notes · View notes

mullermilkshake · 4 months ago

Text

I’ll look after you, second

Part 4 <- Part 5 -> Part 6

Things are tense, but you come up with a solution.

Yandere!Jinwoo Sung x Fem Hunter!reader Tags - Smut, Car sex, Vaginal Sex, p in v sex, quickie, unprotected sex, creampie, trying for a baby, breeding, possessive thoughts, mentions of infertility, strained pressure in a relationship, Jinwoo just wants a family with you

<<< For more Dark/Yandere content, click this link to go back to the Masterlist! >>>

<<< Or back to this fic's Master list. >>>

EDIT - I have only watched the anime and haven't gotten round to reading the manhwa yet. Please refrain from spoilers.

Jinwoo never got a chance to fuck you before the association dinner, you trudged off towards the bedroom and slammed the door shut for a whole hour before emerging in a dress that took his breath away.

It was evident that you’d been crying and for the first time, Jinwoo was unsure how to approach you.

Besides making his feelings partly known that first night, there’d been too much emphasis from the association that you and he never fully had that chance to explore each other emotionally.

You were well aware of Jinwoo’s thoughts towards you, yet you never acted on them, not unless it was in the bedroom. You cooed all sorts of little sweet nothings into his ear, and only then did you make him think you felt that way. As soon as he came and you were finished, it all stopped.

He craved more than just a facade. More than just a show for the association. He wanted you to want him too. He had already killed for you to ensure you slept next to him at night, that you uttered his name with pleasure and ensured he was the first and last person you saw in the morning and before bed.

So why was everything falling apart and becoming so difficult?

Jinwoo wasn’t sure, he wanted to get to the bottom of it, so he thought of the most logical way and just asked on the drive to the restaurant. “So… I know things have been difficult. I wanted to let you know that I appreciate everything you’re doing.”

“You do?”

“I do. It’s not easy and I can’t imagine how awkward things are for you…” He started soft and respectful for now. “We’re in this together and I want you to know that just because the association wants to turn their backs on us in a month, it doesn’t mean I will.”

You were silent for a while, looking over at Jinwoo in the car every so often from his periphery, he could tell that you were conflicted. Each time you opened your mouth to speak, you stopped yourself until he looked over at you behind a red traffic light.

“I guess we haven’t really had time to find more about each other, huh?” You looked down at your laced fingers nestled neatly on your lap. “I guess this whole thing has thrown me a little.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“It’s just… If I’m less involved with you, Jinwoo, then I won’t get attached. And the pressure of all these negative tests is stressing me out- I want to get to know you better, but Jin-chul said it himself, in a month they’ll split us up, so what’s the point?”

What’s the point? The point is everything, it’s the very essence of this programme, the point is to get to know each other and make a baby. When Jinwoo eventually got you pregnant, because he wouldn’t ever give up, he wanted to be a family. That was his main goal.

He didn’t want some other woman’s child, he wanted yours.

“There’s a point, but that’s probably a contributing factor to why nothing’s happened yet… Y’know, the whole ‘why bother if it isn’t going to work’, I think we need to reevaluate our stance on this.”

“So… this is all my fault?”

“No, no, no, I never said that.” Well, in honesty, it was. But how could he tell you that when you looked so hurt as he pulled up in the darkened parking lot, right by the streetlamp with the busted light. “All I’m saying is that it’s a cycle, and we’re stuck in it, so let’s pull ourselves out of it, okay?”

“So what are you suggesting exactly, Jinwoo?”

He had one idea, and that was to fuck you senseless in the car right now, but he went with the secondary option instead. “Why don’t we go on a real date and see how you feel then?”

When you turned to him, pulling off your seatbelt in the most adorable way, Jinwoo saw the cogs turning. “You want that?”

“I told you how I felt about you, remember? This is more than just an agreement to me, and it can be for you if you let it. But it’s your decision to make.”

Making it sound like your choice made it easier for your brain to comprehend someone else making decisions for you without even realising. Eventually, Jinwoo would coerce you into picking every option he chose, darting around the wrong ones like a river around a rock.

The right choices were the ones involving Jinwoo.

“I don’t-” You didn’t flinch, not at Jinwoo’s touch to brush a hair from your face. “I don’t know what I want.”

“I can show you a few options. If that’s what you want?” Jinwoo’s touch never let up, his thumb traced your bottom lip, his eyes watching you softly under the interior light. “I want you to be comfortable and look forward to being with me, not dreading it.”

You swallowed deeply, biting your bottom lip and contemplating your life choices. “Why do you- how am I good enough to-”

Jinwoo kissed you, it was the only way to show you instead of spilling pointless words for you to deny. Actions spoke louder than words and it was about time you saw that. The kiss was quick and sweet, firm enough to mean business but shallow enough to stop you bolting.

And when you kissed him back, it was a sealed moment in the relationship. Not once outside of the bedroom had you kissed or even spoken about Jinwoo’s feelings about you since the beginning. He hoped once Hae-in fell pregnant, you’d stop with the barrage of guilt for sitting on Jinwoo’s cock in Hae-in's place. She was pregnant now and it was about time you were.

It was probably the reason Jinwoo was caught off guard when you pawed at his suit jacket, becoming more feverish and passionate so quickly, going as far as to turn the interior light off.

“What do you need?” He managed to get in between touches, heated exchanges in the passenger side after you slipped your stilettos off.

“Want you to- I need you to fuck me.” You were already hiking your dress up.

To fuck here, in the parking lot when the resturant was maybe fifty metres away, the association table most probably already collecting with hunters and you wanted to fuck?

Jinwoo was already at half mast just from your kiss and here you were, about to slip your underwear off.

“Leave them on-” Jinwoo launched his driver's seat back as far as it could possibly go and took a hold of your waist, pulling you on top of him as close as he could.

He gripped your hips and weighed you down over his growing erection until you ground on him instinctively. You were beautiful, breasts stuffed into your dress jittering perfectly with each stolen breath to make the car windows steam.

“What’s caused this?” Jinwoo wasn’t sure why he asked, but he did.

“I-I don’t know, I just need you right now.” It was good enough for him, you caused friction over his suit pants that drove him wild.

Jinwoo chuckled, shoving his face against your chest and trying his damndest to keep his composure. He couldn’t ruin you, not right here before the dinner, but he could leave you with a present. He pulled your dress up further, past your waist and admired your body begging for his touch, each kiss was electric, every touch a lit fire under his skin. You were coming round to this idea eventually, the only thing getting in his way of keeping you permanently was a baby.

Before Jinwoo could really settle himself in the moment, you were tugging at his belt, lips locked in a hurried fashion with feverish tongues exploring each other's tastes. You tasted of spearmint toothpaste, gentle, refreshing mint right on his tongue. Jinwoo wondered what he tasted like to you, but that thought quickly flew away when you hurriedly pulled out his hardened cock to sit on.

It happened so quickly, yet earned no complaints from either participant.

Jinwoo pulled your lace underwear to the side, the softness gathering at his fingertips as he moved and and slowly pushed the tip of his cock inside you. You sat down quick enough to make him gasp, bottoming out with an overcharged huff, sexually activated.

Perhaps now you and he were joined as one as a couple could be.

You moved, slowly picking up the pace while Jinwoo held on for dear life, cursing under his breath at the very sight of you initiating something like this. It was more than just sex now, that much he understood. How could you say this was just sex?

So beautiful. He wanted so desperately to make you a mommy, filling you up time after time was his only way to truly get that ownership over your fierce independence you displayed out of the public eye. He couldn’t wait to break it down in exchange for codependency. You might be one of the country’s sweetheart S-Ranks, but Jinwoo knew you to be filthy, riled up and stubborn enough to give him a run for his money. Taming that was his ultimate adrenaline rush.

Jinwoo pushed you down further, watching your breasts bounce, the whole car trembling with the anticipation of an orgasm. His kink took over.

“We’ll finish this tonight, but I’m coming inside you and I want you to keep it in for the entire dinner, can you do that for me?”

You nodded immediately. “Y-yes. Yes.”

“Good girl.”

He pulled you down to kiss, both tongues and saliva joining in desperation which seemed to spur you on further, ass bouncing and cupped in his hands for safe keeping.

“Give it to me- now, I want it now, shit - we’re going to be late-“

“Don’t look at the clock, we have plenty of time, hold on.”

Jinwoo fucked you good. The little driven breaths from your lips drove him insane, fingers clenched around his suit lapels for support, ravenous at everything you did. The way your pussy sucked him in like it was meant for him, made for him. Fate enough that you fit so perfectly in his arms, the accentuation of your waist enough for his hands to sit like a carved art piece. So much perfection.

He loved it.

He loved you.

And he’d love the body you got while it made his baby and especially after that.

A family. He wanted a family with you so desperately. Give that to me, please.

“J-Jinwoo, I’m com- I’m coming- oh fuck!”

He wanted to kiss you so your moan escaped into his mouth, but that would have been a waste. “Let me hear you, don’t keep it in- please don’t keep it in.”

You did as you were told and let it out, the most sensual and romantic gesture you had done for Jinwoo to date. When your hips jerked, you pushed Jinwoo’s back into the seat which made his heart swell three times the size.

Perfect. Just perfect.

“Are you ready for me? Take everything I give you and keep it there-” He pulled you in for one last kiss. “You can’t waste a drop-”

There was something that mulled over in your eyes, like a darkness, but nothing like Jinwoo could produce when he was pissed off. Because you weren’t angry, you weren’t enraged or engulfed with fury. No, you were hungry, ravenous.

“You better fill me up good, or we’ll never make it to that dinner.”

Fuuuck.

Well that just spurred him on and when Jinwoo did come inside you, it was positively the strongest orgasm he ever had in his life, not just with you, but in his entire existence. He held onto you tight like you would disappear in thin air, like you would leave if he didn’t have you in his clutches already.

Jinwoo wanted to forget about the dinner and in fact, he did forget as his toes tried to curl in his shoes, his knuckles seizing up at his iron grip on your hips and digging into the plush skin that would most definitely bruise tomorrow.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. The scene was sublime, the actions and words and everything happened as it should. Never for a second did he ever think you would do something so risky so early. In the grand scheme of things, two months was nothing, and you were bending to him like you needed him as much as he needed you in no time at all.

When it calmed down, you leant over to kiss him, your lips less passionate and more sweet like honey, though your face did not match it. It was like you were troubled over something you didn’t want to share, or thought it wasn’t worth acknowledging because you smiled sleepily right after.

If Jinwoo blinked at that moment, he would have missed it. So, he took a stab in the dark to gain your trust a little better. “Don’t worry, we still have time to do this.”

“I know… I just- I don’t want to have to start over again because they’re impatient. But…”

“What is it?” Jinwoo ran his fingers over your forearm, tickling them into goosebumps.

“What if I can’t- I mean, they never tested to make sure before we started this and I don’t want to be a disappointment.”

You weren’t really thinking that, were you? This was the association's doing, not yours, and Jinwoo would be damned if he let you think that way, just when you and he were making headway.

“Please don’t think that way. It just takes time, don’t compare yourself to Hae-in, she just got lucky, but we still have time. So let’s make the most of it, hm?”

It seemed to settle you. You didn’t get off of him initially and Jinwoo assumed it was to keep his fluids inside a little while longer, but that wasn’t exactly that. You laid down and rested your head on his shoulder for comfort, you even allowed him to stroke your hair in the process.

“Okay… Alright then, let’s do this. We can do it.”

Well this night became a whole lot more interesting than I initially thought.

Originally, Jinwoo fully accepted that you were either going to ignore the issue and therefore ignore him, or it would blow up into an argument. Though you never really had it in for Jinwoo, he was the closest one to air your frustrations about the association. He tried to stay on side for the most part, but then he’d say something that didn’t align with your frustration and he’d get both barrels. While he never took it personally, it was getting kind of boring.

So when you and he straightened yourselves up, left the car with you full of his semen and holding hands like a real couple towards the restaurant, Jinwoo had high hopes of succeeding his untouched year long quest.

All he was waiting for now, were those two little lines on a pregnancy test and the first step of keeping you was complete.

One hell of a bumpy ride, but his suspension still seemed intact.

Part 4 <- Part 5 -> Part 6

If you would like to be tagged, please let me know! Thanks so much for all the support on this likes, reblog and comments appreciated! ❤️

Tag list - @bubera974, @snowy-violet, @sky2lar, @starrynights23x, @minh907

@yessirr7, @aussie-boys-wife, @yihona-san06, @mashiromochi, @daiyanomochi

@justatimidcreator, @alia-17, @otomegamesforlife @m00n-estelle, @towomatos,

@stormnightingale, @johnnysactualgf, @johnnysactualgf, @solarisstarrsolomonsbeloved, @notleclerc,

@minkuro, @misakicchi, @lovingyeet, @soft-dots, @gina239,

@sabrina-senpai, @tsukimoon-chan

DISCLAIMER - Crossposted from my AO3 - I do not own any of the characters or anything from the anime or manhwa. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).

Also please don’t post any of my work without permission thank you!

544 notes · View notes

nanpecan · 1 year ago

Text

₊✩‧₊˚once more to see you˚₊✩‧₊

{nanami x f!reader}

˚₊✩‧₊summary: You're a manager at Jujutsu Kaisen and happen to get assigned to driving a rank 1 sorcerer you've had a crush on for a while. Everything seems to be going as normal until an interaction with a curse leaves him a little hot and bothered.

˚₊✩‧₊tags: nanami x fem!reader, explicit smut (mdni) !!

˚₊✩‧₊ word count: 5.6k

˚₊✩‧₊author's note: this has been in my head for so long and I guess its part one to a longer story but who knows if I'll ever get around to writing it, yet alone posting it. anyways first time, kinda nervous; this is super self indulgent and i'm not even sorry about it.

˚₊✩‧₊this is also kind of inspired by this Mitski song, hence the title. I love this song, I think it's very Nanami coded<3

˚₊✩‧₊all parts here! pt 2. pt 3. pt 4. pt 5. pt 6.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

An obsession.

That’s what it was.

A rush of emotion when you caught even the smallest glance of him.

Always in a hurry.

Always somewhere to be.

Never paying any mind to you.

This lifestyle was a rushed one and you hardly ever found time for yourself, but your mind always seemed to have a second to wonder about him.

Was he safe? Was he injured?

You had heard about him through others.

You had really only seen him in action from a distance, once, and very briefly. But that had been enough to develop this stupid crush.

You were a busy body, nothing but a cushion to the real missions of importance.

You had come to accept that you would never really matter past making it from point A to point B, with whatever message you had to deliver, or whoever you had to transport for the day.

You were secretly content with the position. You had started because you wanted to make a difference.

But you knew you were a coward.

You had the spirit but lacked the physical strength to back it. And that made you afraid.

“Nanami Kento.”

Your hand stopped mid air as you reached for your phone.

“I’m sorry?” You must have misheard.

“You owe me one.” Akari said with a smirk. The head manager had been one of your closest friends since you had begun working as an assistant. You had similar pasts and were around the same age, so you had instantly clicked. She was very much aware of your infatuation even if you hadn’t directly expressed it. She could see right through you every time you tried to feign indifference whenever the topic of Nanami was brought up.

“Nanami needs transportation to his next mission. He usually goes on his own, but the client insisted he gets driven to this location specifically.” There was something suspicious about that last statement, but you dismissed it as she kept talking. “Ijichi is busy dealing with something so it was passed down to me.” She smiled again and shrugged. “But I have some very important business to take care of so I’m passing it on to someone I trust is more than qualified to drive a sorcerer of his class.” She winked at you. “Don’t worry about the briefing he’s been sent all the information. All you have to do is drive him there and back.”

You looked down at your phone and tried to act nonchalant. Until you saw the details. “Today?”

She nodded. “Sorry for the last minute switch up, I figured you’d get in your own head if you had too much time to think about it. Make a good first impression. I’m rooting for you!” She gave you two thumbs up and laughed.

You tapped your finger against the wheel nervously. You had never been more nervous to drive. It’s okay, you thought to yourself, nothing is going to happen, I doubt he’ll even speak to me. He’s not much of a talker, and besides, he always carries around a newspaper or a book. He won’t be paying attention to me. Just focus on-

You flinched as you heard the passenger door open. You had expected him to sit behind you.

You felt your stomach drop as Nanami was suddenly next to you. It was almost overwhelming, his size, his smell, his warmth.

You stared ahead awkwardly and felt his gaze on you. You turned to look at him trying not to seem too flustered.

“Ah, good afternoon.” You smiled warmly at him. “Um, I’m y/n.” You said.

He nodded and didn’t say anything back.

“Right, it should take us around 36 minutes to get to your location.”

He nodded again, his glasses turning to his watch. He suddenly looked up and stared ahead, as to signal that he was ready to head out.

This was so awkward. It was kind of making it easier to be around him. You didn’t know what else you expected. You’d actually preferred the silence rather than trying to carry a conversation with him. At least that’s what you were telling yourself.

“Feel free to mess with the radio. I don’t have any preferences.”

“I prefer to sit in silence before missions.” His voice sent a chill up your spine. Wait a minute, in silence? Weird. You thought to yourself. “Is that okay?”

“Yes, that’s fine too.” Really weird. Most sorcerers would listen to something to amp them up before a mission. For Kusabe that was smooth Jazz, Yuki would put on 80’s Japanese Rock Classics, Ino would put on Ska and you couldn’t help but laugh the first time he requested it. You smirked at the memory and felt his eyes on you again. You dropped the smile and clenched your jaw. “Alright, we’ll be off then.” He hadn’t stopped staring. You quickly turned to look at him and smiled warmly. He turned away, seeming flustered. You quickly made a note of his reaction and you felt your stomach flutter a bit. You let your eyes linger on him for a bit longer, as he tugged at an invisible string on his suit, before turning away and driving off.

You arrived at your location and looked up at the old building. You bit your lip to hold back a laugh. The crooked neon sign over the door was no longer lit up but you could still read out what it said, ‘Paradise X Massage.’ You curiously looked over to see Nanami’s reaction. As usual, he was stoic.

He has to know what that means, right? You went around the car to stand next to him and the moment you took a step closer you felt the aura of the building. A shiver went up your spine and your stomach felt tingly. You couldn’t help but smile. A curse born from a place of sex was bound to have this kind of aura.

Things started to click. Of course Nanami was the best sorcerer for the job. He would take this very seriously. You doubted he ever let his emotions get ahead of him. You thought back to a story Ijichi had told you a long time ago about a group of male sorcerers that had been sent to exorcise a type of Kejoro, only for them to return unsuccessful, unable to carry out the mission, as well as being hot and bothered for a week.

You felt Nanami’s eyes on you again. You looked at him before turning back at the sign and scrunching your face. “Nanami, I wouldn’t have taken you for this type of man, but don’t worry I won’t tell.” You winked at him and cringed at your stupid joke. You didn’t know him like that. He probably thought you were insane.

“Thank you, I try not to make it a habit.” He said back with a small smile.

You looked at him a little surprised and laughed.

“There you are, hello!” A sweaty man with beady eyes came your way and beelined to Nanami. “My name is Gonji, I was the one who sent for you.” He glanced at your direction before turning his back to you to speak with Nanami. You blinked and grimaced. “I bought this location five months ago, I should have known there was something wrong for the price I paid, but hey! That’s business! I’m planning on fixing her up and turning it into a real refined establishment if you know what I mean. I already have the clientele, and the girls but this damn thing keeps scaring the girls away and-“ he whispered the next words. “-killed three of my guys. But hey, that’s business!” He laughed nervously. He was talking a mile a minute, becoming more and more sweaty. The air had to be getting to him. “Anyway I’ve already called a bunch of weirdos to go in there and kill the damn thing but they were all useless. Scammers all of them.” He spat at the ground. “Hey if ya help me out, I’m sure we can work out some sort of discount for you once we’re up and running. What do you say, your choice of girl-“

“Has it taken any hostages?” Nanami cut him off.

“No it only scares off the girls, but lets them out. The men on the other hand…If they do manage to make it out they act like wild animals. I have to keep them away from my girls.” He laughed and then erupted into a coughing fit. “That’s why I recommend you bring a driver. Even if you do kill this thing, the tent in your pants won’t let you focus on anything else for another two hours.” He cackled and elbowed Nanami in a playful manner. Nanami’s jaw clenched and he stared down at the man. Gonji didn’t seem to notice. He finally turned towards you. “Well at least you brought yourself a cute mouse to play with if it gets to be too much.” You couldn’t hide the look of disgust on your face when he finally looked at you. “Hey there little lady, a smile might help.” He rolled his eyes and turned back to Nanami. “Women these days. Can’t take a joke.” He tried elbowing Nanami again and was stopped by Nanami’s large hand grabbing his forearm.

“We’ll get started. Did you want to go inside with me?” Nanami asked the man.

Gonji pulled his arm out of Nanami’s grasp and swore at him under his breath. “No, I’m taking off. I have places to go, people to see, although I’d pay god knows what to see that bitch’s blood spilled on the floor.” He looked around and picked up a rock before weakly throwing it at the sign. He missed, it didn’t even hit the wall. He messed with his jacket, embarrassed. “I’ll be leaving now. I’ll send the payment tomorrow when I come and see the place again.” He waddled off.

“What a fucking dickhead.” You said. “We shouldn’t even exorcise this curse. He shouldn’t be allowed to run a place like that. I’m willing to bet-“

“Will you put up the barrier?” You turned back to Nanami and nodded before muttering the incantation. Nanami awkwardly placed a hand on your shoulder. “I’m sorry you had to hear that.” He turned towards the barrier. “For the record I agree. Scum like him are a scourge to society and should be dealt with accordingly. For now let’s bring this curse some peace.”

“Let’s.” You said in agreement. You watched him disappear into the veil.

You leaned back against the car and checked the time on your watch. He had been gone for 20 minutes now. You sighed. Was it an insult to worry about him? He was one of the best - in your heavily biased opinion.

You heard your phone ding from inside the car as you received a message and you quickly went around to check it.

-So when’s the wedding?

Akari was checking in on you.

-answer me this, what does it mean when someone doesn’t want to listen to any music on a 30 minute drive.

-No music? Like at all? -none. -weird.

-that’s what I was thinking! he must be fighting demons in his head. -or he just wanted to savor every minute with you<3 -shut up. -how’s it going anyway? -don’t you have “important” business to take care of? -:p boooo -it’s fine, it’s some sort of sex cu-

You jumped as the back passenger door to your right was suddenly being opened. You felt the car shake as Nanami collapsed into the seats.

“Shit, Nanami? Are you okay.” You should have been out there to greet him. You exited out of the car and dropped the veil. The building was a pile of rubble. You made your way around the car and yanked open the door.

You felt blood rush to your face and your jaw dropped as you looked at what lay in front of you.

Nanami had taken off his suit jacket, and was no longer wearing his glasses. He was suddenly desperately undoing his tie and fumbling with the buttons on his shirt, all the while breathing heavily. He turned away from you as you looked in.

“What’s wrong, are you injured? How can I help?” Your face felt hot as you watched him struggle with his clothes. You hesitated to move forward, unsure what to do.

He moved around a bit more, still struggling with his shirt, and you got a better look at him. His face was flush red and there was a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead. He was panting, basically gasping for air. You stared at him feeling a burning in your chest as your heart beat in your ears.

You snapped out of your trance, this was not the time. He might be hurt. He had backed up enough to be leaning on the opposite car door so you moved forward and let the door shut behind you. “Let me help you with that.” You said softly, moving your hands closer to help him with the buttons. “Are you hurt?” You asked as he let out a soft grunt. “Let me take a look.” His hands fell to his side and you noticed he was gripping the seats. He winced away from your touch, hissing as your knee touched his thigh.

