#Break my heart. Break it in pieces. I give you my permission.

[lubdubology]

Take My Love and Wear It

SYNOPSIS: Taking care of Charles has its own special challenges, but you didn’t expect the hardest one to be the man who hired you. Distant, gruff and rough around the edges, Logan still manages to worm his way under your skin. But you’ve worked your way under his, too. 

PAIRING: Old Man Logan x fem!reader

WC: 10.8k 

WARNINGS: smut 18+; mdni; angst; swearing; non-explicit mentions of wounds, blood and use of stitches; extreme physical pain; Charles is a lovable, meddling little shit; fluff sprinkled in for good measure; Logan in a tub (if I had a nickel for every time I bathed him, I’d have two nickels—which isn’t a lot, but its weird it happened twice, right); touch-starved Logan; handjobs; shower sex; fingering; dirty talk; oral (f receiving); sex with feelings; unprotected p in v; creampie

A/N: There’s something special about Old Man Logan, isn’t there? Old and grumpy and desperately in need of some love and affection. I know the Charles caregiver story has been done before, but I couldn’t get this idea out of my head. And then Charles starting talking in my head and well...it blossomed into this. As always, thank you to @joelsgoldrush for allowing me to send her snippets of this as I went along and offering her love, support and suggestions. I hope you enjoy this and any likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated!

You stare down at the remnants of yesterday’s cold and congealed dinner and sigh. Scraping the food into the trash, you resist the urge to pack everything you have and leave. 

One month. 

One month of helping Charles—making his meals, washing his clothes, giving him his meds, making sure he doesn’t hurt himself (or others), assisting with daily tasks—and Logan still regards you as a nuisance, like a gnat needing to be swatted away. 

At best, he ignores you, moving around the house as if you don’t exist. 

And at worst, he treats you with barely concealed contempt, his scowl deepening the lines of his face whenever he’s around you. As if you’re invading his space uninvited even though he’s the one that sought out help. 

You grip the edge of the sink, staring down into the porcelain basin as if it holds some hidden answers. Every day you’ve tried to break through walls Logan’s built around himself, held onto Charles’ promise that eventually he’ll soften, just give him time, but he only seems to have grown more hostile. And you’ve done nothing to incur his ire besides watching him come home every day battered and bruised, his very bones weary with exhaustion, and offering your assistance.

Part of you is angry—angry that you care so much when your main focus is supposed to be Charles. Angry that despite all his efforts to come across unapproachable and cold, Logan’s worked himself under your skin and takes a little piece of you with him whenever he leaves. 

Angry that somehow he’s stolen a piece of your heart. 

You hear shuffling behind you and turn to find Logan entering the kitchen, fingers fastening the last buttons on his dress shirt. “What?” he asks gruffly and for a moment you wonder if he can read your thoughts.

You straighten and meet his gaze head on, swallowing down your nervousness. “How much longer are we going to keep doing this, Logan?”

“Doing what?”

“This,” you say, gesturing between you. “You walking around here like I’m some stain upon your life, acting like I’m a problem when all I’ve ever done is try and help.” Your voice is steadier than you feel. “You asked for me to be here, Logan. It’s not like I barged in here without permission.”

Logan holds your gaze, his jaw tight, and for a moment you think he’s going to grab his keys and leave, head off into the night and drive until sunrise. His eyes soften for just a moment, something like regret crossing his features. 

“I know why you’re here. And I do…appreciate it,” he says, his words coming out low and rough. As if the words taste foreign in his mouth. 

“Wouldn’t kill you to show it,” you challenge.

You’re waiting for him to lash out and instead he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look, I’m not good at this.”

“I’m not asking you to bow at my feet,” you say, hoping to ease some of the tension in the air. “Although, I wouldn’t be mad about it.” You think you see the briefest hint of a smile flicker across his face. “I just want us to be able to live in the same space. I’m here to help, Logan. Let me.”

“You have no idea how hard this life is.”

A rueful smile tugs at your lips. “I understand more than you think I do.”