You froze. Your hands still on his shirt. He shuddered away from you but you felt him move his thigh forward, slightly, to touch your knee again. He let out a deep exhale and a muffled grunt. He repeated the movement again and again. You stayed there staring at him, face burning as you realized he was basically humping you. His breaths got faster and you felt the ghost of his hand on your back slowly pulling you closer. His inner thigh was now pushing into your knee repeatedly and you felt him slightly buckle his hips as his hand finally landed on your neck and pulled you forward. Your hands, still on his shirt buttons, pushed lightly against his chest and your head fell into the space above his shoulder, cheeks now next to each other. He pushed hard against your knee one more time and then you heard him moan deeply into your ear.

“Fuck.” You heard him mutter. His voice was full of frustration. “Fuck.” He said again.

You slowly pulled back, looking at him, completely in shock. He wasn’t meeting your gaze. He just kept muttering “fuck” and “sorry” under his breath.

You looked down and once again felt blood rush to your face as you realized what had happened.

Since his body was leaned back against the door, you had crawled closer to him and were now on your knees between his legs. You guessed at some point he had managed to undo his belt, the button to his trousers, and pulled down the zipper because you were staring at his erection through the fabric of his underwear. It was soaked.

You quickly pulled back away from him, somewhat losing your balance and placing your hands back down to steady yourself. Nanami lurched up as you placed your hands on his thighs and you watched as he came again. This time seeing the white liquid bleed through the fabric and drip down.

“I- I am so sorry.” You said quickly and started to back away. You needed to leave him alone. One of his hands grabbed onto your arm keeping you in place. You looked at him confused.

“No, stop,” he said, panting. “I’m sorry,” he said, finally looking into your eyes. “I’m sorry. Fuck, I apologize. This is bad. I can't control-“ he squeezed your arm a little as his eyes shut and his brows knit together. “I need...” he looked into your eyes and slowly moved closer to you. His face was inches away and you felt the warmth radiating off of him. He looked directly at you now and seemed to be looking for some sort of sign. His eyes were beautiful. You realized this was the first time you had seen them. “Please…” You continued to stare at him, in shock. He wriggled beneath you and let out a soft moan. “I need you.”

You understood.

You quickly moved closer to him, crashing your lips into his. He moaned into your mouth and desperately pressed his lips to yours. You pushed your tongue through his closed lips and he slightly opened his mouth meeting you with his own tongue. You let him slither his in yours before closing your mouth and tugging at his lips slightly. When you finally pulled back you were both panting heavily, a string of saliva connecting you. You looked down and saw he had come again.

“Y/N, please,” he took your hand and pulled it towards him. “I want…” you looked at him and smirked. Your eyes wandered down as he groaned again.

“What do you want?” You said mischievously. You looked back up.

“Please.” You had intended to tease him, but he looked so distraught and frazzled, you felt it would be too mean spirited. You nodded and let his hand guide you to his pants. You laid your hand down gently over him and felt him twitch underneath you. He groaned and you felt your face burn up again. This was happening.

“I’ll-I’ll help you out, don’t worry.” You said nervously. You pressed down and his hips jutted into your hand. Your chest felt fluttery as your eyes were glued down to your hand and his member twitching beneath it. You smiled a little and clenched your thighs together. Focus. You were all talk. You tried to hide your nerves as you slowly wrapped your fingers around his clothed cock. He tried to suppress a moan as he shuddered underneath you. You watched the discoloration in his underwear spread as more fluid leaked out. “Wow.”

He suddenly pulled your face closer to him and kissed you. He was desperate for contact, moaning into your mouth as he used his free hand to pull down the band of his underwear and you gasped as you felt his hot skin in your hand.

You opened your eyes to try to sneak a peek but his right hand was buried in your hair, keeping you in place to make out with him. You kept your fingers together and wrapped around him as he thrust his hips forward, sliding between your curled fingers easily. He tugged at your bottom lip with his teeth as you felt him wrap a hand around yours, guiding you to stroke him. His breath shuddered at the feeling and he pulled you closer again. You moved your free hand to steady yourself as you leaned over him.

He looked up at you and you saw fire burning in his eyes. He suddenly moved your hand away from his dick and placed his hands on your hips lifting you slightly so he could readjust himself under you. You were straddling him. He watched you carefully as he gently rocked his hips up between your legs and moved his hands up to go under your shirt. He waited patiently for your approval. You nodded and his hands slithered up your shirt to cup your breasts. You gasped as he roughly kneaded you and you started to undo the buttons on your shirt. Nanami decided you weren’t fast enough and ripped the shirt off of you. You didn’t have time to process past the sound of fabric ripping because he sat up and kissed you again.

His hands moved impatiently all over your body as he pulled you closer. He was rough, but not in an aggressive way, he was impatient. You suddenly felt his fingers work their way into the waistband of your pants and you moved your hands to stop him. He looked up at you and stopped moving. He stared silently, still breathing heavily. “Would you like me… to stop?” He asked.

You looked down at him and took a moment to assess the situation. Nanami was half naked laying under you. His shirt was now off revealing his toned chest and abdomen. You finally looked down and saw his dick. Wide and long, the bright red tip was leaning right and radiating heat. Your mouth watered. And you lightly moved your hips forward to feel it push against your core.

“Is there a problem?” He asked.

You hesitated to answer him. How embarrassing, you thought to yourself, this is probably going to hurt. Would he stop if you told him you were a virgin? Maybe it would be for the best. You could feel yourself soaking through your underwear, but would that be enough? He was big. You looked back up at him and opened your mouth to speak. You met his eyes and you blushed. His hair was tousled, skin pink and flush and of course he was breathing deeply. You noticed something on the side of his neck. A cut. It was a puncture wound, no bigger than your pinky nail, but it looked deep.

“You’re injured.” You put your hand up to it and carefully examined it. It was emoting cursed energy and everything clicked. He might have defeated the curse in the building but she had gotten a good lick in. You put your hand over it to heal him.

You weren’t good at much, but your ability to use a tiny amount of RCT had been your saving grace. Not that you were very good at it. You could really only handle superficial wounds like this one.

Suddenly his hand grabbed your wrist and pulled it away. “Later,” he said. You stared at him confused. “I want to finish you first.” His hips thrust upwards against your pants and you couldn’t help but smile. You nodded and brought your hands down to undo the button to your pants. Nanami hissed under you as you shifted your weight around trying to pull your pants down. You were able to get one leg out and began pulling them down the other when he grabbed you quickly and settled you on top of him again. He looked up at you and you watched his eyes move down to take in your body. “Are you ready?”

You looked back at him nervously. “I-you’re so big.” You were too embarrassed to tell him it was your first time. He sat up and was suddenly inches from your face.

He smiled coyly and nodded. “It’s okay, I can help you.” You felt one of his hands grip your waist and the other moved down to rub your clit. Your breath shuddered and you automatically buckled your hips against his hand. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders for support. He smiled wider, amused. His fingers moved lower and he slid them between your folds to collect your arousal. You were breathing heavily, your face buried into his chest. You felt him slip a finger inside of you, slowly, you felt him push up against you as far as he could go before there was a slight pop.

A moan escaped your lips as he pushed his finger deeper. “Fuck,” he muttered. “You’re so tight.” You felt him drag his finger out, “I’m adding another one, okay?” You nodded lost in bliss. You bit your lip as you felt his fingers stretch you out again, this time sliding in a bit easier. His hands were large and his fingers long, but you knew this was easy to take compared to the real thing. Your ability to think was damped as he sped up his thrusts and his other hand slid down to rub your clit again with his thumb. You gasped and felt yourself clench onto him. You moved your hips forward desperate to feel friction. You were panting wildly and felt yourself getting close. You moved your arm down and wrapped a hand around his cock. Roughly stroking it, to repay the favor.

“Wait-I’m close, I-I want you inside of me.” You whispered into his ear. You could feel his heartbeat quicken as his lips crashed down on yours again.

“Whatever you want.” He said. He removed his fingers and you winced at the new empty feeling. Still rubbing your clit with one hand, he moved his now free hand to stop your strokes and guided himself between your legs. He thrust slowly against your folds running his cock between your thighs and your mound and you buckled your hips against him.

You smiled happily. Even if you couldn’t take him, you’re sure you could come from just this. He suddenly stopped and pulled back, you looked down at his cock now gleaming, covered in your fluids. He lay back against the seat and put his hands on your hips. “Now it’s up to you,” he lifted your hips and positioned you so your cunt was hovering over him. “Take your time, if you don’t think you can do it, let me know.” You felt embarrassment rush through you. Did he know?

“Thank you.” You said meekly.

“I’m not trying to embarrass you,” he said softly. His hand came up and caressed your cheek. “I just don’t want to hurt you.” The kindness in his eyes made your heart flutter. You nodded with new determination. You placed a hand on his chest to balance yourself as you reached down with your other one to position him in place. You thrust your hips against his tip and pushed it into your folds, watching as his jaw clenched from the feeling. You found your opening and slowly lowered yourself to allow him inside. You winced as the tip entered you and you pushed down as far as you could go. You looked down in disappointment as you realized he wasn’t even half way in. You moved your hips back and forth just on his tip and he moved his hands onto your hips digging his fingers into you. He hissed and closed his eyes from the feeling.

“Sorry.” You apologized.

He opened his eyes and furrowed his brows. “Don’t apologize. If that’s all you can do, I’ll take it.” He slowly thrust his hips and you moaned. You wished you could take him further. You bit your lip, you could do it. You reached down to lead his cock further into you and you braced yourself as you pushed him in deeper. You whimpered as you felt him stretch you out and after a little resistance he slid right in with a plop. He pulled you closer and bucked his hips slightly as he felt you wrapped around him. Pulsing from the new feeling. You winced as he moved. He was so big. You looked up at him and his face was pure bliss. His mouth was slightly open and his eyes closed, brows furrowed. “Shit,” he muttered. “You’re so tight around me.” He looked up at you. “Is this your first-“ you cut him off with a kiss. You winced at the sensation of him inside of you but suddenly moaned as he pushed up and you felt him reach a spot deep inside of you. You gasped as he thrust and hit it again.

“There, right there, please.” You said desperately. He smiled and began thrusting his hips upwards satisfied every time he saw your face scrunch when he hit that spot. His hands moved back to your ass and he spread your cheeks out allowing himself to go just a little bit deeper. You let out a yelp as he now directly hit that spot inside of you.

“Good girl, you’re taking me so well”. He said. You smiled lazily and kissed him. He slowed his pace a bit as he moved his hand down to rub your clit again. He had seen how much you had liked it and wanted you to finish soon. The feeling of you clamping down on him was going to make him cum soon, too. You let out a heavenly moan as he started to rub you.

Your hips moved down on their own as you rode him. “Nanami! Fuck!” You whined as you bounced over him. You pulled him closer to you to make out and he began to move his hips in opposition to yours. You gasped as you felt him reach deep inside of you, and you wanted more, you felt your climax building up as you desperately pushed against him. Wanting to keep him deeper. He understood and thrust sharply and rubbed your clit harder. Loud moans of his name and ungodly noises left your lips as you felt it all become too much and you suddenly felt your whole body shake vigorously as you came. You felt tears come to your eyes.

You had never felt this good, you felt radiant, like a blinding fire took your body and left you refreshed. You shook over him a couple of times, enjoying the feeling of your cunt pulsing on him. He had stopped moving, still buried deep inside of you so you could ride out your high. Your eyes fluttered as you looked up at him and you smiled, happier than you’d ever been. He planted a kiss on your lips.

“You’re beautiful.” He said. You felt heat weld up in your stomach, he wiped your tears away softly.

You looked down at him and furrowed your brows. “You didn’t come.” You lifted your hips slightly and winced. “Keep going.” You blushed as you saw the white ring that had formed at the base of his cock. The opening of his pants was also covered in your slick.

He nodded and put a hand over your waist, quickly flipping you over and laying you down across the back seats. You were now under him and watched as he backed up, pulling his pants further down. You watched him through the V frame of your legs. Your cunt was sore and you felt like you looked a mess but when he looked back up at you, all your insecurities vanished. He took the sight of you in and you saw his dick twitch with anticipation. He came closer and while you expected him to just go in you gasped as his face went between your thighs and his lips latched onto your clit. You let out a moan. It was too much, you were still so sensitive. You grabbed his head and ran your fingers through his blonde locks. He looked up at you as he ran a stiff tongue against your folds and you shuddered. He smirked and went to town.

He threw your legs over his shoulders and devoured you. Your toes curled and you had to stop yourself from closing your thighs, afraid to crush him. You suddenly felt his fingers curl deep inside you as his tongue played with your bud and you yelled out, your climax hitting again. You held his head against you as you rode out your high; thrusting your hips forward, and rubbing your cunt over his entire face, his nose in particular hitting your clit and making you shudder. You let your head fall back and looked up at him. He smiled at you before backing up and lining himself up to your entrance. “Are you still okay?”

You nodded, exhausted but ready for more. This had to be a dream. “Whatever you want.” You repeated back to him with a smile.

“Good girl.” He pushed himself easily into you and you watched his face form a scowl as he went past your tightest part. You clenched down on him and he opened an eye and smirked at you. “Tell me if it gets to be too much.” You couldn’t even answer him before he was thrusting into you quickly, his hands on your hips holding you down and pulling you against him. He was desperate to fuck you. His hips bucked wildly against you, going in and out at a sickening pace. You could only stare at him in bliss, your mouth open and deep moans escaping everytime he moved. He grunted and pulled you closer, feeling himself coming to his limit. “You’re so good. You’re taking me so well, Princess. Fuck.” He muttered.

“Nanami-” you moaned his name as you felt another high wash over you. You yelped and shut your eyes, arching your back with a cry. You wrapped your legs around him, locking him in place as you felt him growing more desperate with each thrust. You hummed as you noticed him looking at you, once again looking like he was looking for a sign. You smiled, exhausted and nodded. That’s all he needed.

He grunted again and thrust his hips into you one last time, roughly, as he came. You felt him shooting hot ropes of cum inside of you and you brought his head down to kiss him. He smiled against your lips. You felt his cock pulsing inside of you and your eyes closed sleepily.

“Thank you, y/n.”

You nodded as you felt exhaustion come over you. “You can go again if you want.” You said barely keeping your eyes open.

“What?”

“You made me come three times just now. I think I owe you two more rounds.” He smiled and shook his head.

“Rest, I’ll clean you up.” You furrowed your brows and frowned. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes, but,” your eyes closed again. “It’s not fair. Go again, I don’t mind. I’ve been dreaming about this for so long I-“ you fell asleep.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

pt. 2 pt 3. pt 4. pt 5. pt. 6

˚₊✩‧₊nana here: if you made it this far bless you. if you saw a typo...no you didn't. idk if i'll ever post pt 2...i guess it depends on how this does or if a certain someone somehow convinces me to post the next part—shout out to cath my biggest supporter<3

1K notes · View notes

mcrdvcks · 10 months ago

Text

i love you, in every time ࿐‧₊ 1973 - we meet again my dear...

chapter summary: After leaving Team X behind, Logan finds himself back in New York City working as a bodyguard for various people. Until he finds himself acting as a bodyguard for you, a mobster's daughter.

word count: 18.3k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: i'm a sucker for the bodyguard trope (and also just dofp logan in general, that man makes me go feral), so you know i had to do it when given the chance! i had so much fun writing this version of reader, especially because this is the closest to 'modern' times that we've gotten and i didn't have to do a ton of research about this year. the tags might give away a little bit of the plot, but i promise it's gonna be a fun ride ;)

warnings/tags: fluff, angst, 70s!logan, mafia/mob, implied age gap, flirting, smut, thigh riding, unprotected piv, creampie, arranged marriage

series masterlist - chapter 4 → chapter 6

He left Stryker, Victor, and Team X behind, settling in New York City as a bodyguard, hired by various people: politicians, the mafia, anyone.

Logan was now getting his fifth job, protecting a mobster’s young daughter.

He was used to jobs like this by now, but something about this one felt... different. As he walked through the large estate, the details blurred around him. His focus was on the job—until the moment he saw you.

You were standing by the window, the sunlight filtering through the curtains, casting a soft glow over your face. There was something familiar about the way you held yourself, the way your hair fell over your shoulders. For a second, it felt like the air was sucked out of the room.

Logan’s chest tightened.

It was you.

Same face. Same presence. Same pull that had haunted him for over a century.

But you were different, too. This time, you weren’t a schoolteacher, a nurse, or a coal miner’s wife. You were his new job.

You turned, eyes meeting his, and for a brief moment, it felt like you recognized him too. That sense of familiarity flickered across your face before you smiled—polite, but distant.

“Y/N, this is Logan,” the mobster—your father—introduced. “He’ll be your new bodyguard.”

Your father’s voice faded into the background as Logan’s gaze remained locked on you. You gave a small nod, extending your hand. “Nice to meet you, Logan.”

Logan stared at your hand for a beat too long before taking it. That brief contact sent a shock through him, an old memory he couldn’t quite shake.

“Likewise,” he muttered, his voice rougher than he intended.

Your father clapped Logan on the back. “I expect you’ll keep her safe. There’s been some... tension with a rival family.”

Logan only nodded, but his attention stayed on you. You were right in front of him, alive. But you didn’t know him. Like always.

After your father left the room, you leaned against the window frame, crossing your arms. “So, how long have you been doing this?” you asked, your tone casual.

Logan leaned against the wall, watching you closely. “Long enough.”

You raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth. “That’s vague.”

He didn’t respond, and for a moment, silence settled between you two. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but there was something unsaid hanging in the air.

“What about you?” Logan asked, more to fill the space than out of curiosity. “How do you feel about having a bodyguard?”

You shrugged. “I’ve had worse.”

That earned a faint, almost imperceptible smile from Logan, but he quickly covered it with a grunt. “Glad to hear it.”

A pause. Then you looked at him, your eyes narrowing slightly, like you were trying to figure him out. “You seem... familiar.”

Logan stiffened. “Don’t think we’ve met before.��

You tilted your head, studying him. “No, but... I don’t know. Something about you.”

Logan’s heart pounded in his chest, but he kept his expression neutral. He couldn’t tell you. Not about the past lives, not about how many times he had watched you die.

You shrugged it off, smiling again. “Maybe I’m just imagining things.”

“Maybe,” Logan muttered, not meeting your eyes this time.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of introductions, schedules, and instructions from your father. Logan followed at a distance, keeping an eye on you, but his mind was elsewhere.

That night, Logan sat on the balcony just outside your room, staring out at the city lights. His thoughts raced, the weight of the engagement ring in his pocket feeling heavier than usual.

You were alive. Again.

But for how long this time?

---

You plopped onto your bed, the wire from your rotary phone stretching with you, “he is good looking though.”

You could practically hear Jennifer’s grin through the phone, “oh, yeah? Man, all your bodyguards are good looking. It’s not fair!”

You laughed, twirling the phone cord between your fingers. "He’s… different though. I can’t quite put my finger on it. He’s quiet, but not in the usual 'I’m-paid-to-watch-you' way."

"Is he mysterious?" Jennifer teased, her voice light. "Maybe he’s got some dark, brooding backstory. Mob families always hire guys like that—‘strong and silent.’"

You snorted. "Maybe. But he’s not like the others." You hesitated, leaning back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling. “There’s something familiar about him… like I’ve met him before.”

Jennifer paused on the other end of the line, then her voice softened. "You think he’s one of your dad’s guys from back in the day?"

You shook your head, even though she couldn’t see it. "No, it’s not that. It’s… weird, Jen. Like I know him, but I don’t. It’s been bugging me since I met him."

"Maybe it’s fate," she joked, but her tone had a hint of seriousness. "You’ve been going through bodyguards like they’re tissues. Maybe this one’s here to stick around."

You rolled your eyes but smiled. "Fate? You’ve been reading too many romance novels."

"Hey, a girl can dream!" Jennifer laughed. "But seriously, if you feel something, maybe it’s worth looking into. He’s hot, right?"

You smiled at that, though your thoughts wandered back to Logan. The way his eyes lingered on you, like he was seeing something no one else could. "Yeah," you admitted softly. "He’s definitely that. He’s probably as old as my dad or somethin’. But man, Jen, if you saw him you’d lose your mind.”

You twirled the phone cord around your finger, still smiling to yourself, but your thoughts kept circling back to Logan. Something about the way he looked at you—like he knew more than he was saying—stuck with you. It wasn’t creepy or overprotective. It was... familiar. Comforting, even.

Jennifer’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. “Hey, don’t overthink it, okay? Enjoy the view for once. Not everyone gets a hot bodyguard with a mysterious vibe. Maybe he’s the silver lining to your dad’s whole ‘paranoia’ problem.”

You laughed quietly. “Yeah, maybe.”

You hung up not long after, still feeling the weight of that odd, lingering sense of déjà vu.

---

The next morning, Logan was waiting for you downstairs. Dressed in his usual dark clothes, he stood near the front door with his hands in his pockets, posture relaxed but alert. His eyes flicked toward you the second you entered the room.

There it was again—that heavy gaze that made it feel like he could see right through you.

“Mornin’,” you said, offering a small smile.

“Mornin’,” Logan replied, his voice gravelly.

Your father wasn’t home—out dealing with ‘business’—which gave you a rare moment to yourself. Well, mostly. You slipped on your leather jacket and glanced at Logan, your lips quirking up in a teasing grin. “What’s the plan, bodyguard? Gonna follow me around all day?”

Logan grunted, something close to amusement flashing in his eyes. “That’s the job.”

“You always this chatty?”

“Only when I meet interesting people.” His tone was dry, but there was the faintest flicker of a smile beneath it.

You snorted, heading for the door. “C’mon, hope you like running errands.”

Logan followed without complaint, falling into step beside you as you made your way to the car. The streets were quieter than usual, but the tension between rival families was palpable—something was brewing, and everyone knew it.

Still, Logan’s presence made you feel... safer. Like nothing bad could happen as long as he was there. It was strange. You barely knew him, but being around him felt easy. Natural. Like you’d known him for a lot longer than a day.

---

When you said you were going to run ‘errands,’ Logan hadn’t expected you to walk straight into an animal shelter. He followed you through the entrance, nodding politely at the woman at the front desk as you greeted her like an old friend.

“Morning, Lorraine!” you said with a bright smile.

Lorraine, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes, smiled back. “There’s my favorite troublemaker. The pups will be glad to see you.” She cast a curious glance at Logan. “And who’s this?”

“My latest babysitter,” you said with a smirk, glancing at Logan. “Logan, meet Lorraine. Lorraine, Logan.”

Logan gave a curt nod. “Ma’am.”

Lorraine chuckled. “A man of few words. I like him already.” She waved you both toward the back. “Go on, they’ve been waiting for you.”

As soon as you walked past the front desk and entered the back area, the sound of excited barking filled the air. Dogs of all sizes pressed their noses against the bars of their cages, tails wagging furiously at the sight of you.

You crouched down in front of one of the kennels, talking softly to a scruffy little mutt as it whined and pawed at the bars. “Hey, buddy. Miss me?”

Logan leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching the way you scratched behind the dog's ears. There was something easy about the way you moved here, something soft. For a mobster’s kid, you had a surprisingly gentle touch.

"Didn't expect this to be part of the job," Logan muttered after a moment, his voice low but teasing.

You glanced up, grinning. "What, thought I’d be shopping for fur coats or shaking people down for cash?"

Logan raised a brow. "Somethin’ like that."

You laughed, standing up and dusting your hands off. “Sorry to disappoint. I’ve got a weakness for strays.” You reached into your jacket pocket and pulled out a small bag of treats, tossing some into the kennels. "These guys have it rough enough without me skipping out on them."

Logan watched as the dogs practically fought over the treats, barking happily at your attention. You moved from cage to cage, giving each dog a little affection. It was... unexpected.

Logan watched you toss the last treat into one of the kennels, the scruffy mutt practically vibrating with happiness. He leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, an amused glint in his eyes as you turned and dusted your hands off with a grin.

"You’re full of surprises," Logan muttered.

You raised an eyebrow, smirking as you folded your arms. “Oh, yeah? Disappointed?”

"Not exactly." His lips twitched, like he was fighting a smile.

You took a step closer, tilting your head. "Well, what did you expect?"

Logan shrugged, keeping his expression neutral. "Spoiled. Entitled. Maybe a little dangerous."

You laughed, the sound light and easy, and Logan’s chest tightened in a way that felt too familiar. "Dangerous, huh? Guess I’ve got some layers." You gave him a playful once-over. "What about you? Big, scary bodyguard with a brooding vibe. Got any surprises I should know about?"

Logan snorted. "Not really."

You narrowed your eyes like you didn’t quite believe him, but instead of pressing, you motioned toward the door. "C’mon. I’ve got one more stop."

Logan fell into step beside you as you exited the shelter and made your way toward the car. You chatted casually, filling the silence with stories about your favorite dogs at the shelter. But Logan stayed mostly quiet, his mind racing. It wasn’t just your voice—it was you. The way you carried yourself, the way you teased him like it was second nature.

He stole a glance at you as you drove. God, it felt the same as always. Like gravity pulled him toward you whether he wanted it or not.

---

Logan should’ve expected the second time around that you weren’t taking him to a normal place for errands. He was even more surprised when you parked in a nursing home parking lot and got out with that same pep in your step.

The sliding doors opened as you walked up to the front counter, where a middle-aged woman with tired eyes peered over the top of a blocky computer monitor. Her name tag read Carol.

“Morning, Carol,” you chirped with an easy smile, tapping your fingers on the desk.

Carol looked up and brightened at the sight of you. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite visitor. Here to cheer up the old-timers again?”

“Always,” you said, flashing a grin. “And I brought backup today.” You gestured behind you to Logan, who gave a brief nod.

Carol gave him a once-over and arched an eyebrow. “Well now, you didn’t tell me you’d be bringing a tall drink of water.”

You smirked, glancing over your shoulder at Logan. “Yeah, figured I’d mix things up.”

Logan just grunted in response, but the corner of his mouth twitched slightly—half amusement, half something else. Carol winked at you before waving toward the hallway. “You know where to find them.”

You led Logan down the hall, your steps light and familiar as if you'd been coming here for years. He followed quietly, his sharp gaze flicking between doorways and hallways, always alert.

“You spend a lot of time here?” Logan asked as you slowed near a door marked Activity Room.

You shrugged. “Yeah. Most of these folks don’t get many visitors. It’s nice to stop by and remind them they’re not forgotten.”

Logan gave a small grunt of acknowledgment. It was such a simple thing—volunteering at a nursing home—but it hit him hard. It was just like you to find the overlooked parts of the world and give them your attention, like the dogs at the shelter, like the people here. You always had that streak of kindness, no matter which life you were living.

You nudged open the door, stepping into the room. A group of residents sat in mismatched chairs, some knitting, others half-watching a daytime soap on an old television. At the sight of you, faces lit up.

“There she is!” one of the older women called, setting her knitting aside with a delighted clap of her hands. “I thought you forgot about us!”

“As if I ever could,” you replied warmly, walking over to give her a light hug.

Logan lingered near the doorway, watching as you moved through the room like you belonged there, chatting with each resident, asking about their week, their families—if they remembered them. His heart twisted, both with admiration and an ache that wouldn’t quit.

You noticed him standing off to the side and shot him a teasing grin. “Don’t be shy, Logan. They won’t bite.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Not worried about them.”

You laughed, turning back to an older man with a deck of cards spread out in front of him. “Logan, meet Mr. Russo. He’s got a mean poker face.”

Mr. Russo gave Logan a once-over, then grinned, his false teeth gleaming. “You any good at cards, tough guy?”

Logan shrugged. “I can hold my own.”

You slid into the chair beside Mr. Russo, motioning for Logan to join you. “Care to test your luck?”

Logan hesitated for only a moment before pulling out a chair, the legs scraping against the linoleum. As he sat down, you dealt him a hand, your fingers brushing his in the process—a fleeting touch, but enough to send a jolt of familiarity through both of you.

You caught Logan’s gaze over the cards, a flicker of something unspoken passing between you. There it was again—that sense that you knew him somehow, though you couldn’t quite place it. It nagged at you, but you let it pass, offering him a playful smirk instead.

“Careful,” you warned. “I don’t go easy on anyone.”

Logan returned the smirk, something dangerous glinting in his eyes. “Neither do I.”

---

After the game, which you won—barely, you said your goodbyes to the residents, promising to visit again soon. Logan followed silently as you made your way back to the car, the soft clinking of your keys the only sound between you.

“Not what you expected for today, huh?” you asked as you slid into the driver’s seat.

Logan leaned against the car door, arms crossed. “Not exactly.”

You smiled, starting the engine. “Bet you thought being a mobster’s kid would be more... glamorous.”

“Something like that.” He gave you a sidelong glance. “You like keeping people guessing, don’t you?”

You grinned, shifting the car into drive. “It’s one of my many talents.”

The two of you drove in companionable silence, the hum of the city filling the space between you. Logan rested his elbow on the window frame, glancing at you every so often. You were like a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve—different from the others, yet still unmistakably you.

“Why do you do it?” he asked after a while. “The shelter, the nursing home. You don’t have to.”

You shrugged, your expression thoughtful. "Dunno. Just because I was born into this life doesn’t mean I like what my dad does. I guess sometimes I feel like I’m tryin’ to balance the scales."

Logan leaned back against the seat, his sharp gaze on you, but he didn’t respond right away. You could tell he was chewing on that—probably picking apart your words, trying to figure you out. He always seemed like the kind of man who noticed everything, even if he didn’t say much about it.

You flashed him a teasing grin, trying to lighten the mood. "What about you? Any skeletons in the closet? Or are you just a man of mystery with perfect timing?"

Logan snorted softly, his lips twitching in that almost-smile he had. "I’m no mystery. Just do my job."

"Oh, come on," you pressed, throwing him a playful look. "You gotta give me something. Favorite food? Ever been married? Deep, dark secret?"

He gave you a sidelong glance, amused but guarded. "Steak. No. And not a chance."

You huffed in mock disappointment, drumming your fingers on the steering wheel. "You’re no fun, Logan."

"Never said I was," he muttered, but there was warmth in his tone, like he didn’t mind your teasing at all.

The conversation paused for a moment, the soft hum of the engine filling the space between you. Logan’s eyes lingered on you a little longer than they probably should have—taking in the curve of your smile, the way your fingers tapped a rhythm on the wheel.

And damn, if you didn’t make it hard to stay detached. You were so... alive. Every glance, every smile, every little laugh. You carried yourself like someone who knew how fleeting things could be—and even though Logan knew you couldn’t remember, he remembered every time you’d slipped through his fingers. That thought settled heavy in his chest, like a weight he carried everywhere.

You shot him a grin. "You know, if you keep looking at me like that, I’m gonna think you’re interested."

Logan’s lips twitched. "What makes you think I’m not?"

The boldness of his response caught you off guard for a second, but you recovered quickly, leaning a little closer, eyes glinting with mischief. "Careful, tough guy. You’re supposed to be protecting me, not flirting with me."

"Who says I can’t do both?" His voice was low, rough, and it sent a small shiver down your spine.

You tilted your head, pretending to consider it. "I think my dad might disagree."

Logan’s eyes darkened slightly, though his expression didn’t change. "Your dad’s not here."

There it was—that pull again, the quiet, unspoken gravity between the two of you. It was like standing on the edge of something dangerous and thrilling all at once. You felt it in the way his gaze lingered, in the weight of his words. He wasn’t just playing along.

You cleared your throat, breaking the tension with a teasing smile. "Well, if you’re planning on making a move, Logan, you better make it good. I’ve got high standards, y’know."

Logan let out a low chuckle—quiet, but genuine—and for a moment, you thought you saw something softer in his eyes. Something like... affection.

But just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by that familiar guarded expression.

"Noted," he muttered, shifting his gaze back to the road ahead.

You grinned, satisfied that you’d managed to chip away at his walls, even if only a little.

---

The two of you finished your errands without any trouble, stopping by a grocery store for some essentials and grabbing a late lunch at a small diner tucked away from the main streets. It wasn’t much—just burgers and fries—but sitting across from Logan in the booth, you felt surprisingly content.

He was quiet most of the time, but not in a way that felt awkward. It was... comfortable. Like he didn’t need to fill the silence just for the sake of it. And every now and then, he’d throw out a dry, sarcastic comment that made you laugh harder than you expected.

You leaned back in the booth, sipping your soda and watching him over the rim of your glass. "Y’know, Logan... you’re not half as scary as you look."

Logan raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly. "Disappointed?"

"Not at all," you replied, your smile turning a little softer. "I like surprises."

He held your gaze for a moment, something unreadable flickering behind those sharp blue eyes. And for a second—just a second—you thought maybe, just maybe, there was something familiar about the way he looked at you. Like you were more than just a job to him.

But before you could dwell on it, Logan glanced at his watch and cleared his throat. "We should head back. Your old man’ll be expecting you."

You sighed dramatically, sliding out of the booth. "Guess my fun’s over."

Logan chuckled, tossing a few bills on the table for the check. "For now."

You gave him a playful nudge as you walked past him toward the door. "Don’t sound too excited."

---

By the time you got back to the house, the sun was starting to dip below the horizon, casting the streets in a soft orange glow. Logan followed you inside, his quiet presence grounding you in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

"Thanks for today," you said, tossing your jacket onto a chair.

Logan gave a small nod, leaning against the wall near the door. "No problem."

You hesitated for a moment, then shot him one last grin. "You know, you’re not as bad as I thought."

"Same to you," he replied, that almost-smile creeping back onto his face.

And just like that, the unspoken connection between you simmered beneath the surface, waiting.

Maybe Logan was right. Maybe your dad would be pissed if he knew how much you enjoyed your new bodyguard’s company.

But standing there, watching Logan’s gaze linger on you for just a beat too long, you found you didn’t care all that much.

"Goodnight, Logan," you said softly, turning toward the stairs.

"Goodnight, Y/N," he replied, his voice low and steady.

And as you climbed the stairs, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t the first time you’d said goodnight to him like this.

Not by a long shot.

---

Your dad told you not to leave the house today, which was fine by you, you had laundry to do anyways.

It had become habit to do your own laundry, even if you did have maids around the house. Nancy, one of the older maids, was the one to teach you that, along with cooking and cleaning since your mother has been gone since you were little.

You had a radio set on the washer, the familiar croon of 70s tunes filling the small laundry room as you pulled warm clothes from the dryer into a basket. You’d been at it for the better part of the morning, the simple domestic task giving you a sense of normalcy. The soft hum of the machines, the crackling radio, and the scent of clean laundry— it was all routine.

Routine helped keep your mind off the storm brewing outside your little bubble.

You sighed, swaying your hips a bit to the music as you lifted the basket. The house felt quieter today, with your dad off dealing with ‘business’ as usual. And Logan? He was somewhere nearby, probably lurking in the shadows like the brooding protector he was.

As if on cue, Logan appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed. He was dressed in his usual dark clothing, looking as stoic as ever. You wondered if he ever wore anything other than flannels and a leather jacket.

"You know, I didn’t take you for the laundry-doing type," he remarked, his gravelly voice cutting through the music.

You raised an eyebrow, throwing a playful glance over your shoulder. "What, you think I’m too spoiled to do my own chores?"

Logan's lips twitched, almost forming a smile. "Something like that."

You smirked, grabbing the laundry basket and turning to face him. "I like to surprise people."

"You’re good at it," he replied, his gaze lingering a little longer than usual. There was something behind those eyes, something deeper, but as always, he kept it hidden beneath that calm, impenetrable exterior.

You tilted your head, leaning your hip against the dryer. "You sticking around or just checking on me?"

Logan shrugged, though his eyes never left yours. "Just making sure you're not running off anywhere. Your dad was pretty clear about staying put."

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips softened the gesture. "I’ll be a good girl. Promise."

Logan grunted in response, pushing off the doorframe and walking closer. "You’re a lot of things, Y/N. Not sure ‘good girl’ is one of them."

You let out a laugh, swatting at him with a towel. "Hey, I can behave when I want to. It’s just more fun not to."

He caught your wrist with ease, holding it for a second too long before letting go. There was that familiar tension between you again, the unspoken something that crackled in the air whenever the two of you were close. He probably didn't mean to linger, but you could feel it—that pull.

"Maybe it’s the company," you teased, grabbing your laundry basket. "You bring out the best in me."

Logan didn’t respond immediately, but there was something in his eyes, something that made your breath hitch. He was quiet, but not in the usual way bodyguards were. With Logan, there was a weight to his silence, like he was always holding back, always watching.

You pushed past the lingering tension with a grin, heading toward the door with your laundry. "Come on, broody. Let’s get out of the laundry room before we both go stir-crazy."

As you passed by, you brushed against him—just lightly, but enough to send a small jolt through you. He didn’t move, but his eyes followed your every step, that silent intensity never wavering.

You stopped in the hallway and shot him a look over your shoulder. “You’re making this way too serious, you know. I’m doing laundry, not sneaking out of prison.”

“Old habits die hard,” he replied, crossing his arms with a slight smirk. “Besides, I think your dad’s idea of ‘safe’ is pretty different from yours.”

You rolled your eyes, hugging the laundry basket closer. “Right. Next, he’ll say I need an escort to the mailbox.”

Logan raised a brow, clearly amused. “You wouldn’t be the first.”

That earned him a laugh, and you shook your head, settling the basket on the table in the hall. “Guess you’re stuck with me then, bodyguard.”

“Doesn’t seem so bad,” he said, his voice softening as he glanced at you. His gaze was familiar in a way you couldn’t place, like he’d looked at you this way a hundred times before.

“Yeah?” You took a step closer, crossing your arms with a playful grin. “And here I thought I’d be driving you crazy.”

“You do,” he murmured, almost too quietly. His lips turned up slightly, but he looked away, that unspoken wall going back up.

“Good,” you teased, reaching out to poke him in the chest. “Keeps things interesting.”

Logan caught your hand before you could pull it back, holding it just long enough that you could feel the warmth of his touch, the quiet strength in it. There was something in his eyes that hinted at… more. Like he’d known you far longer than you could’ve ever guessed.

“Is that what you want?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart thumped, but you kept your tone light. “Depends on what you’re offering, doesn’t it?”

His gaze dropped to your hand, still caught in his. He let go, but there was something in his expression that lingered. It was like he was searching for the right words, something he couldn’t quite say. Or maybe didn’t want to.

Instead, he settled back with that guarded look. “Better get used to me being around,” he said, nodding toward the front of the house. “Your dad won’t have it any other way.”

You glanced down the hall and shrugged. “Guess I can live with that. For now.”

Logan’s lips twitched, just barely. “For now,” he echoed, and there was something heavier in those words, something he wasn’t sharing.

You lingered for a moment, the silence stretching between you, before you picked up the basket again. “Well, I’ve got more laundry to fold. But if you feel like helping out…”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Nice try, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes, shooting him a wink. “Fine. I’ll let you off easy this time.”

“Appreciate it,” he said with a smirk, but his eyes softened as he watched you turn to go, like he was holding back something he couldn’t quite name.

As you walked away, the light-heartedness of the moment stayed with you, but so did something else. It was that look Logan had, the one that made you feel seen, like he knew you better than anyone else ever had.

Maybe he did.

Or maybe, in some impossible way, he always had.

---

“No, no, no, cara. Give it to me.” Nancy took the mixing bowl away from you, stirring the batter while muttering something in Italian.

You leaned your hip against the counter, placing your head on Nancy’s shoulder with a pout. "I was doing what you’re doing.”

Nancy shook her head, stirring the batter with a practiced hand, her warm, familiar presence comforting. “No, cara mia, you were doing what you think I’m doing.” She shot you a look, one of those fond, chiding glances she’d perfected over the years. “And it was not the same.”

You laughed, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Fine, but you’re teaching me bad habits. This is how I stay spoiled, you know.”

She chuckled, patting your cheek affectionately. “You think you need me to be spoiled? You do just fine on your own.”

Before you could respond, Logan’s familiar silhouette appeared in the doorway. He leaned against the frame, watching you with a slight smirk that was becoming all too familiar—and endearing.

“Careful, Nancy,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “She’s already hard enough to handle.”

You turned, hands on your hips, feigning offense. “Excuse me, hard to handle?”

Logan shrugged, crossing his arms with a smirk. “You said it, not me.”

Nancy chuckled, eyes sparkling as she looked between you and Logan. “Ah, Y/N, he’s right. You do have a little spirit.”

You scoffed playfully, giving Logan an exaggerated glare before grinning back at Nancy. “What? I’m an angel, and you know it.”

Logan snorted, clearly enjoying himself. “Right. A real saint.” He gave you a knowing look, one that made your stomach flip despite yourself. That unspoken energy simmered between you two, even as you tried to keep it casual.

Nancy just shook her head, muttering something in Italian as she set the bowl down. “Angels don’t cause so much trouble,” she teased, pinching your cheek. “I taught you better.”

You rubbed your cheek with a grin, leaning back against the counter. “I’m blaming Logan. His bad influence must be rubbing off on me.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “That right? Thought you didn’t need any help there.”

“Oh, I don’t,” you said, crossing your arms with a challenging look. “I’m fully capable of trouble on my own.”

Nancy watched the two of you with a satisfied smile, turning back to her baking. “Ah, I see,” she murmured, her voice light. “It’s good to have someone who knows how to keep you in check.”

The glint in her eye wasn’t lost on you, and you rolled your eyes. “You’re making it sound like I’m some kind of wild child.”

“No, no,” she replied with a grin, waving her hand. “Just that I think he knows you better than you think, cara.”

Logan’s gaze softened a little at that, and though he didn’t say anything, his look lingered, as if he were silently agreeing with her.

You cleared your throat, feeling the familiar warmth creeping up your neck. “Well,” you started, trying to brush off the moment, “if Logan’s going to stick around, he might as well help.”

Nancy gave a sly smile, turning to Logan. “What do you say, Logan? A little kitchen work wouldn’t hurt.”

Logan shook his head, holding his hands up in surrender. “You two are doing just fine without me.”

You shot him a grin, taking a step closer. “Oh, come on. Big, tough Logan afraid of a little flour?”

His smirk softened as he looked down at you. “You keep pushing, and I might just teach you a lesson in troublemaking.”

Your stomach fluttered at the way his gaze stayed locked on yours, that familiar pull tugging you closer. “Is that a threat?”

“Call it… a warning,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. His hand brushed against yours, just for a second, but it was enough to send a spark up your arm.

Nancy cleared her throat, clearly amused. “Okay, okay. I don’t need you two making a mess of my kitchen.”

You stepped back, giving Nancy a sheepish smile, and Logan chuckled, the sound low and easy. “She’s right,” he said, nodding toward the door. “Guess I’ll just keep an eye on you from a safe distance.”

Nancy gave him a knowing look, shaking her head with a chuckle. “If only it were that simple.”

---

“Ah, stay still, cara.” Nancy chided you, taking out a roller from your hair.

You gave Nancy a pout, eyes skimming your reflection in the mirror with clear discontent. "I don’t like it." Your voice held more weight than just the hair and makeup, though, and Nancy seemed to pick up on it.

She clicked her tongue, smoothing out a curl before looking at you through the mirror. “Ah, cara mia, tonight is important to your father. Besides,” she added, eyes glinting, “you look beautiful, yes?”

You gave her a half-hearted smile, brushing your hands over the bright yellow fabric of your dress. The dress was elegant and too formal for your taste, the kind of thing you’d never have chosen if it weren’t for your dad’s insistence on making you ‘presentable’ for his associates.

Nancy sighed, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Y/N, it’s one night. Then you’ll be back to your regular clothes, hmm?”

You grinned, rolling your eyes. “Can’t come soon enough.”

Just as you were about to add more, there was a quiet knock at the door. You looked up, already expecting Logan’s familiar silhouette. He leaned against the frame, hands in his pockets, his usual air of calm doing little to hide the intense look in his eyes as he took in the sight of you in the dress.

“Looks like they’ve got you all dolled up,” he remarked, a faint smirk playing on his lips.

You shot him a look, half annoyed, half amused. “Yeah, laugh it up, tough guy. Bet you’re glad it’s not you in this thing.”

Logan chuckled, stepping further into the room. “You could say that.” His eyes met yours, and for a brief second, there was something in his gaze, something you couldn’t quite put into words. But just as quickly, he looked away.

Nancy gave you a knowing smile, patting your shoulder before stepping back. “Logan,” she said, with a gentle warning in her voice, “take care of her tonight, yes?”

Logan’s expression softened, his gaze turning protective as he looked at you. “Always do.”

Nancy winked, then left the room, leaving you alone with him.

You let out a sigh, reaching for the hem of your dress as if you could somehow make it less constricting. “Do I really have to go down there?”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “You think your dad’s throwing this party for fun? Whole point is for you to be seen.”

“Great,” you muttered, moving toward the door. But as you passed him, Logan placed a hand on your shoulder, stopping you.

“You’ll be fine,” he said, his voice lower, more reassuring. “They’re not expecting anything from you. Just show up, smile, let them know you exist.”

You looked up at him, searching his face. He was steady, calm, his expression soft in a way he rarely let others see. You didn’t know why, but having him there made you feel a little more at ease. “Guess I don’t have much choice, do I?”

“Nope,” he replied, his mouth twitching into that almost-smile.

With a resigned sigh, you squared your shoulders. “Alright, let’s get this over with.”

---

The party was everything you’d dreaded: formal, suffocating, and filled with people whose only interest in you was as your father’s daughter. You’d stuck close to Logan most of the night, exchanging quiet remarks whenever the chance arose, his presence the only thing keeping you from losing your mind. But as the night wore on, a few glasses of champagne and the tension of the evening started to wear on you.

You tugged on Logan’s sleeve as you leaned in close. “Think anyone would notice if I snuck out?” you murmured, your breath warm against his ear.

Logan chuckled low, his gaze flickering over you. “Considering your dad’s been watching you like a hawk? Probably.”

You rolled your eyes, letting your hand brush his arm. “Figures. He can’t just let me have one night off.” You shifted closer, feeling his warmth through his jacket, and gave him a mischievous smile. “Bet you didn’t sign up for babysitting duty.”

“Didn’t realize you’d need it,” he replied with a smirk, his voice barely loud enough for you to hear.

You nudged him playfully, letting your hand linger on his arm. “I don’t,” you said, a little more insistently. “You just don’t know what to do with me.”

His eyes met yours, and there was something dark and unspoken in his gaze. “Careful,” he murmured, his voice dropping. “I might take you up on that.”

The hint of challenge in his tone sent a thrill through you, and you leaned closer, your hand settling on his chest as you whispered, “Oh, I’m counting on it.”

You could feel his heartbeat, steady beneath your hand, but his expression gave nothing away. He looked down at you, his jaw tight, but his eyes held that familiar intensity, the kind that had always made you wonder just how long he’d been watching you. It was intoxicating, that pull between you, and tonight, with the champagne loosening your guard, you felt bolder than usual.