Logan’s gaze sharpens, inquisitive as he searches your face, as if he’s trying to decipher the meaning behind your words. He rubs a hand across his face, scratching lightly as his beard. “I’ve gotta couple jobs tonight. Maybe more,” he finally says, changing the conversation. “Should be back before sunrise.”

You nod, his switch in topic not lost on you, but you don’t push him. “Alright,” you say softly. “Just—just take it easy, okay?”

He glances down at you, relief softening his gaze and you know a part of him is grateful you didn’t push further. 

Grabbing his keys, Logan heads towards the door but pauses just before he’s about to leave. He turns to look back over his shoulder. “Thanks,” he murmurs, the word awkward on his lips. 

You give him a small nod of encouragement as he slips out the door. He may not be ready to full open up, but you feel as if he extended a tiny olive branch tonight, cracked open the door just enough to let you peek in.

+++

Over the following weeks, Logan’s a little less avoidant. He doesn’t go out of his way to make conversation—you didn’t expect him to—but he at least as acknowledges your presence. Small nods and murmured goodbyes when he leaves and sleepy hellos when he returns. It’s not much, but you’ll take it. 

You’re cleaning the last of the dishes from dinner, Charles safely settled in front of the TV watching an old movie when Logan comes home. He’s earlier than you anticipated, but exhaustion lines his face nonetheless. You expect him to slip away quietly, but he pauses instead, lingering in the doorway. 

“Smells good,” he says softly, nodding towards the pan of half eaten lasagna still sitting on the counter. 

Surprised, you turn around to face him. You brush the hair from your face and say, “Sit. I’ll make you up some.” 

Logan hesitates and for a moment you think he’s about to decline, but then he nods, his shoulders dropping slightly as he sits down at the table. You fix him up a plate, setting it down in front of him with a bottle of beer as you slide into the chair across from him.  

He tucks quietly into the food, his fork scraping against his plate as he eats, pausing only to wash it down with a few swigs of beer. You watch him, a strange satisfaction tugging at you at the sight of him actually sitting down, enjoying a meal with you, even if it is in silence. 

“Long day?” you ask quietly, gesturing towards his bruised knuckles.

He flexes the fingers on his free hand before tucking them under the table. “Nothin’ I can’t handle,” he mutters, taking another bite of lasagna. “They’ll be gone in a day or two.”

You know not that long ago an injury like that wouldn’t have even marred his skin. Now, the simplest of wounds can take days to heal and it’s not the appearance of his skin that bothers you, but the newfound ache he experiences, the heaviness of constant pain.

You want to help him, ease his discomfort, like you know you could. But you know he’s not ready for that. Not yet.

“You’re good with Charles,” Logan says then, his gaze steady on his plate. “He seems calmer around you.”

Logan’s admission is so unexpected, you find yourself staring at him in disbelief. At your silence, his eyes flicker up to yours and you see more than simple acknowledgement in his expression. It’s subtle, but it’s there, a current of something more, something you’re not quite sure how to address.

“Thank you,” you murmur, your voice softer than you intended. “Charles—he means a lot to me.” You pause briefly, but something compels you to continue. “You both do.”

His gaze is focused on you and you don’t miss the flicker of surprise that breaks through his usual stoic expression. Clearing his throat, he looks down, pushing around the last bit of lasagna on his plate and then after a moment, he sets his fork down and leans back in his chair. “You mean a lot to him, too,” Logan finally says and you wonder if he’s talking about more than just Charles.

From the living room you hear Charles call for you, his voice soft but insistent. The moment between you still crackles as you stand from the table and as you begin to walk away, Logan reaches for your hand. His fingers are warm and rough against your skin and you’re barely able to suppress your shiver. 

“Thank you,” Logan says, his voice surprisingly soft. 

His grip against your skin is gentle, a stark contrast to all his roughness and you can feel the weight of his unspoken words curling around you. Charles calls again, his voice breaking through the moment, but Logan’s hand lingers just a beat longer before he lets go, fingers trailing along your skin. 