When you finally pulled away, you could feel his gaze following you, but you didn’t let yourself look back. Instead, you mingled through the crowd, smiling politely, pretending to listen to conversations while stealing glances at Logan across the room.

After what felt like hours, your father’s attention finally shifted, and you took the chance to slip away to your bedroom.

As you walked up the stairs, Logan trailed behind you, like always. You were tired of this, of the flirting, how he did it back to you, but how nothing ever happened.

Well tonight you were done with that.

You opened your bedroom door and sat on the bed, quickly slipping off your heels and tossing them carelessly across the room. The muffled sounds of laughter and clinking glasses filtered up from downstairs, where the party raged on. Logan stood in the doorway, as he always did, watching you in that silent, intense way that had been driving you crazy for months.

You looked up at him, your fingers playing with the hem of your short yellow dress, the fabric brushing against your thighs as you shifted on the bed. “You comin’ in, or are you just gonna stand there all night?”

Logan didn’t respond right away, his jaw ticking as his eyes flicked over you, taking in the sight of you sitting there, legs crossed, your dress riding up just enough to tease. He sighed, stepping into the room but staying near the door. “Your old man’s got half the city downstairs, Y/N. This ain’t the time.”

You raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at your lips. “Since when do you care about my dad? He’s not your boss.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, the leather of his jacket creaking. “He pays me to keep you safe, not… this.”

You stood up from the bed, taking a step toward him. “This?” you repeated, voice playful, but you could feel the tension in the air thickening. “And what is ‘this,’ Logan?”

He didn’t answer, just stood there, his eyes dark and unreadable, but you could see the way his body tensed when you got closer, the way his gaze flicked down to your legs before snapping back up to your face.

You reached out, your fingers brushing against the rough material of his flannel, and you could feel the heat of his body through the layers of fabric. He stiffened, his hand catching your wrist, but it wasn’t harsh. Just enough to stop you.

“Y/N, don’t,” he warned, his voice low, rough.

You tilted your head, stepping even closer until your body was almost pressed against his. “Why not?” you asked softly. “You’ve been following me around for months. Always there, always watching. What are you so afraid of?”

“I’m not afraid,” he muttered, but his grip on your wrist tightened just a little, like he was holding himself back. “You’re too young for this. I work for your dad.”

You pulled your wrist free, undeterred, your hand now resting against his chest. “I’m not a kid, Logan. And you don’t work for him—you work for me. You’ve been protecting me, haven’t you?”

His eyes narrowed. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”

“Then what do you mean?” you shot back, moving even closer, your fingers trailing up to his shoulder, over the leather of his jacket. “You’ve been pulling away from me every time I get close, but you keep coming back.”

Logan’s jaw clenched, his hands hovering near your waist, as if he was afraid to touch you. “You’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk,” you said firmly, your voice steady. “And you know that.” You pressed a little harder, your lips just inches from his jaw, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his skin. “You don’t have to keep pretending like you don’t want this.”

His hands shot up to your shoulders, gripping you tightly, but he didn’t push you away this time. His breathing was heavier now, the muscles in his arms tensing as if he was fighting against himself. “You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he growled, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Maybe not,” you admitted, your lips brushing the stubble on his jaw as you spoke. “But I know what I want.”

Logan groaned low in his throat, his fingers tightening on your shoulders, but still, he didn’t push you away. His resistance was crumbling, you could feel it.

“You’re not a kid,” he repeated quietly, almost like he was trying to convince himself.

“No,” you whispered back, your lips ghosting along the side of his neck, your hands moving to his chest, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt. “I’m not.”

In a swift movement, you pushed him back toward the chair in the corner of the room, his legs hitting the edge as you guided him down. He sat heavily, his hands falling from your shoulders to your hips, still trying to hold onto that last bit of control.

You straddled his thigh, your dress riding up as you settled against him, the heat of your body pressed against the denim of his jeans. His hands moved up to your waist, holding you in place, but the look in his eyes told you he was barely holding on.

“Y/N,” he rasped, but his voice was shaky, uncertain.

You didn’t give him time to think. You started moving, rocking your hips against his thigh, slow at first, testing. His grip on your waist tightened, his eyes darkening as he watched you, the tension in his body radiating through his hands.

He wasn’t stopping you.

You bit your lip, your breath hitching as you pressed harder against him, the friction sending a jolt of heat through you. Logan groaned, his hands sliding down to your hips, holding you steady as you moved. His control was slipping, and you could feel it.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, his head falling back against the chair, his eyes squeezed shut.

You leaned forward, your lips brushing his ear. “Still think I’m too young?”

Logan’s jaw clenched, his hands gripping you harder as you rocked against him, the rough fabric of his jeans rubbing against the thin material of your underwear. Every movement sent sparks of pleasure through you, and you could tell from the way his breathing quickened that he was feeling it too.

His hands slid up your sides, fingers digging into your skin as he tried to pull you closer, but you were in control now. You pressed your lips to his neck, kissing the exposed skin, feeling the tension in his body as you kissed down toward his collarbone, your fingers tangling in his shirt.

Logan groaned, his hands gripping you tighter as you moved faster, grinding against his thigh with more urgency. The heat between your legs was almost unbearable now, the pressure building with every movement, every gasp that escaped your lips.

Logan's eyes were shut tight, head thrown back against the chair, his hands gripping your waist like he was the one trying to stay grounded. But you weren’t stopping, not after all the months of back-and-forth, all the moments you’d caught him watching you with that dark, unreadable look. The friction, the heat pooling between your legs, was everything you’d been waiting for, and it was clear from the roughness of his breathing that he wasn’t far behind.

You pressed harder, your hips rolling against his thigh as you gripped his shoulders to steady yourself. The thin fabric of your dress had ridden up, and you knew he could feel just how soaked you were through the denim of his jeans. His hands were at your waist, digging into your skin in a way that bordered on painful but only made you push down harder, rocking your hips with more insistence.

Logan’s voice was rough when he finally spoke, his hands tightening as if he was trying to keep himself from pulling you in closer. “Y/N… you’re playin’ with fire here,” he growled, the words thick, like he was barely holding back.

You ignored him, pressing a little harder, your lips hovering just over the edge of his jaw as you breathed, “Maybe I like the heat.”

His jaw clenched, but his hands slid up, settling just under your ribs, holding you steady as you moved. Each shift of your hips brought another groan out of him, the sound vibrating through his chest and sending a thrill straight through you. You could feel yourself getting closer, your breath coming in shallow gasps as the pressure built, the heat between your legs almost too much to bear.

“Logan,” you whispered, your hands slipping up to tangle in his hair, pulling his face closer. You could see the restraint etched across his face, the way his jaw was clenched tight, like he was struggling to keep himself from giving in. “I need you.”

His hands tensed on your waist, fingers digging in harder, his breathing growing rougher with every word that slipped from your lips. But he didn’t pull away; if anything, he held you tighter, letting you grind against him, the rough denim of his jeans rubbing against you in a way that left you breathless, desperate.

“You know what you’re doin’ to me?” he muttered, his voice barely more than a growl as his eyes met yours, dark and full of something you’d been longing to see for months.

“Maybe,” you replied, a small, breathless smile tugging at your lips as you kept moving, kept pressing closer, feeling the tension between you both thicken until it was almost unbearable. “Maybe I want to see how far you’ll let me go.”

Logan groaned, his grip tightening as his eyes fell shut again, his hands shifting to guide your hips, helping you keep up the steady rhythm that was driving you both closer to the edge. You leaned forward again, your lips brushing against his neck, pressing soft kisses along the exposed skin as you rocked against him, the heat building with every second.

“Y/N,” he rasped, his voice so low it sent a shiver through you. “You’re… you’re so damn—”

You cut him off, pressing your lips to the spot just under his ear, feeling the way his breath hitched as your hips ground down harder. You were close, every nerve ending on fire, and you could feel that he was, too. His hands were everywhere, sliding up your back, pressing you closer, holding you tight like he was afraid to let go.

And then, finally, the pressure broke. You gasped, fingers digging into his shoulders as your hips stilled, your body shuddering against him. Logan’s grip on your waist tightened, his own breath hitching as he held you steady, his hands warm and solid as you rode out the waves of pleasure.

He was quiet for a long moment, his breathing heavy, and you could feel the way his body had tensed beneath you, the strain in his hands as he held himself back. Slowly, you looked up, meeting his gaze, and the intensity in his eyes made your breath catch all over again.

Without a word, Logan shifted, his hands sliding down to hook under your thighs as he stood, lifting you with a strength that sent another thrill through you. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders as he carried you to the bed, the heat in his gaze leaving no room for second thoughts, no hesitation. This was it, and you were ready.

He laid you down, his hands lingering on your thighs, his fingers brushing over your skin as he looked down at you, his expression a mix of hunger and restraint. You reached up, tugging him closer until he was hovering over you, his weight pressing down just enough to make you feel secure, safe.

This was what you’d been waiting for, what you’d both been skirting around for too long. Logan’s hands slid up your sides, his fingers trailing along the fabric of your dress, and you felt your breath hitch as his gaze darkened, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

His thumbs brushed the exposed skin just above the low neckline of your dress, leaving goosebumps in their wake. You watched him, eyes locked on his as he leaned in, his jaw tight, the hunger in his gaze barely restrained. The room felt smaller, warmer, like the air had thickened between you.

And then, finally, his mouth was on yours.

The kiss was desperate, wild, like he was making up for lost time. His lips claimed yours with a roughness that sent a shiver down your spine, his hands moving to cradle your face, pulling you closer as if he couldn’t stand the distance. You gasped against his mouth, your fingers finding their way into his hair, tugging him down harder.

It had been seventy-three years since he’d last kissed you—nearly three quarters of a century of holding back—and the intensity of it showed. It was all-consuming, like he was trying to make up for every second he’d denied himself this.

Logan groaned into your mouth, a deep, almost pained sound, and the desperation in it made your blood race. He kissed you like he was starving, like he needed this, needed you, and you felt your body melt into him. His hands slid down your body, rough and sure, stopping at your hips to pull you flush against him. The heat between your legs was almost unbearable, and the friction of his jeans against your thighs only made it worse.

You broke the kiss for air, your breaths coming fast, but Logan didn’t stop. His mouth found your neck, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the curve of your throat, teeth scraping against your skin just enough to make you gasp. His hands were everywhere, tracing the curve of your waist, the swell of your hips, gripping you with a possessiveness that sent a thrill through you.

“Logan,” you whispered, your voice breathless, needy. You tilted your head back, giving him better access as his lips continued their descent, leaving a path of fire along your skin. Your hands fisted in his flannel, pulling him closer, and he groaned again, the sound vibrating through your body.

“God, Y/N,” he rasped, his voice thick with desire, like he was barely holding on. His hands slipped under your dress, fingers brushing against the sensitive skin of your thighs, and you shivered, your breath catching in your throat. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes heavy-lidded, pupils blown wide with need. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he muttered, but the words were laced with something softer, something that made your heart skip.

You didn’t reply, just pulled him down for another kiss, this one just as desperate as the first. Your hands roamed over his chest, slipping beneath the open flannel to feel the heat of his skin, the hard muscles that tensed under your touch. Logan shivered, his breath catching as your fingers brushed against his bare chest, and you felt a rush of satisfaction at the way he reacted to you.

His jacket slipped from his shoulders, landing somewhere on the floor, but neither of you paid it any mind. Your hands were already pushing the flannel off him, revealing more of his skin, and Logan helped you, shrugging it off with a growl of impatience. The white beater he wore beneath clung to his chest, and you could see the way his muscles flexed beneath it, the way the fabric stretched taut over his shoulders.

He leaned back down, capturing your lips in another searing kiss, and you moaned into his mouth, your nails digging into his shoulders. Logan’s hands were back under your dress, sliding up, leaving trails of heat in their wake. His touch was rough, calloused, but so incredibly gentle in a way that made your heart ache. You arched into him, your body pressing closer, desperate for more, for everything he was willing to give.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your mouth, his hands sliding higher until his thumbs brushed the edge of your panties. He paused, breathing heavily, his eyes searching yours, looking for any sign of hesitation. But there was none. You were all in, had been from the moment you’d first seen him.

You reached down, grabbing his wrists and guiding his hands further up, silently urging him on. Logan’s breath hitched, and his eyes darkened even more, a low growl rumbling in his chest. His fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, and you could feel your heart pounding as he tugged, the thin fabric slipping down your legs.

"Fuck, Y/N," he growled, his voice thick with need as his calloused hands slid back up your thighs, pushing your dress higher. "You're so damn wet already."

You gasped as his fingers brushed against your center, your hips jerking up instinctively. "Logan, please," you whimpered, reaching for him.

He leaned down to kiss you hard, his tongue pushing into your mouth as his fingers began exploring you properly. The roughness of his hands contrasted with how gently he touched you, like he was afraid of breaking you. You moaned into his mouth as he slid one thick finger inside, your hands gripping his shoulders.

"That's it, darlin'," he murmured against your lips. "Let me hear you."

Your dress was bunched around your waist now as Logan worked another finger into you, stretching you carefully. Your earlier orgasm had left you sensitive, making every touch feel electric. His thumb found your clit and began rubbing slow circles that had you writhing beneath him.

"Logan," you gasped, your nails digging into his skin through his beater. "I need—ah!—I need more."

He growled low in his throat, curling his fingers inside you. "Tell me what you need, Y/N. Say it."

Your face flushed but you met his eyes. "I need you inside me. Please, Logan. I've wanted this for so long."

Something dark and possessive flashed in his eyes. He withdrew his fingers, making you whimper at the loss, and reached down to undo his belt. The metal clinked as he pulled it free, the sound sending a thrill through you.

You sat up enough to pull your dress over your head, leaving you in just your bra. Logan's eyes raked over you hungrily as he pushed his jeans down his hips. The obvious bulge in his boxers made your mouth go dry.

"Come here," he growled, pulling you into another searing kiss as his hands found the clasp of your bra. It took him only seconds to undo it, and then you were bare before him, your nipples hardening in the cool air.

Logan's mouth moved to your neck, sucking hard enough to leave marks as his hands cupped your breasts. You moaned as he rolled your nipples between his fingers, your back arching into his touch.

"Fuck, you're perfect," he muttered against your skin, his voice rough. He shifted to take one nipple into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak as you gasped and squirmed beneath him.

Your hands found the hem of his beater, tugging insistently until he pulled back long enough to yank it off. The sight of his bare chest, all hard muscle and dark hair, made heat pool between your legs. There were old scars scattered across his skin - remnants of wounds time hadn't quite erased.

You reached for his boxers but he caught your wrists, pinning them above your head with one large hand. "Not yet," he growled, his free hand sliding down between your legs again. "Want to make sure you're ready for me."

His fingers found your clit again and you cried out, oversensitive and desperate. "Logan, please," you begged, trying to buck your hips up against his hand. "I'm ready, I swear. I need you now."

He studied your face for a long moment, his eyes dark with desire, before releasing your wrists. "Take them off," he ordered, nodding to his boxers.

Your hands shook slightly as you pushed the fabric down his hips, freeing his cock. He was huge, thick and hard, already leaking at the tip. You wrapped your hand around him, stroking slowly, and Logan's breath hitched.

"Careful, darlin'," he warned, his voice strained. "Been wanting this too long to end it early."

He pushed you back onto the bed, settling between your spread thighs. The head of his cock brushed against your entrance and you both groaned. Logan braced himself on his forearms above you, his eyes locked on yours.

"You sure about this?" he asked, his voice rough but gentle. "Once I start, I don't know if I'll be able to stop."

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. "I'm sure. Please, Logan. I want you."

He kissed you hard as he began pushing inside, swallowing your gasps as he stretched you open. The burn was intense but perfect, your body gradually adjusting to his size. Logan moved slowly, giving you time to adapt, but you could feel the tension in his muscles as he held himself back.

"Fuck," he groaned when he was finally fully seated inside you. "So tight, darlin'. Feel so good around me."

You clutched at his shoulders, panting. "Move," you urged. "Please, I need—"

Logan pulled back and thrust forward again, setting a steady rhythm that had you seeing stars. Each stroke hit something deep inside you that made pleasure spark through your whole body. His hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he fucked into you with increasing force.

"That's it," he growled, watching your face contort with pleasure. "Take it, Y/N. Take all of me."

Your nails raked down his back as the pressure built inside you again. Logan's thrusts grew harder, faster, driving you both toward the edge. The headboard banged against the wall with each movement but neither of you cared about the noise.

"Logan," you gasped, feeling yourself getting close. "I'm gonna—ah!"

"Come for me," he ordered, his voice rough. One hand slid between your bodies to rub your clit. "Want to feel you come on my cock."

The added stimulation pushed you over the edge. You came with a cry, your body clenching around him as waves of pleasure crashed over you. Logan growled, his rhythm faltering as your walls pulsed around him.

"Fuck, Y/N," he groaned, his thrusts growing erratic. "Where do you want—"

"Inside," you gasped, still riding the aftershocks. "Please, Logan. Wanna feel you."

He cursed, his hips snapping forward a few more times before he buried himself deep with a growl, spilling inside you. You could feel him pulsing, filling you up as he collapsed onto his forearms above you.

For several long moments, the only sound was your heavy breathing. Logan's forehead rested against yours, his eyes closed as he caught his breath. You ran your hands up and down his back, feeling the sweat-slick skin under your palms.

Finally, he pulled out carefully and rolled onto his side, pulling you with him. You winced slightly at the soreness between your legs, but it was a good kind of ache. Logan's arms wrapped around you, holding you close against his chest.

---

Logan let out a low groan as he woke, the bed beneath him feeling far too comfortable, unfamiliar in a way that immediately set him on edge. It took a second for his mind to catch up, piecing together where he was and, more importantly, who he was with.

He didn’t need to look over to feel the warmth beside him, or the way your hair fanned out across the pillow. It hit him all at once—the heat of your skin against his, the way you’d leaned into him last night, confident, unrestrained. He opened his eyes, gaze finding you lying beside him, face soft and peaceful in sleep, an arm draped over his chest as if you’d claimed him in the night.

Logan sighed, glancing at the ceiling, but couldn’t help looking down at you again, still asleep and blissfully unaware of the storm in his head. He’d known it was a bad idea from the start, coming upstairs with you last night, letting his guard down. But damn, when you’d gotten close, pushing him toward that chair with that look in your eyes—he’d been gone the second you’d touched him.

He was even further gone when he had finally kissed you—it was one of his biggest regrets the last time he had seen you back in 1943—he never held you the way he wanted to. Too afraid that maybe he was the problem, the reason you kept on dying over and over.

And because of that, he hadn’t been this close to you since 1900.

It was strange, being here like this—letting his guard down after all those lives, all those memories of watching you fade out of his reach. A part of him had always tried to keep a distance, to save himself from the heartbreak he knew was coming. But last night… last night, he’d been weak.

He brushed a thumb over your arm without thinking, lost in thought. It was impossible not to wonder, with you lying beside him like this, what it would be like if this time were different. If, just once, he could hold onto you, let himself believe you’d stay.

But he knew better.

His hand lingered on your skin a moment too long, and he felt you stir, your lashes fluttering as you slowly opened your eyes. A soft smile touched your lips when you saw him, and he felt his resolve crack just a little more.

“Mornin’,” he murmured, his voice rougher than he’d meant.

“Mmm,” you hummed, still sleepy, your fingers tracing a lazy pattern over his chest. “Didn’t think you’d still be here.” You said it lightly, but there was a hint of something else there—relief, maybe. “Guess I finally wore you out.”

Logan huffed, his lips tugging into a smirk. “Guess so.”

You shifted to look at him, your eyes bright with that familiar mischief. “So, what’s your excuse this time?”

He raised a brow. “Excuse?”

“Yeah. For pulling away,” you said, your tone casual but pointed. “You’ve always got one.”

Logan’s jaw clenched slightly, and he broke eye contact, looking away. “It’s complicated, Y/N.”

You reached up, cupping his face and guiding his gaze back to you. “That’s what you always say. Doesn’t mean it has to be.”

He was silent for a moment, searching your face. He could feel the weight of his past with you, all those memories stacking up like a dam holding back a flood. But he couldn’t let you in on that. Couldn’t make you carry the burden of knowing you’d lived—and died—so many times before. It was his cross to bear, not yours.

“Maybe I just don’t want you getting hurt,” he finally said, his voice quieter, a touch raw.

You let out a short, incredulous laugh. “Please, Logan. You think I don’t know what I’m doing?”

Logan just shook his head, but he couldn’t help the small, amused smile that crept onto his face. “You’re a handful, you know that?”

“I’ve heard that once or twice,” you teased, running your hand along his chest. “Lucky for you, I don’t scare easy.”

That hint of defiance in your voice tugged at something deep inside him, and he caught your hand, holding it in his as he looked into your eyes. “You say that now. But I’ve got a way of… complicating things.”

Your gaze softened, but there was still a spark there, unyielding. “Good thing I like complicated.”

Logan’s eyes darkened, and for a second, he felt that familiar pull, the urge to tell you everything—to let you in on the truth of why he was here, why he couldn’t stay away. But he stopped himself, the weight of all those lost lifetimes bearing down on him again. He couldn’t do that to you, not this time.

“Then I guess I’m stuck with you,” he said, trying to keep his tone light, even though his grip on your hand tightened ever so slightly.

“Guess so,” you replied with a grin, shifting closer. You tilted your head, eyes narrowing as you studied him. “Logan?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you ever gonna stop acting like you’re some kind of curse?” Your voice was soft but firm, like you were daring him to argue.

Logan went silent, his gaze flickering away from yours. You’d hit closer to the truth than you knew.

“Don’t know if I can,” he admitted after a pause. “It’s… complicated.” He shrugged, hoping you’d leave it at that.

But, of course, you didn’t. “Then I guess I’ll just have to keep proving you wrong,” you murmured, pressing a light kiss to his jaw, a warm reassurance that only made him feel the pull of his past even stronger.

He didn’t answer, just closed his eyes, letting himself savor this one small, stolen moment with you. Just this once, he’d allow himself that. Because deep down, he knew he’d always lose you in the end.

And this time, he was determined to make it last as long as he could. Maybe, just maybe, even put that ring to use.

---

You were back at the dog shelter, this time staying a little bit longer since one of the workers, Amelia, was out sick.

Lorraine handed you a few leashes, “mind taking some of ‘em out for a walk?”

You happily grabbed the roped leashes, “of course.” Then you glanced over at Logan, who had been eyeing the dogs with a mix of amusement and reservation. “You up for walkin’ some too?”

He raised an eyebrow at you, then at the leashes in your hand, but there was a hint of a smirk playing at his lips. “Didn’t take you for a dog wrangler, Y/N.”

You laughed, clipping one of the leashes onto a small brown mutt who was practically bouncing with excitement. “Come on, Logan. What’re you afraid of? They don’t bite—well, not all of them, anyway.”

Logan chuckled, reluctantly stepping forward. “Right. Long as they don’t try to drag me down the street.”

You handed him a leash attached to a shaggy, medium-sized dog with big brown eyes, looking up at him expectantly. “Here. This one’s named Ringo. He’s a sweetheart.”

Logan eyed the dog suspiciously before giving the leash a little tug, testing the waters. “Ringo, huh?” He knelt down and patted the dog’s head, a faint smile crossing his face as the dog leaned into his touch. “Guess you’re alright.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the sight. “See? He likes you already.” As you finished leashing up a few more of the dogs, you handed the leashes to Logan. “Think you can handle these guys too?”

Logan took the leashes without complaint, looking down at the little group of dogs at his feet. “Guess I don’t have much choice.”

“Good answer,” you teased, giving him a wink before heading toward the door. You led the way outside, the two of you walking side-by-side with the dogs trotting happily along. It was a warm day, and the sun was shining down, casting a soft glow over everything.

Logan glanced over at you as you moved down the sidewalk together, the dogs tugging excitedly at their leashes. You had a carefree smile on your face, and he found himself watching you more than the path ahead, the memory of a few nights ago still vivid in his mind. The thought of it sent a thrill through him—yet at the same time, a pang of dread.

“You always this happy walking dogs, or is it just ‘cause I’m here?” he teased, a little smirk tugging at his lips.

You shot him a playful look. “Guess you’ll never know.” You nudged him lightly with your shoulder, eyes bright with mischief. “But if you keep coming with me, you might find out.”

He let out a small laugh, his gaze softening as he looked away. Even after all these years, you could still surprise him—like the way you’d drag him to places like this or the way you talked about the little things with such enthusiasm. It was one of those qualities he remembered about you from lifetimes ago, and it hadn’t changed. It made him feel like maybe, somehow, this was different.

As you walked a little further, one of the dogs—a scruffy little terrier—yipped and tugged at Logan’s leash, trying to chase after a pigeon. He grunted, holding the leash tightly and muttering, “Settle down, mutt. You’re not goin’ anywhere.”

You laughed, glancing over with an amused smile. “Ringo’s got more energy than you’d think, huh?”

Logan shook his head, but he couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah, well, maybe I should be takin’ notes from him.” He looked at you then, and his expression softened. “You’ve really got a thing for these dogs, don’t ya?”

Your smile faded into something more thoughtful as you looked down at the furry pack in front of you. “I dunno. I guess they’re just… easy to be around. They don’t care about who my father is or what I do—they just want someone to be with them, you know?”

Logan nodded, watching the way you interacted with the dogs, your fingers lightly brushing over their heads, your voice soft as you spoke to them. You’d always had that kindness about you, that gentleness that made him want to believe in something better, something… safe.

“You’re good with ‘em,” he said quietly, almost to himself.

You looked up at him, a smile in your eyes. “You know, you’re not so bad with them either, Logan.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Nah, I think I’ll leave the dog-wranglin’ to you.”

For a while, you walked in comfortable silence, the bustling city around you fading into the background as you wandered through the neighborhood with the dogs. Finally, you reached a small park, and you stopped to let the dogs sniff around.

As they explored, you took a seat on a nearby bench, patting the spot beside you. Logan hesitated for a second before joining you, stretching his legs out in front of him.

You looked over at him, your expression soft. “Thanks for coming today. I know this probably isn’t your ideal way to spend an afternoon.”

Logan shrugged, trying to act casual, but he couldn’t hide the warmth in his gaze. “Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t wanna be,” he said, his voice low.

The sincerity in his words made your heart skip a beat, and you looked away, feeling a little bashful. You fiddled with one of the leashes, clearing your throat. “You know… the more time we spend together, the more I wonder how long you’re planning to stick around.”

He hesitated, his jaw tightening as he considered his answer. He wanted to tell you the truth—that he’d been watching you, waiting for you, for so many lifetimes. But he couldn’t. Instead, he reached out, his hand covering yours where it rested on the bench.

“As long as you’ll have me,” he said quietly.

The words hung between you, and for a moment, it was like the whole world had faded away. You looked up at him, your eyes searching his, trying to read the depths of his expression.

A soft smile touched your lips, and you squeezed his hand. “Then you’re gonna be around for a long time, Logan.”

He felt a strange, hopeful ache in his chest at your words, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he allowed himself to believe that maybe, this time, things could be different.

The dogs barked, breaking the spell, and you both laughed, pulling away as you got up to wrangle them again. But even as you continued on your walk, he stayed close by your side, his hand occasionally brushing yours as you walked—almost as if he was reminding himself that you were real, that you were here with him.

---

Late one night, you lay beside Logan in the dim light filtering through the window, the city’s night sounds a steady hum in the distance. Your head rested on his chest, your fingers tracing lazy circles over the skin above his heart, feeling the steady beat beneath your touch.

Logan shifted slightly, his hand coming up to rest gently on your back. For a long time, he just lay there, watching you in silence, his thumb brushing along your spine. You could tell he was relaxed, but there was something else—a quiet intensity in the way his gaze lingered on you, a heaviness in the air that made your heart race.

“What’re you thinkin’ about?” you murmured, letting your fingers trail up to his collarbone. You glanced up at him, catching the faintest hint of a smile as he met your eyes.

“Just… wonderin’ how I got roped into all this,” he said, the corner of his mouth lifting. But the glint in his eyes gave him away, and you saw something softer there.

“Yeah? Doesn’t seem like you mind too much.” You smirked, giving his chest a light pat. “I’d almost say you’re gettin’ attached.”

He snorted, pulling you a little closer, his arm tightening around you. “Could say the same for you,” he replied, his voice low, almost teasing. “You’re insatiable, y’know that?”

You laughed, and the sound was soft in the quiet room. “You’re the one who keeps showin’ up, Logan. If you wanted me to behave, you’d stay away.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Maybe I don’t want you to behave.”

Your fingers stilled on his chest, and you looked up at him with a mischievous glint in your eye. “So you like me like this, then? A little reckless… a little spoiled?” you teased.

He chuckled, his eyes softening as he looked at you. “Yeah,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “Think I do.”

You felt a warmth spread through you at his words, and you settled back against his chest, letting your hand rest over his heart. For a while, neither of you said anything, the silence comfortable, his warmth grounding you. It was a rare kind of peace—one that you’d come to cherish whenever you were with him.

But then, curiosity got the better of you, and you lifted your head, giving him a thoughtful look. “Logan,” you began, your voice hesitant. “How long are you gonna stick around? I mean… I know my dad thinks you’re just here for protection, but… it feels like more than that.”

Logan’s gaze darkened, a flash of something unreadable passing over his face. He glanced away, his jaw tensing as he seemed to search for the right words. “As long as you want me here, I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

The weight of his words hung between you, and you felt your heart skip a beat. “Then don’t,” you whispered, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “I don’t want you to.”

He didn’t say anything in response, but his hand slipped up to cup the back of your head, pulling you down into a slow, lingering kiss. There was something different about it this time, a quiet desperation that made your pulse quicken, like he was trying to hold on to this moment, to keep it from slipping away.

When you finally pulled back, you searched his eyes, wondering what was going through his mind. “You’re not gonna let me go, are you?”

A small smile tugged at his lips, though his gaze was still shadowed. “Not a chance, darlin’.”

You felt a surge of affection for him then, this man who’d somehow become both your protector and your closest confidant. He was rough around the edges, guarded and distant with everyone else—but with you, he was different. You brought out a softness in him, a warmth that felt as though it had been buried for a long, long time.

Without thinking, you reached up and brushed a lock of hair from his forehead, your fingertips lingering against his skin. “You know, for a guy who’s supposed to be my bodyguard, you’re doing a terrible job at keeping things professional,” you teased, though there was no bite in your words.

Logan let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You’re the one makin’ things complicated, Y/N.”

“Maybe.” You smirked, your fingers still tracing over his chest. “But you don’t seem to mind.”

He looked at you then, something fierce in his eyes, and for a moment, you saw a glimpse of the man he’d been—a man who’d loved and lost, who’d carried scars from lifetimes past. You wondered if he would ever tell you his story, if he would ever let you in on the secrets he guarded so closely.

But for now, you were content with the silence, with the feel of his heartbeat beneath your hand, with the quiet reassurance that he wasn’t going anywhere.

As the night wore on, you lay there together, wrapped up in each other, the world outside fading away. And for the first time in a long time, you felt like you were exactly where you were meant to be.

---

Your father had asked you to come to his office in the spacious house. At first it was nothing but muffled voices from outside the door, until Logan heard your father speak again, for a longer period of time, causing your own voice to rise.

While Logan couldn’t make out the words you were saying even with his enhanced hearing, he could tell you weren’t happy. Your voice carried that sharp edge you only got when something really struck a nerve, and judging by the way you didn’t hold back, it had to be serious.

Logan lingered just outside the heavy, mahogany door of your father’s office, his fists clenched as he heard your voice rising behind it. It was clear you were upset, and whatever was being discussed inside, you didn’t like it. He’d seen you frustrated, angry even, but never like this—there was a desperation in your tone that sent a chill through him.

Moments later, the door flew open, and you stormed out, cheeks flushed with anger, eyes flashing as you spotted him. You barely paused, brushing past him, but Logan caught your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice low. “What happened?”

You turned to face him, anger and hurt swirling in your eyes. “He’s… he’s marrying me off, Logan. To that family. After everything he promised me—he said he’d never force me into something like this.”

Logan’s expression hardened. “What are you talkin’ about? He can’t just… marry you off like some kind of deal.”

Your hands were shaking as you brushed a stray lock of hair behind your ear, struggling to keep your composure. “Apparently, he can. There’s been this feud with the Romano family for years, and he says this is the only way to keep the peace. To protect me. Protect us.”

Logan’s jaw clenched. He felt a familiar anger rising in him, a deep, protective instinct he’d been fighting to keep under wraps. “So, he’s just gonna throw you into a marriage you don’t want? You don’t even know this guy, do you?”

You shook your head, looking away. “I met him once. He was… polite enough. But that’s not the point, Logan. I don’t want to marry him—or anyone like this. My father always said he’d let me choose, that he wouldn’t… sell me off.” The bitterness in your tone stung, your gaze distant as if replaying the conversation.

Logan searched your face, feeling an ache he couldn’t put into words. “And he knows how you feel about this?”

You swallowed, nodding. “I told him, but he says I don’t understand the bigger picture, that this is what’s best for everyone.” You gave a hollow laugh, looking down. “For everyone but me.”

He felt a pang of guilt, knowing he was just a bodyguard, technically part of the arrangement meant to keep you safe from any threats. But you were more than just a job to him, and the thought of you being forced into something like this made his blood boil. He let out a rough breath, stepping closer. “Y/N, you don’t have to go along with this. Not if you don’t want to.”

Your gaze softened as you looked up at him. “And what am I supposed to do, Logan? Run off in the middle of the night?” You gave a small, bitter smile. “I don’t even know where I’d go.”

He didn’t hesitate, his voice dropping low. “Then we go together. If you don’t wanna go through with this, we’ll figure somethin’ else out.”

Your breath hitched at his words, and for a moment, the anger and hurt seemed to fade, replaced by something warmer, more uncertain. “You’d really… leave everything?”

He shrugged, almost nonchalant, but there was a fierce determination in his eyes. “I got no reason to stay here if you’re not here, too.”

You hesitated, torn between the depth of his offer and the weight of the decision you knew would follow. Finally, you gave a small nod, as if grounding yourself in the moment. “I don’t know what’s gonna happen, Logan, but… I just need to know you’re here. That I’m not going through this alone.”

He reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering. “I’m not goin’ anywhere, Y/N. You got my word on that.”

There was a silence between you, thick and charged, each of you processing the weight of everything unsaid. His gaze stayed locked on yours, and for a moment, the anger and fear in your eyes softened, replaced by something closer to relief. And then, almost impulsively, you took his hand, squeezing it tight.

“Thank you, Logan. I… I needed to hear that,” you said softly, glancing away before meeting his gaze again, vulnerability written all over your face. “Just… don’t let go, okay?”

He gave your hand a reassuring squeeze, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not a chance, darlin’.”

---

Nancy was doing your hair once again for the dinner with the Romano family. You had tried everything over the past few weeks, trying to convince your father that this didn’t have to happen. That he promised you he would never do this.

But no matter what you did, he was firm in his stance, "you're getting married to Clyde, and that's final."

You sat still, staring at your reflection in the mirror as Nancy pinned up the last of your curls. Your face looked composed, serene even, but beneath it, there was a storm brewing—a knot of anger and dread you couldn’t shake. Every time you thought about that dinner tonight, your stomach twisted. Clyde Romano. A stranger. And yet, your father had decided this was your future, and nothing you said seemed to change his mind.

Nancy, sensing the tension, placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. "It’ll be alright, Y/N. You’ll be surrounded by family."

Family. Right. But none of them seemed to understand how trapped you felt. You forced a tight-lipped smile, nodding. "Thanks, Nancy."

As she stepped back, there was a light knock at the door. You turned to see Logan standing there, looking slightly uncomfortable in his formal attire but as steadfast as ever. His gaze softened as he took in your appearance, though he quickly masked it.

"Didn’t mean to interrupt," he said, glancing between you and Nancy. "Just wanted to make sure you’re ready."

Nancy finished adjusting your hair and excused herself, leaving you alone with Logan. You looked at him, searching his face, hoping for some kind of lifeline.

"Logan," you murmured, voice barely above a whisper. "I feel like I’m being dragged somewhere I can’t escape from."

He stepped closer, his expression darkening as he listened. “You’re not alone in this, Y/N. You know I’m with you, whatever you decide.” His hand reached out, brushing against your arm, his touch grounding you.

You drew in a shaky breath, steadying yourself. “What if I decide to just… disappear?” you asked, half-joking but mostly serious.

Logan’s eyes met yours, and you saw the unspoken resolve there. “Then I’ll be right behind you. Doesn’t matter where.”

For a moment, you let yourself believe it—that you could simply run, with Logan at your side. But reality crashed back in, and you dropped your gaze.

"I wish it were that simple," you whispered, clenching your fists. "But if I leave, it could tear everything apart."

Logan’s hand settled over yours, his grip firm and reassuring. "Then we make it through tonight. And tomorrow, we figure out the rest. You’re not facing this alone, darlin’. Not as long as I’m here."

You looked up at him, finding strength in his gaze. He’d been your rock through all of this, his presence steady and unwavering. And tonight, that was what you needed most.

“Alright,” you murmured, giving him a small, grateful smile. “Let’s go face this… together.”

He nodded, his grip on your hand a silent promise. Whatever came next, you knew he’d be there, just as he always had been. And with that thought, you found the courage to head downstairs to face your family—and the Romanos—one more time.

---

The dinner was at an Italian restaurant, one your father owned as cover for his business. Your dad sat at the head of the table while Clyde’s father sat at the other end. In front of you was your uncle Ermanno, who was also your dad’s consigliere, while Clyde sat next to you.

Logan, along with the other bodyguards, stood watch at the entrance of the private dining room, their silent gazes sweeping the place. He wore his usual hard expression, though his eyes softened just a touch when they found you across the room. He’d been watching you all night—catching every little shift, each moment you looked down or forced a smile, every subtle tightening of your hand on the tablecloth.

Clyde Romano leaned in a little closer, his arm casually brushing against yours as he tried to make small talk. "So, Y/N, I hear you’ve been helping out at a shelter?"

You nodded, barely meeting his eyes. “Yeah, I volunteer with the dogs mostly. It’s…nice to get away from all this sometimes.” You forced a smile, trying to keep things polite. You could feel your father’s gaze on you, watching for any misstep.

Clyde smiled back, but it felt too rehearsed. “Well, once we’re married, you won’t have to worry about shelters or anything like that. You’ll have enough responsibilities as a Romano.”

You felt your stomach twist at his words. Logan’s gaze sharpened from across the room as he picked up on the slight shift in your expression. You shot him a quick look, your eyes pleading for any kind of rescue. Logan’s jaw tightened, and for a brief moment, he almost looked like he’d step in. But he stayed put, his hands clenched behind his back.

Instead, he looked for the smallest opening. Just as Clyde’s attention was pulled away by his father, Logan slipped into view, leaning down beside you. “You alright?” he murmured, low enough that only you could hear.

“Not even close,” you whispered back, your eyes fixed on your glass. “He’s already talking about our future like… like it’s set in stone.”

Logan’s eyes flickered with something fierce. “We’ll get through this, Y/N. Tonight’s just another show. Nothing more.” His fingers brushed the back of your chair, the barely-there touch sending a wave of calm through you.

But Clyde’s voice cut back in before Logan could say anything more. “Y/N, we were thinking of heading to Italy for the honeymoon. It’ll be a good chance to meet the rest of the family there.”

Your heart sank further. Italy. An entire ocean away, away from everything you knew, from everyone who mattered to you. “Italy,” you echoed, your voice strained but steady.

“Yeah. The Romano estates are beautiful—beaches, vineyards… a real paradise.” He seemed oblivious to your hesitation, already dreaming up plans you’d had no say in. Your father looked pleased, nodding his approval from his end of the table.

Logan straightened, but the look he gave you was unmistakable: You don’t have to do this.

You swallowed, shifting in your seat as Clyde rambled on. When his focus shifted to his own father again, you leaned back just enough to whisper to Logan, “I’m not sure I can keep pretending.”

Logan’s expression softened, and for a second, he let a hint of his guard down. “You don’t have to, darlin’.” His voice was low, almost tender, meant for you alone. “Say the word, and we walk outta here. Right now.”

The thought made your heart skip, but your gaze drifted toward your father, seated across the table with a look of satisfaction. Leaving wasn’t just about you; it would mean defying him, challenging the life he’d molded for you. The thought felt like a mountain on your shoulders.

“I can’t just walk away,” you said quietly. “He’s… he’d never forgive me.”

Logan’s hand brushed yours under the table, a quiet show of support. “Maybe he’s the one who should be asking for forgiveness,” he murmured, his thumb tracing a light circle over your knuckles. The warmth of his touch settled something in you, steadying your breath.

You gave a tiny nod, squeezing his hand for just a second before pulling away. Logan straightened, stepping back to his post but still keeping his gaze on you. Clyde was oblivious, caught up in a conversation with his father about future business plans, each word feeling like a nail in the coffin.

Dinner dragged on, a blur of forced laughter and stiff conversation. Every time you felt yourself sinking, you looked toward Logan. He was there, solid and watchful, like a silent promise of something real in a room full of facades.

Eventually, the families began to wind down, talk shifting to more casual chatter. Clyde, emboldened by the night’s success, reached over and took your hand, his grip possessive. “Soon, you’ll be part of the family, Y/N. You’ll see. You’ll come to love it.”

Your mind screamed at the thought, every fiber of you wanting to pull away. But you held still, not daring to make a scene. Logan’s gaze narrowed, his jaw set as he took in the sight of Clyde’s hand around yours.

Finally, as the night came to an end and the families started to stand, Clyde leaned in with a smug smile. “Ready to go? I thought we’d take a walk, just the two of us.”

Before you could answer, Logan was there, stepping in with a casual yet firm presence. “Mr. Romano,” he said, addressing Clyde but looking right at you, “your father asked to speak with you in private before you head out.”

Clyde frowned but nodded, reluctantly releasing your hand. “I’ll be back soon, Y/N.” He disappeared toward the far end of the room, leaving you alone with Logan.

You let out a slow breath, the tension finally loosening from your shoulders. “Thank you,” you whispered, looking up at him, gratitude spilling from every word.

Logan gave a slight nod. “Couldn’t let him drag you out there without a say.” His voice was rough, but his eyes softened as he held your gaze. “You’re not alone in this, Y/N. Whatever happens… you got me.”

The weight of the night lifted just a little, and for a moment, you almost believed you had a choice in all of this.

---

“A week?” you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper as you stood in your father’s office. The weight of the word seemed to pull you under, even as you fought to keep your voice steady.

Your father’s expression was impassive, arms crossed as he looked at you. “Yes, Y/N. The Romano family wants to move quickly. They think it’s best, and I agree. It’s time you take on this responsibility for the family.”

Your jaw clenched. You remembered the promises he made, back when you were younger, that he’d never force you into something like this. “I just… I don’t understand. You always said—”

“People change, Y/N,” he interrupted, his tone firm. “This is what’s best for you and for us. For the family.”

You shook your head, feeling a rush of helplessness. “And what about what I want? I’ve been trying to tell you for weeks that I don’t want this, and you’re not listening.”

He exhaled sharply, the kind of sigh that signaled his patience was running thin. “This isn’t about what you want. I didn’t raise you to be selfish.”

“Selfish?” The word stung, and you couldn’t help the surge of anger that rose within you. “I’m asking for my life. How is that selfish?”

He frowned, unyielding. “Enough, Y/N. This is happening. We’re done discussing it.”

Your breath hitched, but you forced yourself to stay composed. The walls of the office seemed to close in on you, the reality of it settling heavy and cold. You had a week—seven days—to either submit to this life he’d chosen for you or… what? You didn’t even know.

Without another word, you turned and left, fighting the urge to slam the door behind you. The hall felt stifling as you walked out, your thoughts churning.

When you reached your room, Logan was there, waiting. The moment he saw your face, he stiffened. “What happened?” His voice was a low rumble, the concern clear.

“A week,” you whispered, barely able to meet his gaze. “I have a week before he marries me off to Clyde.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, and you could see the flash of anger in his eyes. He stepped closer, his hand moving to rest on your shoulder. “So that’s it, then? He’s just… throwing you to that bastard?”

You nodded, the words catching in your throat. “I don’t know what to do, Logan. I tried everything, but he won’t listen. He’s set on it.”

Logan’s hand slipped down, finding yours and giving it a reassuring squeeze, his rough fingers warm and grounding. You tightened your grip, the frustration and helplessness boiling inside you finally having somewhere to go.

“I’m supposed to just go along with it,” you muttered, bitterness seeping into your words. “Act like I’m thrilled to be Clyde’s obedient little wife. Like my life’s just… his to take.”

Logan’s gaze darkened. “It’s not. You know that. And anyone who tries to take it without your say? They got me to deal with.” His voice was low and dangerous, a promise just for you.

You looked up, searching his face, a flicker of hope stirring. “But what can we do, Logan? He’s not going to listen to me. And if I push back too hard… I don’t know what he’ll do.”

“Then let me get you out of here,” Logan said, leaning in closer. His voice softened, gentler now. “We can leave, right now if you want. Just say the word.”

Your heart twisted painfully, the temptation so fierce you almost said yes then and there. But reality clawed its way back, the weight of your father’s expectations and the tight grip he kept on every part of your life. Leaving would mean giving up everything—and, deep down, you weren’t sure you could risk it.

“What about my dad?” you whispered, feeling the weight of it pressing down again. “He’s… he’d see it as betrayal, Logan. And what if he goes after you?”

A flicker of something familiar crossed Logan’s face, a shadow from a life you couldn’t remember but that he clearly did. “Y/N, don’t worry about me,” he murmured. “Been through worse.” He squeezed your hand a little tighter, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a gesture so tender it nearly undid you. “And if he’s got a problem, then he can take it up with me.”

You let out a shaky breath, feeling the anger and fear give way just a bit. “You say that now, but you haven’t seen how he gets when people cross him. He’d never forgive me, Logan. He’d never forgive us.”

Logan’s hand moved to cup your face, his touch steadying you as his eyes met yours. “Then we don’t need his forgiveness. We get you out, and I keep you safe. Whatever comes after, we face it together.”

The fierce certainty in his voice sent a warmth flooding through you, your resolve hardening under his gaze. “But Clyde, the Romano’s… they won’t just let it go.”

A smirk tugged at Logan’s mouth, the edge of defiance clear. “Then they’ll learn what happens when they mess with you. Ain’t nobody’s right to take away your freedom, Y/N. Not your old man, not Clyde, not anyone.”

A beat of silence stretched between you, his hand still warm against your cheek. Your fingers tightened around his, and for a second, all the anger and dread faded, leaving just you and him in the quiet of the room.

“What about… us?” The words slipped out before you could stop them, and for a second, you held your breath, waiting for his reaction.