+++

“He likes you, you know.”

You glance up from shaving Charles’ face and find him staring at you, a mischievous glint in his eye. You give a soft hum. “Did he tell you that or did you read his mind?”

Charles scoffs and waves his hand dismissively. “What’s the difference, dear?” 

You chuckle, shaking your head as you rinse the razor. “With Logan I’m pretty sure there’s a big difference.”

“Bah, if Logan wanted to keep me out of his head, he would. Stubborn man.” He tsks softly to himself and shakes his head. “But, no my dear, he can be quite loud if you know how to listen.”

You raise an eyebrow, giving him a playful look. “Loud, huh? And what exactly is that brain of his telling you?”

Charles gives you a knowing smile. “Oh, just little things,” he says casually with a wave of his hand, but you can tell by the look on his face that he’s holding back. “He notices you—what you do for me, this place, for him. He may not realize it himself, but his thoughts linger on you more often than he’d like.”

A flicker of hope sparks in your chest and despite yourself, you feel a blush creeping into your cheeks. “Logan doesn’t strike me as the sentimental type.”

“Logan has spent so much of his life running,” Charles continues, his tone and expression growing more thoughtful. “The loss he’s experienced has led him to believe it’s better to be alone than form meaningful connections with people. But you’ve somehow become something of a home for him. And he doesn’t quite know what to make of that.”

Your heart skips a beat as you take in his words. The idea of being a home for Logan, a comfort, feels surreal, and yet...there’s a part of you that dares to hope what Charles is saying is true. That this isn’t some fictional truth his brain has concocted, a product of his disease riddled mind. 

“Home.” You repeat the word softly to yourself, testing the word on your own tongue as if it might shatter into pieces.

Charles nods, his hand reaching for yours, his gaze warm and knowing. “Yes, home. He feels it, deep down, in a way that’s unfamiliar and frightening for him.”

You glance down at your hand in Charles’ grasp, his touch grounding you as his words settle over you. 

“Logan’s spent so long hiding from himself,” Charles continues. “I think he’s convinced himself he doesn’t deserve that kind of peace.”

“And you think I can give him that peace?” you ask quietly, your eyes flicking back up to Charles’ face.

He smiles knowingly and gives your hand a squeeze. “You already have, dear.”

+++

“Want some help?”

You turn to find Logan standing in the entrance of the kitchen, hands tucked into his pockets.

It’s a rare night—one where Logan’s chosen to stay home, taking a night off from the almost endless driving he does. He’s dressed down, well worn jeans and a button-up flannel, and for once you actually think he looks comfortable.

You smile, surprised, but happy to see him there. “Sure, the company would be nice,” you reply as he comes to stand next to you. “Want to wash and dice the potatoes?”

Logan nods and rolls up his sleeves before reaching for the bowl of potatoes you had set aside earlier. You watch him for a moment as he settles into the task with a quiet focus. 

“Smells good,” he comments, gesturing towards the oven. “What’re we having?”

“Charles has been asking for beef tenderloin for weeks now, so I’m finally indulging him.” You finish trimming the last of the green beans and toss them into the bowl beside you. “You know, if you have any favorite meals you’d like me to make, you can tell me.”

Logan pauses and glances at you as he shuts off the tap. He clears his throat and says, “You already are.”

You blink in surprise as Logan’s words sink in and then the realization dawns on you. A soft smile spreads across your face as you piece together the extent of Charles’ meddling. You can’t find it in you to be annoyed and only feel a mix of amusement and fondness towards the old man as you chuckle softly to yourself.

“What’s so funny?” Logan asks, raising his eyebrow as he catches your expression.

“Oh, nothing,” you say, waving him off with a smile. 

Logan doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t pry as he picks up the knife and begins to deftly dice the potatoes. You watch him for a moment, captivated by the simple domesticity of the task. It’s in direct contrast to the man you’ve seen numerous times before, brooding and gruff, brimming with an almost untamed violence. 

It suits him, you think, this quieter version of himself.