Logan’s eyes softened, his gaze never leaving yours. “What about us, darlin’?” He brushed a thumb along your cheek, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “You think I’d just leave you here to face this on your own?”

His words sent a rush of warmth through you, and before you knew it, you were leaning into him, his presence steady and unshakable. He let out a low sigh, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you closer, his other hand tracing gentle circles over your back.

“You’re all I’ve got in this,” you whispered, feeling the tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “I can’t lose you, too.”

“You won’t,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, his hold tightening just enough to reassure you. “Not now, not ever.”

You stayed like that for a long moment, wrapped up in his embrace, the weight of everything slipping away in his arms. But eventually, reality crept back in, and you pulled back, catching the flicker of resolve in his gaze.

“If we do this…” You paused, steadying yourself. “If we leave, we need a plan.”

Logan gave a small nod, his hand still resting on yours. “We’ll figure it out. Tonight, we’re just gettin’ you through this.”

It was a promise, simple and unbreakable, and for the first time in weeks, you felt a flicker of hope stirring deep inside you.

---

The rehearsal dinner was held in a private room at the church a few days later; a grand, echoing place with gilded walls and tall stained-glass windows that cast colored light over everything. Clyde, his parents, and your family were all gathered, discussing wedding arrangements like it was a done deal, each word chipping away at any illusion of control you had left.

Logan and the other bodyguards stood at a respectful distance, keeping watch. He tried to keep his gaze neutral, but his eyes lingered on you longer than necessary, catching every forced smile and stiff nod you gave.

As the minister went through the motions, you and Clyde practiced exchanging vows. You held his hands, repeating words that felt like a foreign language—lifeless, meaningless. Your eyes drifted toward Logan, and he gave you the barest nod, grounding you with that single, unspoken promise.

After the vows, Clyde leaned in close, his voice low and smug. “I think you’ll come to love our life together, Y/N. Just give it time.”

You forced a polite smile, biting back the words you wanted to say. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Logan clench his fists, his face darkening.

Finally, as the rehearsal ended and people began drifting off, you made your way to a quiet corner, needing a moment alone. Logan slipped over to you, his movements subtle as he came to stand beside you.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice softer now that it was just the two of you.

You shook your head, feeling that familiar knot of dread twist tighter. “Logan, I don’t think I can go through with this. But I don’t know if I can run, either. I’m… I’m stuck.”

He took a deep breath, his gaze intense as he looked down at you. “What if I told you that you didn’t have to decide tonight?” he asked quietly. “That we could just… take it one day at a time. You don’t have to have all the answers right now.”

The tension in your shoulders eased a bit, and you met his eyes, finding strength in the certainty there. He wasn’t pushing you, wasn’t forcing anything on you. He was just… here, with you, in whatever way you needed.

“Okay,” you whispered, nodding slowly. “One day at a time.”

Logan gave a small, reassuring smile. “That’s all we need, darlin’.” His hand brushed your shoulder, lingering just a second longer than necessary before he stepped back.

---

The day of the wedding had arrived, and you were dolled up, your makeup and hair were perfect, and your wedding dress was heavy, constricting, and large.

Once the makeup artists and hair stylists left, you had fled to the bathroom in the bridal suite and were currently hunched over the toilet. You hadn’t thrown up—yet—but you could feel the nausea and anxiousness rising.

You braced yourself against the counter, taking deep breaths as you tried to calm the twisting feeling in your stomach. The dress felt like a vice, heavy and restrictive, pressing on every nerve, suffocating in a way that went beyond fabric and lace. You squeezed your eyes shut, hoping the queasiness would pass.

A knock at the door pulled you from the spinning in your head.

“Y/N?” Nancy’s soft, steady voice filtered through, full of that motherly concern you’d come to rely on all your life.

You took a steadying breath, swallowing hard before calling out, “Come in, Nancy.”

The door creaked open, and Nancy stepped inside, closing it quietly behind her. Her gaze immediately softened as she took in the look on your face, her expression a mix of sympathy and something else—resolve, maybe.

“Oh, cara mia,” she murmured, reaching out to place a hand on your shoulder. “You don’t look well. This whole business—it’s too much, isn’t it?”

You managed a shaky nod. “I… I don’t know if I can do this, Nancy. Every time I think about it, I just…” You trailed off, not sure how to put into words the suffocating dread that had settled over you.

She gave you a small, encouraging squeeze. “You know,” she said quietly, “there are other paths besides the one your father chose for you. And you don’t have to walk it alone.”

Your heart skipped at her words. “You… you’d help me? Even if I…?”

Nancy nodded, a spark of fierce protectiveness in her eyes. “Logan’s already got your things in his car,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “If you’re ready to go, he’s waiting.”

You blinked back tears before grabbing one of her hands, “y- you want me to go?”

“SÌ. Your father is a bastardo, breaking that promise him and your mother made.” She squeezed your hand, “Logan’s a good man. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. He won’t let you down.”

You swallowed hard, Nancy’s words settling like a quiet fire in your chest. She was right. Your father had broken his promise, and you didn’t owe him your life just because he controlled every other part of it.

With a shaky exhale, you gave her a nod. “Alright… I’ll go.”

Nancy’s face softened, relief mingling with pride. “Good girl. Now, take this.” She pressed a small envelope into your hand. “Cash. Just in case.”

You looked down at it, blinking back tears. “Thank you, Nancy. For everything.”

She pulled you into a hug, her hand stroking your back gently. “Go, cara mia. Go live your life.” She pulled back, eyes glinting with fierce determination. “And don’t look back.”

You nodded, holding onto that resolve as you slipped out of the bathroom and made your way down the hall, heart pounding. Every step felt heavier, weighed down by fear and the voice in the back of your mind that told you this was dangerous, reckless. But when you stepped outside and saw Logan waiting by his car, the weight lifted.

He looked up, his gaze intense but soft, like he’d been waiting for this moment just as long as you had. “You ready?”

You hesitated, just for a moment, before giving him a small nod. “Yeah. Let’s get out of here.”

Logan opened the passenger door for you, helping you in, his hand lingering on yours for a second longer than necessary. He closed the door, then climbed into the driver’s seat, starting the engine with a low rumble that matched the pulse pounding in your ears.

As he pulled out of the church’s parking lot, the weight of the decision hit you again. You were leaving everything behind—the security, the expectations, the people who’d shaped your entire life. But with each passing second, the fear melted away, replaced by a strange, liberating sense of excitement.

Logan glanced over, noticing the small smile tugging at your lips. “You don’t look so panicked now.”

You shook your head, unable to hide your grin. “I’m not. Not with you here.”

He gave a soft chuckle, that familiar warmth in his gaze. “Good. Because we’ve got a long drive ahead of us.”

You settled back, feeling more at ease than you’d felt in months. There was silence for a moment, comfortable and charged, before you turned to him, voice barely a whisper.

“Where are we going?”

Logan smirked. “Anywhere but here.”

You laughed softly, relaxing into your seat. The road stretched ahead, open and endless, and for the first time in a long while, the future felt like something you could shape.

logan is 141 years old and reader is around 23-25 years old

what!? is that a happy ending? who would've thought... next up, is origins!

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #james howlett x reader #james howlett x you #logan howlett #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett fic #i love you in every time #logan ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ #abby's works ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

795 notes · View notes

ittybittyfanblog · 9 months ago

Text

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 6

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a (!) player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, you get your very own samantha from her (2013) lol, time skips as a plot device!, this has an arc i promise, if anybody here plays disco elysium you’ll find that i took concepts of “the pale” as inspo at some points in this chapter lmao A/N: Oof this one’s a little longer than any of the previous chapters. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it! <3 (and just a heads up, this might be the last chapter I post before I kick it off for the holidays. advance happy holidays! if you guys celebrate that sort of thing.)

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9 - Pt. 10 - Epilogue

There’s a quiet stillness brought by the morning after that makes the problems of a heavier night seem like a fairly distant memory.

For at least a few minutes past the moment you blink away the stubborn grit in your eyes – you don’t remember the last time you’ve been this well-rested in ages – you lie, listless, on the soft powder-blue bedding of your twin-size mattress, watching specks of dander and dust drift from the amber sunlight that filters through the cracked panes of the casement window.

It floats aimlessly, unhurried. Much like you.

The echoes of last night’s events return to you in sporadic flashes—jumbled and fragmented. The whispered exchanges, the playful banter between you and your unlikely conversation partner play back in your mind, like some half-finished supercut.

And the more you recall, the more awake you feel, chipping away the last traces of daytime lethargy weighing you down.

“So, what happens now?”

The sound of a car backfiring breaks through from the outside, like a starting pistol signalling the beginning of another day. A familiar, heavy weight presses against your side, and you thread your fingers through the scraggly fur of the purring feline who’s taken the empty space on your left, just above the covers.

You breathe in deeply, closing your eyes.

“I wish I had an answer. I’m still trying to figure that out myself.”

You realize how many questions still linger, a lot more left unanswered. Far more than what you were able to glean, at least. From what little you’ve learned, an entirely new moral dilemma emerges—one you never imagined you'd have to contend with.

There’s a lot of things you’ve never expected to happen. Yet here you are.

“Seems we’re at an impasse.”

It’s an odd thing in itself. You keep waiting for the disbelief to catch up, for a shred of sanity to surface and make you reject the situation you’ve found yourself entangled in. You should be feeling the same, pesky feelings that pulled you sharply out of your flight of fancy last night, a sense of trepidation for what lies ahead in this precarious game of two.

But instead, you’re here. Now fully awake, and already looking forward to the day with wary acceptance. Looking forward to resuming where you’ve left off with that charming anomaly who’s upended your world, and left you suspended in an exhilarating limbo of uncertainty and excitement.

“...Indeed.”

You crave it—like the first stirrings of a neophyte druggie teetering on the edge of an irreversible habit.

You need another hit.

“Why the long face, little dove?”

Because if desire could manifest into being, it would’ve been Sylus.

“We can figure this out together, can’t we?”

You pick up your phone.

––––

“You’re here? Make yourself at home.”

You look at him, deadpan. He looks back at you serenely.

Your voice takes on a dry monotone when you respond, “Keep talking like that, I’m about to cum.”

There’s a shocked silence; then—

Sylus barks out a surprised laugh, immediately breaking character.

You snort. “Good morning to you too, I guess.”

He meets your gaze with a look of scandalized amusement, his smile wide enough to flash teeth.

"Good morning, indeed."

––––

You two fall into a natural rhythm even before the day comes to a close. Perceptive as he is, Sylus hasn’t let you linger in the unease left over from last night any longer than necessary; which to say, should be left buried and forgotten, past its provenance.

“So you could, like– hypothetically, top up my ascension materials… indefinitely?” There’s a manic shine to your eyes when you confront him back at the home screen, gleeful and triumphant after you boost almost all the 5-star cards you have of him up to max level. “Like an infinite glitch?”

He’s content to just simply listen to your excited chatter from his languid perch on the seat, one palm resting against the side of his face as he watches you, half-lidded and relaxed. Utterly entertained by your antics.

The slight twitching of his mouth, the subtle tilt of his head… each minute shift in his expression makes a whole world of difference from the version you’ve known him longest—almost a lifetime ago.

Now he acts so human, so alive, that it’s almost unreal.

(It’s almost imperceptible, but you swear the air also feels different; like the pixelated space around him is bending, stretching, to accommodate this newer him.)

“Sure,” he shrugs, lips quirking up into a half-smile as he notices the deep crease forming between your brows.

He knows the question you’re about to ask, curious thing that you are.

“How, though? Like, what are ‘materials’ to you?” You make air quotes with your fingers, making you appear all the more endearing to him look at, in your process to make sense of a world that’s unfamiliar to you.

“Think of it as upgrades,” Sylus explains patiently. “You place the order to modify the equipment I use, in whichever situation calls for it.”

“And Memory Cards?”

“... A video reel, maybe. Or a restricted case file—locked until you’ve got enough to trade for the information you want.”

“And I suppose the dealer in question here is you?”

He arches an eyebrow. “Who else?”

“Huh,” you say, considering. “So, Deepspace Trials. That’s something you do on the daily? Because I… make you?”

“More or less.”

“And you never thought to question that?”

“Mm, maybe I’ll start charging for my services this time around.”

You roll your eyes, already accepting his analogy for what it is. “Oh, please. With the amount of money I’ve spent on this game, consider yourself paid in full.”

––––

You were right about your earlier prediction—this new Sylus in combat mode is something else.

For starters, he’s a lot chattier.

“Ouch, kitten– don’t charge in like that.”

“Why are you using a sword? Don’t you like the guns I’ve given you specifically for this?”

“What are you waiting for? Make her resonate with me now.”

And, instead of sticking to his lines and responding to whatever the MC’s programmed to say during battle, he focuses on whatever you’re fussing over—no matter how… moronic it is.

“Ah, fuck! I hate that spinning thing!”

“Move, then. Let me handle it.”

“Block it, block it!”

“I would, if you weren’t halfway across the field. Stick closer to your partner next time, yeah?”

He doesn’t say any of his usual lines. Nothing from his scripted prompts. When all Wanderers are defeated, there’s no post-battle banter between him and the MC.

“Goddamn, you’re strong!” You whoop giddily, completely energized by straight winning almost twelve Orbit trials in a row. I guess that’s what a fully awakened Solar pair gets you, huh?

Sylus lets out a chuckle, infected by your enthusiasm. He doesn’t sound the least bit winded, despite all the damned fighting you’ve put him through.

“We make a good team,” he allows. And because he likes the little nose scrunch you do when you’re annoyed— “Although your dodging really needs more practice, sweetie.”

Before you could think of a comeback, the pop-up window for the next stage comes up. Ass.

––––

Come Monday morning and you’re once again swamped with work.

You barely have enough time to scrounge something up for lunch—if it weren’t for the persistent reminders from Sylus, chiming in every five minutes once the digital clock on your phone had hit eleven-thirty, you’d probably skip eating altogether.

And make something else than just boiling a pot of instant ramen, sweetheart. You’re on track for an early grave at this rate.

“I could… add an egg?” You suggest, unsure. “Maybe cut up some tofu, make it gourmet?”

He doesn’t even dignify the egg suggestion with a response. Tofu’s a good start. Now, what else do you have in your pantry that has nutritional value?

“I despise that,” you mutter, but start rifling through the cupboards anyway.

After amassing enough ingredients—or what looks more like a sad pile—that might, with some effort, turn into something healthier than your usual go-to fix, you start Googling recipes online.

‘tofu easy lunch recipe’

‘10 mins tofu recipes’

‘begginer recipe using tofu frozen dory mixed veg—’ Ping!

… Really, kitten?

You don’t even have to see him to know he’s giving you that look, the one that’s practically dripping with judgment over your dubious life choices.

(You know it all too well. Personally, in fact. You see it on some relatives' faces at the family get-togethers you’re always required to attend.)

Great. Heat creeps up your face as you mumble defensively, “Stop. Not everyone’s a culinary genius, okay?”

After that, he lets you be – something you’re thankful for, really. He’s being too distracting anyway.

Swallowing down the–stubborn and suffocating–embarrassment that's now stuck in your throat, you keep scrolling through Tasty dot co, praying you can whip up something edible with what (little) you have. You’re fully aware that you’re a grown-ass woman who can’t manage a basic life skill and that you’re probably about to burn down your kitchen—

Another notification pops up.

Pull up your tabs, sweetie. I think you’ll find something there that we could put together easily.

Confused, you do as he says. Sure enough, four tofu-related recipes are neatly grouped together in your Chrome browser, ready to be tried and tested.

Your eyes widen. “Wait—you did this? How?”

He doesn’t answer your question. He does, however, offer: Want me to coach you through it? Cooking’s more fun done with a partner, I’d say.

In the end, you manage to make something that tasted way better than you thought you could do by yourself. You have him to thank for that.

“You happy with it?” Sylus asks, grinning at the satisfied look on your face.

“Mhm!” you hum around a mouthful of food. “Fanks, Sy.”

“Anytime, darling.”

––––

“Do you really have to call me ‘kitten’? You sound like a Discord mod.”

Sylus has no idea what a Discord mod is, but judging by the contempt in your voice, it’s clear that you’re not giving him a compliment.

"What do you prefer, then? Princess? Poppet? Sweet thing?" He pauses, tilting his head. "Baby?"

You blush and look away. "...Ugh, whatever. Kitten's fine."

––––

Your routine with Sylus settles into a seamless, effortless flow as the days go by; it’s almost second nature, talking to him. So much so that you’d think nothing could faze you anymore.

Well. Almost nothing.

A message bubble from an unknown number appears on your lock screen: Hi, sweetheart. X

You almost ignore it – brushing it off as some dumb prank from a bored rando – when, not even five seconds later, another text pops up.

+0063-XXXXXX: Its Sylus.

… Huh?

��Is someone fucking with me right now, or…”

+0063-XXXXXX: Nobodys ‘fucking with you,’ kitten.

Then–

+0063-XXXXXX: Send a reply so I can see how it shows up on my end.

Your jaw drops. “Holy shit– you can text?? How are you doing that?” and, “Did you just cuss...?”

+0063-XXXXXX: 👍

+0063-XXXXXX: And Ill let you know if you text me the question 🙄

So you do. You tack on a now spill?? at the end for good measure.

You watch the “typing…” bubble appear, holding your breath.

+0063-XXXXXX: Its a complex mix of technical code and harnessing the energy from a dormant protofield Ive discovered, just south of Vagrants Land.

+0063-XXXXXX: The energy I got from it felt different somehow from your normal protofield. I figured I could put it to good use.

+0063-XXXXXX: Oddly enough, theres an… indescribable effect to oneself when youre nearing the centre of disturbance, shall we say.

+0063-XXXXXX: I can only decrypt the waveforms by the rarefield border surrounding the AoR. Any further and Im afraid the adverse effects may do more harm than good.

+0063-XXXXXX: But if amplified, it seems responsive to the filament of what connects your signal from deep space to this planet.

+0063-XXXXXX: Who knew it could act as a transmitter to send you something as rudimentary as a telegraph?

… Sometimes you forget how smart Sylus really is.

You: that’s pretty amazing ?? wtf sylus

+0063-XXXXXX: I get by OK.

You could practically feel his smugness radiating from those four words. You scoff, shaking your head in a mix of awe and begrudging admiration.

He sends two more messages.

+0063-XXXXXX: Im just glad we can communicate through other means, sweetie.

Sy-Sy (??): Now save my number. Sy Sy will suffice 😉

––––

Since your latest discovery that Sylus can now text (!!), you’ve been talking to him outside the game non-stop. It’s like talking to a very active friend who never leaves you on read, and you couldn’t be more ecstatic.

You: so no one else in ur universe knows anything abt ur situation?

You: no one else acting funny or sumn ? >.>

Sy-Sy (??): None that I know of, no. I prefer to keep it under wraps.

Sy-Sy (??): Now that you mention it, Mephisto has been acting quite suspicious lately.

You: ?? suspicious-suspicious or just reg suspicious??

Sy-Sy (??): Hes with his other crow friends now. They might be attempting a murder.

You: ………. is that…. supposed 2 be a joke……….

Sy-Sy (??): Im running on 3 hours of sleep, give me a break.

Sy-Sy (??): Also your textspeak is horrendous, sweetie.

"Um, hello–?"

Your gaze snaps back to the—very real, very present—person sitting across from you at the table, sporting box-dyed blue hair and a frown. You're at the Annex House; a sleek, new-age Japandi-style bar downtown, just an easy five stations away from your place. You both decided to try it for their infamous Rotten Apple cocktail and, of course, your weekly catch-up.

Khol, your friend of eight years since college, is currently giving you a mildly annoyed look.

Oops.

They point at you accusingly while complaining, "Ugh, we don’t use our phones when we’re hanging out! That’s the rule!"

You smile at them, sheepish, pocketing your phone as discreetly as you could. “I know, I know. Sorry.”

Then, puffing out your cheeks, you meekly ask, “You were talking about Anna...?”

They roll their eyes but go over the gossip a second time, much to your benefit. Phew.

Your phone vibrates. Twice.

…

You sneak a quick, final peek.

Sy-Sy (??): Enjoy your night out, darling ❤️

Sy-Sy (??): You let me know when youre back home, OK?

Biting back a grin, you send out one last text in reply.

You: will do !:9

Sy-Sy (??): Good girl.

––––

"Um–so this is my cat, Maru," you say by way of introduction, holding the plump, orange tabby in front of your phone that’s propped up against a carton of Koko Krunch. There’s a slight struggle in lifting his left paw between your fingers to wave at the man on the other side of the screen. "Say hi, Maru."

“Hello, Maru,” Sylus greets amicably in return, watching the both of you with clear amusement in his eyes. “Care to tell me the origin of this proud beast?”

You recount the story where you’ve first seen Maru five years ago, nothing more than a scraggly little runt at the time, hiding in the gap between a dumpster and the interstice of a cragged wall. You were walking home from a night out drinking with your uni buddies, when you heard the incessant meowing.

It drew you in like a siren’s call. If the siren in question had the vocal prowess of a warbling whale on the brink of death.

Upon closer inspection, the grimy fluffball revealed a stubby, crooked tail and wide, beady eyes. In your alcohol-fueled haze, you briefly wondered if you were staring at a tiny ginger rat.

“Well, it’s definitely all cat,” your friend Bee declared by noon the following day, calmly retracting a scratched and bloodied hand from the disgruntled feline, which promptly hissed and darted right back under the bed.

You hummed in agreement, passing her a wad of tissue.

"I couldn’t decide between Nospurratu and Catpin Meow," you say matter-of-factly, giving your capricious son a scritch under his chin. "Bee suggested I stick to something simpler, like Maru. Hence the name."

Your explanation is punctuated by an offended nip on your pointer finger.

Sylus is covering his mouth, but nods solemnly. “I think Maru is a nice name.”

There’s a moment where the two seem locked in a silent standoff, neither breaking eye contact nor making any sort of outward reaction. Just as you’re about to step in and interrupt the bizarre staring contest, Maru gives a slow, deliberate blink.

Sylus takes it as a sign of victory—or perhaps a ceremonial seal of approval.

With a faint smirk on his lips, he offers the cat a small bow in respect.

––––

You’ve practically emptied the entire arcade of plushies – enough to put it out of business if it were actually, you know, real – and you’re bored to tears.

“Another round of Kitty Cards, perhaps?” Sylus suggests, but a single glance at your face is enough to let him know that you’d rather gnaw off your own hand. Or his. He might just let you.

Sighing dramatically, you complain about the limited playability of the “mini-games” in-game.

“There’s literally nothing else to do. Same old shit, over and over again.” There’s a pout on your face that Sylus wants to nibble on, not that you’re aware of the forming thoughts in his head. “No new banners. I’m stuck between Kitty Cards and the claw machines... I’m bored, Syyyyy,” you whine, stretching the last syllable for effect.

To be fair, he has tried to make it a bit more challenging for you. He stopped fucking around during Kitty Cards – no more extra two cards in exchange for one of yours, no longer placing different colored kitties deliberately in the wrong cups.

After six straight losses, your frustration is palpable. The fun is gone.

He makes audible commentaries during each of your six tries at the claw machine. Every time you manage to snag a plushie, he praises you for a job well done (It flusters you, not that he needs to know that). When your luck runs out and you grab onto nothing but air, he wryly points it out through some slight ribbing, but nothing that’s actually hurtful (This flusters you too—again, not that he needs to know any of this).

There’s nothing else to do. It’s like you’ve exhausted all you could in this small, curated window of his that you’re privy to. If only there’s a way to leave the mini-games behind, to do something new, perhaps outside of what the game has to offer…

Oh, wait.

“Hey, Sy,” you call the man to attention. “Wanna try something out?”

You beat him at Words with Friends by a small margin.

“Ha! That’s thirty-nine points, buddy.” You crow proudly, after putting down Devotees in a straight column.

He eviscerates you at Zynga Poker.

“... How are you so good at this??”

“Comes with the package, sweetie,” he says with faux-modesty after revealing (yet another!!) full house, winking like he hasn’t just wiped the floor with you.

By the end of it, both of you are in high spirits—except, maybe, for your bruised ego.

––––

“Say my name, say my name… If no one is around you, say baby I love you…”

“It’s nice to know that we have another thing in common, little dove.”

It takes you a moment to process what he’s implying.

You stop singing, affronted. “Wh—how dare you.”

––––

“Are you having fun?” Sylus asks, his tone droll as he stands there, hands on his hips and a small scowl on his face. You’re too busy spinning him around, thoroughly entertained by the number of outfits and accessories you’ve forced upon your slightly reluctant model in the photoshoot that's currently taking place.

It’s more amusing, knowing that he’s fully-aware of what’s happening. And that you know he’s aware of what’s happening.

He’s like your personal, sentient Ken doll; if Ken had ashy grey hair, red eyes, and a mercurial attitude.

“I am, actually,” you shoot back, grinning as you plop a tomato stuffie on top of his head. “Look, you two match!”

He exhales a long-suffering sigh, shaking his head in mock exasperation.

Not that it stops you. Fluffy bunny ears, a fish headband, an uncharacteristic halo—you’re relentless. “Hey, can you try a different pose?”

“That depends on the pose… and how nicely you ask.”

“Dear Sylus,” you sing, jutting your bottom lip forward and fluttering your eyelashes exaggeratedly, “could you please, pretty please, flip the camera off?”

He snorts but obliges, raising his hand to deliver the most effortlessly cool middle finger you’ve ever seen. “Happy?”

Woah. That’s… hot. “Oh! Uh. Yeah. Yeah, that’s—”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by your reaction. You giggle nervously. “You look… hot.”

“Mm?” His smirk grows, teasing and predatory. “What was that?”

“Nothing!” you blurt out, but the pinking of your cheeks betrays you. He’s definitely enjoying this now.

“I could be convinced to do another one,” he murmurs, voice pitching a little lower.

You bite the inside of your cheek, fighting the urge to say the first thing that comes to mind. Stop, you whore.

Your nerves get the best of you. Without thinking, you switch to putting the MC back on screen.

Sylus blinks, red eyes narrowing as he looks at you, perplexed.

“Uh,” you shift your gaze between her frozen stance and his idle figure. The sudden silence hangs a little heavy in the air. “Would–would you like to do poses? With her?”

He opens his mouth, an automatic response—but he stops, expression flickering into something unreadable. Confusion? Hesitation?

His brows knit together, and for a short while, he just studies you, the space between you thick with unspoken questions.

“Do you want me to?” he asks finally, his voice quieter, almost careful.

No–I don’t want you to— To pose with someone who looks so-–

perfectperfectperfect by your side—I only want to see you—

I want to see you––

Why do I care–?

I don’t care––I care, I care so much––

“Why not?” you choke out, the forced cheer in your voice grating even to your own ears. You shrug, nonchalant in all the ways you’re not. “I’ll dress her up real nice, and then—” You slap a pink bow onto his head. “You can try to keep up.”

He doesn’t move, not paying the offending accessory any attention. His gaze is solely locked onto yours.

I don’t care. I don’t.

You take the first shot.

____

“What’s the song you’re playing?”

You pause mid-mop, cocking your head to the side in slight surprise.

“Uhh– Pedestal,” you answer unsurely. “By Portishead. You like it?”

He hums, eyes glinting with interest. “I do. Play the rest.”

And just like that, you’re introducing Sylus to modern twenty-first century music—and to Spotify.

____

From that point on, Sylus begins using your Spotify account to discover a whole new world of music—quite literally, in his case. Sometimes he steals the control from you, overriding what you’re currently listening to, just to hear the most random track play from your speakers.

In the middle of a mundane afternoon while you're completely locked in at work—hyperpop synths blaring in your ears—you’re suddenly jolted by the sound of heavy mandolins as an honest-to-god Russian military march blasts through your headphones, shattering your focus like a damn rhino in a china shop.

And so with the level of patience that could put the Virgin Mary to shame, you painstakingly explain to your friend the courtesy of not stealing the proverbial AUX cord from the “driver,” especially when it’s their turn on the radio.

The two of you reach a compromise, and thus the birth of your “shared” playlist. Sylus reluctantly agrees to explore on his own time—when you’re not using the app. Like when you’re busy with other things. Or when you're asleep.

You wake up to the first strings of a Muse song. One of your favorites, in fact.

Sy-Sy (??): Good morning, sweetie.

Sy-Sy (??): Last night was enlightening. I have you to thank for that.

Sy-Sy (??): Oh, and I hope you could indulge me. I added some songs to our playlist. I think youll like them. We both seem to have a thing for alt-rock.

Sy-Sy (??): Give me time and Im sure Ill acquire a taste for electronic music too. Be patient.

You huff out a laugh, lazily rolling over as you check your shared playlist. Sure enough, there’s twelve new songs on it.

You: awe that’s great sy :)) and these songz r rly good !! u got sum of my faves here

You: based on what u like maybe u can try looking up sum david bowie, probz massive attack idk

You: i’ll add stuff later for u to listen 2!!! <2

You: <3*

Sy-Sy (??): Alright, sweetheart. Im looking forward to it.

Sy-Sy (??): ♥️

____

From the outside, the studio is just another unit among endless rows of dull grey—small and unassuming. Tucked away on the sixth floor of a nondescript building, it’s built as unremarkable as the rest.

Through a window stained with a mix of corrosive ochre and burnt sienna, there’s a quiet hum; the presence of something that wasn’t there a week ago. Life has shifted, ever so subtly, from an oppressive achroma to a much warmer vibrancy.

There’s a faint hint of movement. Inside, the young woman wears an almost-permanent smile, her phone an extension of her hand as she taps away with no semblance of rhyme nor rhythm—only in a continuous staccato. Her eyes are locked on the screen, as if drawn by an invisible force.

It’s elusive; this connection. Something beyond. Supranatural. It weaves through the room like whispered secrets shared in the dead of the night, beneath a city blanketed in deep ultramarine. Soft, like a wind brushing through a still everglade.

The apartment, once steeped in a self-inflicted solitude – one that went by unnoticed for a long period of time – comes alive as an intangible presence fills its nooks and crannies with the steady warmth of companionship. There’s a gentle heat to the space now, like the glow of an invisible hearth.

The flickering of the string lights, the muted laughter shared with a voice through the tinny speakers of a handheld device, a slight signal interference… all feel like the genesis of an impossible story.

Outside, the evening sky is fading into twilight.

And as one looks out onto the street below from the sixth floor window, it’s almost as if the world outside doesn’t quite matter anymore.

Inside, the air is full of life, in ways it has never been.

____

“Come to me, just in a dream

Come on and rescue me

Yes, I know I can be wrong

And maybe you’re too headstrong

Our love is––”

Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @sunsethw4 @stxrrielle @mangooes @hrts4hanniehae @buggs-1 @michiluvddr @ssetsuka @i2sannie @imm0rtalbutterfly @the-golden-jhope @slyfoxtsu @beomluvrr @milkandstarlight @bookfreakk @ally-the-artistic-turtle @tinyweebsstuff @sapphic-daze @sarahthemage @cchiiwinkle @madam8 @slownoise @raendarkfaerie @sylusdarling @luminaaaz @greeenbeean

(if..... for some damn reason..... the tags still don't work i rly don't know what i'm doing wrong T_T i'm posting this from a macbook is that it, is the ghost of steve jobs fucking with me rn)

1K notes · View notes

fanfic-troll · 2 months ago

Text

↳ Oh Won't You Cum Again? ⚤ ghostface x female!reader 【 18+ ONLY — Minors DNI 】 warnings ⇢ penetration, pet names, male receiving, sexting, choking, bondage*reader gets tied up, degrading, orgasm denial, ghostface is the biggest pervert, humiliation, uniform-kink word count | 9.3K pt.1 ▻ please respond…i showed you my cock pt.2 ▻ a pretty mouth pt.3 ▻ call me anytime pt.4 ▻ down for the count tags @darkdemeter, @sarynnah, @folksriddle, @allyhahaha, @msfantasy-taboo, @glittervame, @alisha-jade, @fromsaltandsea, @bl00dgxre, @darklylucid, @strawberrybyers join the tag list here

You stepped into the shower, feeling the hot water wash over you. Opening your mouth and letting the hot water wash away the sin. Your ass hurt to the point you thought you might need to go to the hospital. The sensation was a weird feeling, something that you definitely had never experienced before. Your body felt sticky, sweaty and gross. Used. Like a puppet of theirs.

You tried your best to just push it all to the back of your mind, like a bad dream. You didn’t want to let yourself get worked up over everything that just took place in your bedroom. You ran the loofah over your body, scrubbing at your skin with an uncomfortable pressure. You had encountered him multiple times now, and it wasn’t just him apart of it either. He said there were more. Heaps more potentially.

What if next time there’s five of them? Your body being tossed around like some fuck toy they can use and abuse. It was disgusting in an erotic way to your fucked up mindset. These guys were not only threatening to kill people you loved but they would. You were almost trapped in some kind of abusive relationship. It was clear that they knew how to get to you, so you stood in the shower and thought about what you should do.

Maybe your parents were right. Maybe it was time to move across the country and be somewhere safer. You needed to get out of dodge or someone might get hurt. Maybe when they’re tired of you, they’ll kill you. And that could be at any point when you no longer serve them.

You finished up, grabbing the towel and wrapping it around your body and drying yourself off. You made sure to check your window, locked tight and placing a bar against it to hopefully make it harder to open. At least if you heard it trying to be opened it would give you time to get out. It was a weird feeling, not feeling safe in your own home anymore. You checked your door, locking it and trying to twist the handle with great force. And for extra measure, you pressed the wooden chair in the corner of your room against the handle.

“Try and get in now fuckers.” You muttered to yourself, not hatefully, just exhausted. You knew it would be a while before they would behind harassing you again, so you started looking into flights. Messaging your cousin about coming to visit and stay for a while. She was excited to say the least, texting you all the fun things you could do together when you finally came.

You let out a sigh, closing your laptop and getting dressed into something comfortable. You were gonna try and get out of school tomorrow, too tired to even bother at this point. And besides, you were hopefully about to move anyways and finish up your senior year across the country.

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

“So months ago you were begging to stay here with us, and now you want to move? I just don’t understand you Y/n. It’s almost like you’re trying to drive me crazy. You don’t talk to us, you’re failing and completely distracted. I just don’t see what sending you away is going to do?” You couldn’t believe your mother was upset at you for wanting to get away from all this.

“I just didn’t realise the amount of stress this would cause. I mean, I’m scared to even be alone in my own house for crying out loud. I don’t feel safe here anymore and I would appreciate it if you would do this for me please. I can’t sit around waiting for this killer to show up again.” You could honestly, you just didn’t want to admit it to yourself. Deny, deny, deny.

“I mean, look I’ll speak with your aunt about it but no promises. And I want to see you actually picking your grades up. No school is going to accept you with an average below 2.” Great, homework and studying. The one thing that seemed to be your kryptonite.

“Fine.” You huffed, heading back upstairs and beginning to open unanswered emails from teachers asking for your overdue work to be handed in immediately. You sighed at the screen, you weren’t sure how you were going to get yourself out of this one but you had a few tricks still up your sleeve.

You began replying back to the emails, opening the spreadsheets and giving everything you had to put into writing these assignments and getting them checked off your list. It was the first time in and long time you had actually gotten some school work properly done. It felt liberating to say the least. You felt content with the work you had done, even if it had only been a few essays. It was still a lot of work to hand in so suddenly.

Your phone buzzed on the table, screen lit up with a notification that made you shiver. You sat for a minute, trying to think about what would happen if you had received a message from him, or them. Whoever they were. You began thinking for a minute, what if you tried to figure out who these guys were? The idea had you captivated immediately and you began your search. Socials you began looking through friend lists of everyone, seeing if anything looked weird or funny. Something to stand out.

You knew a couple of guys that seemed cocky enough to pull this kind of thing but it was also a long shot. What evidence did you have? You looked through messages, back and forth to see if you could catch phrases, patterns, something. You could rule a few people out already, knowing that they didn’t fit anything you had. It definitely wasn’t any girls. You had a small list of six guys, all you needed to do now was break down their motives, and why they would be doing this.

You dived into research, articles online to see what reports were saying, what the police were saying. It had to be someone from your school, they were way too young to not be. Hours passed by quickly, you were entranced by all of it. You had begun a document on your computer, photos taken from your suspects social media accounts with dates and time stamps. Cross referencing them with messages you had received.

You begun thinking about how they would have such amount of access to your phone, your house, your cameras. You stopped. Eyes meeting the camera on your laptop. What if they were watching you right now? Watching you spiral down a rabbit hole of hunting serial killers and revealing their identities? You slammed the top down hard, breaking out of your obsession and allowing yourself to come back into reality.

Your stomach fluttered, an anxiety creeping in. One that you hadn’t experienced before. What if they knew you were trying to find them out, and they would come back to kill you finally?

Your eyes caught your window, exposed but still locked from last night. And it was going to stay that way until you could figure all this out.

You got up, opening your door to hear the chatter amongst your parents downstairs. Conflict between the two of them about you wanting to leave.

“So she wants to go, let her fucking go! Maybe she’ll actually do well under proper guidance from a mother!”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re not here looking after her. You’re off fucking Ron or Rick or whatever the fuck his name is!”

“I told you it was only once and I was drunk!”

“And I was your husband!”

You shut your door, tears brimming in your eyes at the commotion. If there was any good time to leave this shit-house, it was definitely now. You didn’t care anymore, you didn’t care what it took. You were standing your ground and moving away, whether you got your mother to agree or went behind her back to your father.

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

Well you got your way that was for sure, you held your ticket in your hand. Shaking at the anxiety of what you were about to do. Moving across the country and away from all your friends and family. It was an uncomfortable feeling really, but you needed to do it.

Surprisingly you didn’t hear from Ghostface at all, you thought that he might have come by to see you off. It was a little disheartening in the most fucked up of ways. You waited patiently in line, listening to the repeated phrase, ‘thank you, have a great flight’ over and over until you finally got to the front of the line.

“Thank you, have a great flight.” You smiled in response, taking a small breath before stepping through the doors and towards the exit towards you plane. You boarded easily, taking your seat on the end of the aisle, easy access to the toilet.

Maybe you were a bit of a nervous flyer but you were holding it together pretty well so far. You pulled your headphones out and over your head, playing your music to drown out the people conversing next to you and around you. You drowned them out, closing your eyes and letting your head fall back against the head rest until it was all over.

Your hand clutched the arm rest tight, you focused on your breathing as well to try and not let yourself panic. The flight was six hours so it was going to be a long trip ahead of you. When the plane began to take off you almost cried, it was such a weird feeling, but you fought back tears and allowed yourself to think of something, anything.

Ghostface. Your investigation into who he was, you mentally thought deeply about your suspects and what motives they all had.

Malcolm, he was a bit weird and techie but you wouldn’t think he’s the kind of person to be behind such a thing. He looked like he would break if you looked at him wrong. Whoever was doing this needed a strong stomach and twisted sense of humour. But maybe there was a dark side to him, long nights surfing the dark web and seeing things he shouldn’t be. A menacing interior different to his slightly nerdy exterior.

Lucas, classic asshole who enjoyed picking on anything that moved. Teacher, students, maintenance people for the school. Everyone was a target, and everyone was a victim. He seemed to be some kind of sociopath so it would make sense to be him. But there was something that told you he wasn’t the one doing it. But you’ve been wrong before too. It seemed the asshole of him only came out when he was around large groups of people really. Just arrogance it seemed. You only knew that because you had seen him actually helping his teachers out here and there when he thought no one was watching.

Travis, another quiet kid who seemed to only have a small handful of friends who didn’t seem very interested in him. It made you sad really, he was friendly. You’d spoken to him a few times in classes, little comments about the curriculum being made here and there. Maybe he had a sadistic side to him, an obsession for you. And a disliking towards his peers. It was a strong enough case but you needed more evidence.

Mr. Hunt, a young-ish teacher who had started fairly recently, he was a suspect. Though he had no red flags that stood out to you from his behaviour he was still new to the whole town. And he seemed pretty fresh out of high school, maybe he held a grudge? Maybe he was bullied at this school and took it personally to a whole other level. This was his revenge game. He taught you calculus and he had taken a liking to you, you always contributed the best you could in any classes and he seemed to like it. Maybe he liked it too much.

Six hours passed by quicker than you imagines, the turbulence barely noticeable as you were deep in thought about your theories. You had become quite the detective. But none of it mattered for now, it was up to the police. You dreaded about hearing from Ghostface again, what his reaction would be if he found out you had moved away. He seemed to only be interested in keeping you alive for his disgusting, perverse reasons. You didn’t want to be his anymore though. It was wrong. And it might be costing peoples lives.

You departed the plane, nerves bundling in your stomach as you thought about seeing your extended family after such a long period of time. You knew your cousin would be there, along with your aunt and uncle. You walked out of the gate, seeing them standing there waiting for you with a big bouquet of flowers and balloons for you. All big smiles plastered across their faces. Bouncing with excitement of seeing you after such a long time. Four Christmases to be exact, that’s the last time you were all together as a big family.

Things seemed to be easier then. You walked towards them awkwardly, slightly embarrassed they were making such a big deal in a public setting. But you gave them a pass for now, it had been a while.

“Y/n! Oh, you look so grown up my little twin.” Your cousin embraced you first, tightly you might add. Her little twin is what she used to call you growing up, you two used to be really close. Everyone would say you were meant to be sisters in another life. You always liked that idea.

“How are you darling? We’ve missed you and your mum. How is she doing?” You aunt asked as she too pulled you in for a tight hug. Her soapy perfume filling your lunges in a toxic way.

“Good, everything is good.” You didn’t want to tell her the truth, but she could already read it all over you. Her eyes giving you a sympathetic look. She knew about the fights with your dad that were a constant. She didn’t like your father, and it had always been very apparent. You hugged your uncle who seemed to be a bit more gentle with his embrace.

They led you out to the car, helping you get yours bags into the back and beginning to give you a rundown of life here with them, in their small town.

“So, you’ll find there’s only one mall and its very bland. You have to travel two hours to get to the city if you want anything nice for yourself. And the people are pretty nice in town, just keep in mind that its small here so there is a lot of gossiping that goes on.” Your cousin began explaining the basics to you, how the school scene was as well.

“So Y/n, what are you looking at doing once you graduate? Any colleges you’ve been accepted to yet?” College, right. You hadn’t even thought about it, let alone applied for anywhere yet. It would be only a matter of time before the cut off date would come up and you hadn’t even written your personal essay.

“Uhm, not yet. Still waiting to hear back.” You hated lying but you didn’t want to tell her you were quite behind on everything. Your phone buzzed and you looked down to the see what came through.

⇰ Have you landed yet? xx

You initially thought it was your mother messaging, but a shiver ran down your spine when you saw the sender.

Ghostface. All the colour in your skin disappeared and you suddenly felt very light headed and needed to get out of the moving car. Each turn made you feel queasy and you just wanted to be sitting down and not moving at all to take it all in.

You weren’t sure if you should respond. If it was even worth it. But he had figured it out now. He had your house rigged somehow. He had mentioned how he had things set up in your home without you even knowing. You feared he would retaliate by going after your parents, you wanted to call your mum and dad to warn them. But you couldn’t do it in the car now with everyone listening in. You’d have to wait for a more private moment.

The interrogation continued, more questions about what you’ve been doing in school and out. How you’ve been handing all the stress of a killer on the loose. You answered as shorty as you could, mind too focused on getting home and making some calls.

⇰ You can’t hide from me, I’m everywhere.

You were really worried now, but you also saw this coming. You knew he would catch up, you just didn’t realise it’d be so soon. When you finally pulled into the driveway you let out a breath you’d been holding for too long. Allowing your uncle to handle your luggage as you dashed inside quickly, your aunt thought it was just excitement.

“Uh, where’s the toilet? Been busting since the plane.” You lied and smiled lightly at her. She made gestures as she explained and watched you follow her instructions. You went into the bathroom, closing and locking the door as you opened your phone and pulled up your mothers contact. Call.

You held the phone to your ear, listening closely to each and every dragged out ring. Voicemail. Great. You tried again, hoping she’s just seen you calling and would pick up on the second time. Voicemail. You called a few more times before trying your dads phone as well. Worry was begging to really set in, what if he had already gotten to them? After the third call your dad picked up the phone.

“Y/n? How’d your flight go? You get there okay?” You let out another breath you’d been hanging onto. Clutching ahold of the edge of the sink to keep yourself steady as relief washed over you.

“Yes, I’m so glad to hear your voice. I just wanted to call and see how you guys were.” It was weird, something you never did.

“We’re okay, is everything alright? You seem quite worked up.” You didn’t want them to panic, biting down on your lip you silently debated for a few seconds before responding.

“Everything’s fine dad, just wanted to check in.”

“Alright, well I’m glad you made it safe and you’re okay. I miss you already. I have to get back to work but I’ll give you a call later once you’ve settled in, okay?” You felt reassured, at least for a little while. You were going to hold him to that phone call. You hung up after saying bye and looked down at the new message that came through.

⇰ Thought you could get rid of me just like that?

⇰ Don’t be so sure.

Your stomach dropped, you flushed the toilet and stepped out of the bathroom. Walking slowly and trying to find your way around the house. You had never been here, extended family seemed to always travel to your house but you guessed that after the kids all grew up it wasn’t worth the money and hassle anymore. You admired the photos of your cousin in frames around the house, some with you in them. You managed to find yourself in the kitchen, everyone chatting away about some drama going on in your cousins college.

You tried your best to focus and join the conversation but you were uneasy. Mind elsewhere.

“Where is my room if you don’t mind me asking?” You politely butted into the conversation, your aunt getting you to follow her down the hallway and towards the room next to the bathroom.

“Its just this one here, we’ve already put your stuff in here. The drawers are empty and so is the closet so make yourself at home.” Home. Although it was temporary it was still going to be your home for a little while. You missed your old room, before it had been tainted. She left you to unpack your things and give you time to settle in. Dinner would be coming along shortly and you weren’t even sure if you could stomach anything right now.

You glanced down at the message again. Don’t be so sure. What was that supposed to mean? Was he here already? Was he watching you right now? You looked around the room paranoid, checking lamps, mirrors, cupboards. Anywhere there could be cameras or microphones hidden. It was stupid but you felt a little safer by doing so.

You couldn’t lie to yourself though, something about Ghostface wanting you so bad he followed you was arousing in a sense. Like a piece of chewing gum that was stuck to your shoe. Always with you.

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

After dinner the family liked to sit and talk at the table, but they let you head to bed early after the long day you had. You were grateful, thanking everyone for dinner and helping you out for the day. You had showered quickly, there was no detachable shower head here. Pity. You felt weird sliding into the unfamiliar bed, the sheets felt cold and different from yours. You tried your best to make yourself cozy though, setting up your laptop on the mattress next to you and putting on a movie.

Something to just help you switch your mind off, to help you ease into sleep. It wasn’t that hard to get to sleep surprisingly, you managed to drift off pretty soon after your movie started playing. It was when you woke up four hours later though that made your first night difficult. Your throat was parched, you reached instinctively for your water bottle to not find it on your nightstand. You weren’t home anymore, you wiggled out from the covers and tried your best to walk quietly out to the kitchen.

Hoping you weren’t making too much noise as you grabbed a glass and filled it with water. Walking slowly back to your bedroom and closing the door. You noticed on your way in that there was only the bathroom next to your room. It seemed any of the other rooms were on the other end of the house. You didn’t mind it really, it made you feel more comfortable actually.

You sat in bed, flicking through random social media on your phone when it buzzed again. He knew you were awake.

⇰ Miss me yet?

You ignored it, flicking the message away and trying your best to push it to the back of your mind.

⇰ I know you miss me.

⇰ I know how much you miss this cock.

⇰ Burying deep inside you as I spill my seed.

⇰ You’re such a cockslut.

⇰ You love it filling you up in every way.

⇰ Fucking answer me cockslut.

⇰ Answer me or ill fucking kill your parents before you can even warn them.

You broke, finally opening the messages that kept harassing you. Fingers dancing over the keyboard in hesitancy.

How could he be here and at your house at the same time? You thought about it for a second, thinking about how to respond.

What do you want?

Your reply was short and right to the point, you were sick of playing his games.

⇰ I think you know sweetheart.

You knew exactly just from that message alone what he wanted.

No, I’m not doing this anymore with you. I’m done okay?

You knew he would continued to threat and push until you broke but you weren’t going down without a fight. You wanted to test your theory to really see if he had followed you or not.

⇰ We’re not done, til I say we’re done.

⇰ You fucking understand me?

⇰ I’ll keep using you until I’m ready to kill you.

Your cheeks burned crimson, in a good way? You weren’t too sure. How could such vile words work you up like this?

You won’t, you would’ve killed me ages ago if you really wanted me dead.

I think you’re just a loser who can’t get any girls so he had to harass and manipulate one into getting what he wants.

His text bubble jumped a few times, like he was trying to figure out how to respond. You took the opportunity of having him stunned to write more. Seeing if you could get under his skin.

You think I like you? You’re out of your fucking mind.

You’re a sick, pathetic nobody who has to hide behind a mask to get what he wants.

You had to admit it, you felt powerful. Like you had reclaimed yourself again. The text bubble started again, watching and waiting to see his response.

⇰ Don’t fucking test me slut.

⇰ You’re gonna regret saying any of that.

⇰ I’ll make sure of it.

And he stopped. You weren’t sure if you should try and have the last word but you didn’t want to keep entertaining him. This was still all a game to him, and your plan of a power play was working for now. You at least could sleep easier tonight.

The next morning you were woken up by knocking on your door, your aunts voice muffled through it but you could basically make out what she was saying. Your first day, well not really. But you had to go get enrolled into your new school. It was a little worrying how different it was all going to be here for you. But you were going to try and make it work. It was definitely a slower morning than you wanted it to be, feeling uneasy about making your way around the bathroom.

Worried if you used the wrong toothpaste, too much toothpaste, too much water for the shower, too much shampoo. It was all daunting on you that you were suddenly a stranger in this house. You didn’t know the rules or how things worked, at least at home you took care of your own really.

You made your way into the kitchen once you were satisfied with your outfit. The smell of toast bringing a warm and fuzzy feeling to your chest. It was what home was supposed to smell like. And you began to feel a bit better again.

“So, big day huh Y/n?” Your eyes met your uncles who had asked you.

“Yeah, kinda nervous honestly.” You chuckled a little, anxious about your upcoming day ahead of you.

“You’ll be fine, the school here is lovely. Its a little bit different than what you’ll be used to.” You wondered what she meant by that, her tone laced a certain way it made you question it a bit.

You brushed it off for now but kept it in the back of your mind. After breakfast you headed out to the car, the mornings were colder here than you expected and you immediately regretted not grabbing a jumper to throw on. The drive felt short, probably because it was. The school wasn’t what you were expecting, it seemed bigger, fancier even. It had this old style to it like it had been here for a long time and they just continued to upgrade onto the original build.

Stepping out of the car you felt a little nauseas, nerves kicking in seeing students walking around and chatting away with one another. The first thing that caught your eye, their uniforms. It was weird seeing it really, you mentally cursed at the idea of it. Of course it had to be uniforms. You sighed internally, following your aunt who was speaking gibberish about the school to you that you were blocking out.

You walked into the building, holding your head low to avoid staring eyes on you. You walked down a hallway before getting to the receptionist office, walking in and an older lady sat behind the desk typing away on her computer. She looked up and greeted you with a small smile on her face, pushing her big frames back on her nose.

“Hello, we have an appointment with Principal Loomis.” What a weird name. She quickly dialled on her phone, holding the phone to her ear and quietly muttering a few words.

“You can head on in.” She said and you followed suit. You walked in and saw a fairly older woman sat behind the desk.

“Hello, welcome to Woodlands College. I’m Principal Loomis, have a seat.” You both sat in the leather burgundy seats in front of her desk, a shiny silver plaque with her title and name written on it at the front of her desk.

“So, Y/n. I hear you’re transferring all the way from Jetson High?” You smiled shyly, already feeling your nerves set in.

“Well, we hope you’ll enjoy yourself here at Woodlands, we are a very high educational institution and we focus on helping our students develop into intelligent, goal setting, extraordinary adults who are ready to take on the outside world.” So what she was really saying was that they were expecting you to obey every single rule in their book and if you deter from it then you’ll probably get put in the dungeon. You bit back a smile as you laughed at your inner thoughts.

“So I took the liberty of getting your school records from Jetson, it seems you have had a good grade average for the last few semesters of your school but I can see a start of decline dating back almost two months ago. I’m guessing thats when the incidents started happening?” She emphasised the words, trying to tread carefully. You weren’t that surprised the news had made it out here, it was almost everywhere at this point with the amount of victims he had stacked up.

“Yes, I am dedicated to turning things around though and getting myself back on track.” You managed to find your voice, although it was still meek.

“Wonderful! Alright, well I’ll have out head of student body conduct a small tour around our grounds and facilities. If you have anymore questions do feel free to contact Darlene our receptionist and she’ll be happy to answer them. Did you have any questions for me directly before I let you go?” She was well spoken, a good sense of maturity to her despite her young appearance.

“No, I think I’ll be alright.” You nodded, she stood to her feet and got the door for you both. Your eyes fell on to a student, she was very short to be a senior. Hair tied back into a slick ponytail and uniform presented crisp and perfect.

“Nadine, this is Y/n and her aunt. If you would so kindly show them around, start with the classrooms first and make your way from there. Thank you.” You smiled at the girl, she offered one back. It didn’t feel quite as genuine though.

“Please follow me.” And you did, she led you through each and every classroom. Talking about the curriculum and expectations, they were very demanding on high results. You were a little worried you might not be cut out for this place. She led you through the library, the cafeteria, the gym, it felt never-ending. Your aunt was asking lots of questions on your behalf, times classes ends, what studies they offer, anything and everything.

It was finally almost lunch time when the tour was over, you thanked the girl and left with your aunt. She seemed more excited than you for this place, which didn’t surprise you. It was a big part of her personality.

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

Your first day. Scary. You’d rather see Ghostface again than face the first day at a new school. It was gonna be hell.

You stood there, fresh out of the shower staring at it. Your uniform, they had it posted to you within the day after your aunt gave them your sizes. You hated every bit about it, the white button up blouse, the outdated just-above-the-knee plaid skirt. The horrible striped tie with the school colours. You felt ridiculous putting it on, looking at yourself in the mirror and wondering if you could just run away back home. Back to your normal like where Ghostface would pop up in and out of constantly.

⇰ Have a good first day doll.

It was like he was in your mind, sending you the message first thing this morning. You ran your fingers through your hair, styling it to suit the ugly uniform that did not flatter your skin tone. Too late to back out now. You put your shoes on and made your way to the kitchen to, the smell of waffles. It seemed breakfast was a family event in this household.

“Excited for your first day?” Your aunt asked, a big grin plastered on her face. You faked your smile, inside you were dying to go back to bed. Dropping out sounded good.

“Juice?” She asked holding the glass jug up and a glass cup in her other hand. You nodded in response.

“We’ll be off in ten minutes, I’m just going to get into something less dirty and put some perfume on.” She pulled at the bottom of her shirt, showing the stains of flour, egg and sugar on it before walking down to her room. Oh gosh, not the soapy perfume. You cringed at the smell, knowing she used way too much of it for it to be legal. You would just have to try and not choke on it if you could help it.

As if she was a robot with a tight schedule, you left ten minutes later right on the dot. She shuffled her shoes on and got in the car. The drive was way shorter this time, your mind elsewhere and before you knew it she was pulling up in the drop off bay. You gripped ahold of your skirt, tight fabric between your fingers. She noticed your tense body that sat there.

“Hey, you’ll be okay. Its not as bad as you think, I’m sure today will be fine.” Why didn’t you believe her? Was it your own mind or her lying to you? Either way you didn’t have time to think before she was encouraging you out of the vehicle and leaving you there. You thought about turning around and walking out of the gates, eyes scanning different groups of people standing around. Some taking notice of the new-comer. Small town.

You held onto the strap of your bag, as if to ease yourself in some way. You began slowly walking to the front entrance, hoping that you would remember the way to the reception. Luckily you did, or you might as well have not turned up for the day. You were given your schedule and other documentation. Some to fill out, some to give to teachers and some to take home and give to your aunt.

Already ten minutes in to your new school, and you were overwhelmed. Not remembering where a single classroom was. You locked eyes with familiar ones, Nadine. Same hairstyle and freshly pressed uniform. She strided towards you with such confidence, no one she was head of the student body here. She sure acted like it.

“Hi Y/n, how are you finding things? Anything I can be assistance of?” You were stunned at her maturity in how she spoke. Like a copy and paste of your principal really.

“Just a little lost. Where is homeroom?” You asked sheepishly, feeling a little bad that you clearly weren’t one of them.

“You’ll be in my homeroom. Walk with me.” She made sure to stay by your side, letting you not feel left behind. It was actually comforting considering how insane everything seemed. There were more students in the halls than when you visited, no one was in class yet.

“Is the school always this busy?” You asked, eyeing off all the students surrounding the main hallway with their lockers open and books stacked up completely. She led you to a locker that opened right away, empty.

“This is your locker, then combination is changed every three months for security reasons. Your combination should be on your personal forms under ‘school property responsibilities’. You glanced down at the stack of papers in your hands, shuffling through to find the one she was talking about. You folded the page in half and placed it in your pocket for now, knowing you’ll probably be needing it for a bit before you could memorise it.

You slid your strap off your shoulder, putting it into the locker along with the papers you had been given except your schedule.

“You’ll have homeroom with me, then you’ll find your next classes below with timestamps and locations written on them. If you flip the page over you’ll see the map here. So the front entrance is here which is where you started and its basically a walk through from there. So your next class after homeroom will be ancient history with Mr. Macher, then you have calculus with Mrs. Prescott and then we break for 15 minutes. This will give you time to swap out books for your next classes and socialise.” It was like she spoke in tongues, none of this making any sense to you but you tried your best to follow along.

When the bell rang it was weird, almost like a tune that was on the tip of your tongue. It was different from just your standard bell ring at your old school.

“Time for homeroom.” She began walking with you, a few more feet down and you were at Room 3-A. Homeroom. You filed in with the other students, taking a seat at one of the separated desks and sitting down. Nadine taking the seat behind you.

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

The day seemed to go by slower than you’d hoped. Every class felt like a maze and other students weren’t as helpful with directions. They seemed to speak to you as if you had been here for a while. Some people were nice, some weren’t as nice and others just seemed to keep to themselves. You were happy when the day finally came to its end, although you felt you spent most of your day confused.

You were’t looking forward to tomorrow. Your aunt was already waiting in the pick up bay for you, hand held out the window waving excitedly. You basically ran to the car, wishing you had a moment of privacy to completely break down. You didn’t want her to see you so upset.

“How was your first day!? Was it amazing? Did you make some friends?” All questions you didn’t want to answer, but you knew if you didn’t try to keep up your charade she would become concerned and that was something you didn’t want to deal with.

“Yeah it was good. Yeah I made a couple.” As if on que, your phone buzzed.

⇰ Liar, liar, pants on fire. Or should I say, skirt?

You blushed at his message, your aunt noticing your weird sudden mood change.

“Everything okay?” She asked, you snapped your head towards her in panic and locked your phone and placed it in your lap.

“Yep. Just realised that I have I forgot one of my books.” You played it off as best as you could.

“Oh well I can wait a little longer if you want to run in and grab it.” Great, now you had to play into the lie somehow.

“It’s alright, I don’t need it urgently. Just wanted to get a head start on homework.” She pulled out of the space and drove home. The drive was easier at least, and you were going back home where you could sit in your room and try and not want to run away. You said a small hello to your uncle as you entered the house, ushering to your room as quickly as possible and sitting down on your bed.

At least you had a space to relax and not be bothered in. You laid back on the bed, letting your body melt into the mattress as you let yourself unravel from your day mentally. Your phone hummed against the fabric once again. You brought it to your face, scanning over the new message.

⇰ God I wanna fuck you so bad rn.

It was from a new number, but you knew it was him still. You were hesitant to call the number, but you were curious to see if he would pick up as well. You pressed dial, waiting for him to answer the call.

“Hello.” His voice rasped through the phone, your knees feeling a little weak at the deepness of the voice. Your breath hitched in your throat for a few seconds, swallowing hard.

“Your number changed.” You breathed, hearing a small ‘mmm’ come from him on his end. It sounded so erotic like he was pleased with your statement.

“It did. Or maybe I’m not who you think I am.” Your stomach dropped at his words, oh no. Not another one.

“Why are you all doing this to me? What is it about me that seems to peek your interest? I don’t want to be apart of this anymore.” You were pleading to him, hoping that maybe a different person meant a different kind of treatment almost. Maybe he was more understanding?

“Because if I can’t have you, no one can.” The classic stalker line buzzed in your ears, and you felt tight in your stomach as your body tried to decipher whether it was terrified or turned on. The dampness of your panties was very telling, but you didn’t want him knowing that.

“If I give myself to you, will you leave me alone and let me live in peace?” You knew he wasn’t going to go for it, but it didn’t hurt to try. He was quiet, like he was actually considering your request.

“No. But, give yourself in to me, and I’ll make sure you stay mine and only mine.” You had to admit, it wasn’t what you wanted but it was still better than being shared around like some used up toy. You really had to think, he wasn’t going to stop and if you said no then who knows what would happen the next time Ghostface popped back up in person. What he would do, what they would do. Goosebumps formed on your skin, every hair seemed to be standing up in place as you tried to swallow your pride.

“Deal.” You felt betrayed saying it, like one part of you was fighting with the other. He chuckled darkly, and hung up. You sat in silence now, thinking about what was to come. You had no clue when he would turn up, what he would do. All you could do now, was wait.

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

“Class dismissed.” After a full week you were beginning to finally settle in to your new school. Classes were still difficult to keep up in, you felt so behind in everything. Your teachers instructed that you attend an after-school study today in room 7-C. Or was it 17-C? Or 7-D? You weren’t really paying any attention and Nadine wasn’t around to help give you the answer.

The final bell had gone and everyone was racing to their lockers to leave, you pulled the folded piece of paper from your pocket and read your combination while trying to put it in. It took four tries before you finally got it. Something you were still trying to get the hang of. You grabbed what you needed for the study group and turned your schedule over to show you the map. Why did there have to be so many classrooms?

You began looking into each classroom, opening the door and poking your head in to see if anyone was in there. Teachers also desperate to get home, seemed to all have disappeared without a trace. You continued to walk down the hall in the opposite direction everyone seemed to be heading. There was no one else heading to this thing?

You kept checking rooms, some locked so you couldn’t actually check them as you went along. You got to room 7-C, one of the rooms you thought it was in. You opened it, sticking your head around the corner and muttering a small hello. Empty. You closed the door, moving down to the next room just across the hall. 7-D. Poking your head in again, it was empty but you thought you saw someone out of the corner of your eye. You stepped in on instinct, thinking it must be a teacher. Your eyes widened as they met the tall figure.

He was fit, muscles basically tattooed all over him. Broad and much different from the others you had encountered. The signature Ghostface mask on, his cloak fitted to his body showing each and every curve of himself. You made a dash for the door, his movements were towards you quickly like he knew exactly what your plan already was. But the door had been locked, whether by someone or he had planned it out somehow. You stepped back and away from him, the backs on your thighs bumping in to the corners of desks.

It hurt and you knew it would bruise, but your mind was a little more focused on staying alive right now. He worked his way towards you slowly, cornering you against the back wall. He almost leapt at you, pushing his body against yours so it was stuck between the two. He had you now.

“Poor, defenceless, lost lamb. Can’t even find a fucking study group to save your life.” His words were piercing, mocking towards you.

“Guess I’m gonna have to teach you a lesson.” He laughed at his play on of words, you couldn’t care less. He grabbed ahold of you, pushing you against the nearest desk and bending you over it. A throaty rumble coming from his throat as he hiked your skirt up over your ass. Exposing your lacy undergarments to him. You knew his day was going to come, you just didn’t expect it so soon and so public too. His leather glove came down hard on your ass you yelped a little louder than you expected, the stinging sensation only adding more moisture to your panties.

He hit again. And again, alternating cheeks like some sort of game to see which one would turn red first. He noticed how your knees buckled against one another and your thighs rubbed together. Your underwear almost dripping with excitement. He ran his hand over the material and you quietly jolted at the sudden feeling.

“So wet already for me, such a good girl.” His voice dripped with lust, his touch sending electricity through you. His fingers wrapped into the lace that covered your core, pulling them to the side and eyes entranced on you. You could feel yourself pulsing with desire to be touched, to be filled. You hated how much you enjoyed this. He pushed a digit in, letting out a guttural sigh as he did that made you weak.

“So fucking warm, lets see how you react when I add another.” You squirmed at the sensation of another finger sliding its way through your folds and into your hot cunt. The sounds sickening but music to his ears. You whimpered, wondering how long he was going to continue with his torturous pace. He began ever so slightly curling his fingers inside you, pressing against the plush tissue on your walls. You were really getting loud now.

“Tell me how it feels doll.” You weren’t sure what he wanted you to say, your mind sat on it for too long leading him to deliver a hard ‘smack’ to your ass again. You yelped louder this time, his hand coming down harder than he had before.

“Good, it feels good.” You managed to let out, humiliation starting to really sink in now. You should know by now that they were all the same. They all wanted the same thing from you. Wanted you to validate their actions towards you, and how you felt about it.

“I bet you’re just aching to feel me. You want my cock dolly?” You nodded your head in response, before quickly following up with a breathless ‘yes please’ to keep him happy. He withdrew his fingers, you almost cried at the loss of sensation in your hole. He worked quickly on his pants, pulling out his erect cock and moving to face you.

“Get on your knees.” You did what he asked you to do, eyes trained up on him as you dropped onto the cool wooden flooring.

“Open your mouth doll.” He held your chin in his hand, keeping your face tilted up towards him as he guided his tip towards your lip. Rubbing his salty arousal over them before pushing through and groaning at the feeling of your hot mouth around him. Sucking, licking and rubbing along his base. His head fell back in relief, gloved digits twisting your hair into a pony as forcing your movements along his shaft. Rapid and quick to meet his thrusts as he used your mouth like a free pussy.

“Keep going doll, suck me fucking harder.” He pushed to the back of your throat, feeling you choke around him uncomfortably. Eyes beginning to water at the pressure, you pulled back on reflex. You did as he said, hollowing your cheeks for a more pressurised feeling around him. He continued to snap his hips, chasing a high he so desperately wanted. You had brought him right to the edge of his orgasm when he ripped himself away from your mouth, a thin rope of saliva attached to the tip of him to your bottom lip before falling onto your exposed thighs.

“I’m not cumming yet, gonna wait for the big finale for that one.” Your cheeks were flushed, red and burning for more of him.

“Get on the desk.” He pointed to the teachers desk at the front of the classroom, following closely behind you as you stood to your feet and did as he said, you sat back, feet planted on the edges and knees apart. Exposing yourself to his gaze that seemed stuck on you.

“Fuck, you’re pussy looks so hungry for me doll.” He reached into his cloak, your breathing picked up as you began to panic if he was pulling a knife. Instead out came zip ties and yours eyes bulged.

“What are those for?” You asked, voice as quiet as a mouse.

“Lets find out.” He cocked his head to the side, striding over to you. You fought back a little, struggling as he gripped ahold of you and used his body weight to hold you down on the desk. He wrapped it around your wrists and pulled tight to the point the plastic dug into your skin painfully.

“Please, you don’t have to do that.” You whimpered, his body pulled back and holding your knees spread in a firm grip.

“Have to? Doll, I want to.” His cock was sitting just against you, he looked down and pushed the lacy garment to the side. Holding himself in his other hand and lining up against you, running his tip up and down through your folds. He liked seeing your reaction, head dropping back as you waited to be filled. Waiting for him to stop this torture. He waited for the right moment, the moment to take you by surprise. And he slammed himself in without warning.

You loudly gasped as the feeling, body jolting with and pressed against him as he began fucking you relentlessly. Hearing you yell out curses over and over again as he pounded into you, finding all your secret spots and working them against you. You came over and over again, your number almost at double digits when he pulled out. Admiring how his cocked dripped with your juices onto the floor. Knowing someone would have to clean up your mess.

“Sit down on me doll.” He took a seat in the leather chair behind the desk, legs spread and thighs calling your name in every language it seemed as he patted them. His gloves hitting his jeans and making a loud smacking noise that echoed through the room. You did as he asked, walking towards him with your hands still suck behind your back. He turned you around, guiding you to sit down on him. When he was all the way in, he grabbed the backs of your knees. Pulling them over the arm rests of the chair before he began thrusting again.

The new position hitting all kinds of spots that made your toes curl and knuckles turn white. One hand came up the back of you, grabbing ahold of the back of your neck and pulling your ear towards his face.

“Is this what you fucking like? Being fucked senseless until you’re cunt can’t take anymore? I’ll make sure you don’t walk for weeks after I’m done with you.” You gripped him hard at the filthy words, he moaned loudly at the feeling.

“Like it when I tell you what a fucking whore you are huh? Want me to fuck this pussy of yours until it’s dripping with my cum. My mark.” You continued pulsating and gripping him, his thrusts keeping slower but harder as he relished in it.

“I want you to cum with me doll, I wanna feel you squeezing me while I full you up. Fill you up with so much cum your body won’t know what to do with it. Mmm, fuck—“ his hips continued to plow hard and sloppy now as he got closer to his own high, your orgasm coming in quicker than you imagined. He groaned deeply through his chest, the vibrations against you causing you to call out more filthy words as you worked through your finish. His cock was stuck inside you, a faint heartbeat from the base thudding against your walls.

“Let’s do this again doll. Next time, I want you wearing nothing under that little skirt of yours.” You felt yourself tense at his words, almost excited for it to happen again. He cut your hands free with a knife you guessed was hidden. He made quick work of stuffing himself away and leaving without another word to you. You could feel his warm thickness oozing out of you now, running down your leg. You opened the drawers to the desk, shuffling around to find some tissues to clean yourself up with.

You looked down at your wrists, sore and red and aching at being held together with cable ties. You fixed yourself up and left, heading home to give yourself a much needed shower to wash away this whole thing from your mind.

After you were cleaned up and tucked away in bed your phone buzzed and you didn’t need to be Sherlock to know who it was.

⇰ See you soon, doll

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

Part 6 - COMING SOON

294 notes · View notes