You both finish the prep with relative ease. He helps you set the table as the rest of the food cooks, plates clinking softly as he sets them down. You busy yourself with finishing the green beans in a garlic butter as you wait for for the tenderloin to rest enough to carve into. 

“Ah, my dear, this smells wonderful,” Charles announces as he rolls into the kitchen, a warm smile on his face. “And you managed to pull Logan out of his room. What a treat.”

Logan snorts in response, giving Charles a pointed glare.

“I dare say it’s because the company has improved much as of late,” Charles says, his eyes twinkling in amusement as he glances between the both of you. “We all know he’s not out here for my benefit.”

You laugh as you bring the dishes to the table, noting the faintest of blushes creeping along Logan’s cheeks. “I’ll take that as a compliment, Charles.”

“As you should, dear. Your personality is quite sparkling.” He looks over towards Logan. “Isn’t it, Logan?”

Logan’s eyes land on you as he answers, “Yes. Yes, it is.”

Dinner begins quietly, the three of you settling into easy conversation as the first few bites are consumed. Both Charles and Logan hum in delight and a warmth blooms within you watching them both. This—this is the simplicity you’ve been craving with Logan.

As the meal continues, Charles launches into his usual repertoire of stories, those of the school and his students, his words brimming with nostalgia and pride as he talks. Logan sits back in his chair, arms crossed as he listens to him speak, shaking his head fondly at some of the memories.

“You know,” Charles begins, setting his fork down with an air of mischief, “I don’t think I ever told you how I met Logan, have I?”

Logan’s head snaps up. “Don’t, Chuck.”

But Charles is already smiling at you, ignoring Logan’s warning. “It’s a good story, dear. See, Logan had quite the career as an underground cage fighter.”

You lift your brows in surprise and you glance over at Logan, who’s thoroughly unamused by Charles’ choice of topic. “Cage fighting, huh?” you ask, unable to suppress your curiosity. 

Logan shifts uncomfortably in his seat, stabbing at his potatoes with a little more force than necessary. “It wasn’t a career,” he mutters. “Just a distraction. Way to get by.”

“Mmm, yes, perhaps,” Charles chuckles, clearly enjoying himself. “Regardless of the reason, it lead you to this exact moment. Didn’t it, Logan?”

Logan narrows his eyes at Charles, though the glare is only half-hearted. “You make it sound like all it all had some grand purpose.”

“Did it not?” Charles says gently, his tone shifting into something more serious. “Kept you alive, for one. But more than that, it brought you to us. To me.” He pauses for a moment, his eyes darting towards you. “To her.”

The words hang in the air and you glance over at Logan, whose expression softens just slightly. Without thinking, you reach across the table and give his forearm a gentle squeeze. His eyes meet yours, a flicker of a smile tugging at his lips.

Charles watches the exchange with quiet satisfaction before clearing his throat. “Well, I believe my work here is done,” he announces, wheeling himself back from he table. “Logan, fancy a game of chess? I haven’t made a player out of her yet.”

You laugh to yourself as Logan follows Charles into the living room. After clearing the kitchen from dinner and loading the last of the dishes into the dishwasher, you join them both in the living room. Tucking yourself into the couch, you read while the two of them play, the clinking of wooden chess pieces and the occasional dry quip from Charles filling the room.

From your spot on the couch, you glance up from your book every now and then to watch them. Logan’s brow furrows in concentration, while Charles’ face is more relaxed as they play. You smile to yourself, wondering how often they played like this in the past, when times were simpler.

You’re not sure when you fell asleep or how long you’ve been out, but you’re jostled awake as two large, warm arms wrap around you, holding you close as you’re lifted off the couch. Logan’s familiar scent—cigar smoke and pine—fill your nose and you blink up to find him walking you down the hall towards your room.

“Logan?” you mumble, voice thick with sleep. “D’you really cage fight?”

Logan chuckles softly, the sound rumbling through his chest. “I really did.”

“Did it hurt?”

“No.”

You blink slowly, your sleep-laden mind struggling to process his answer. “Not even a little?” Your voice is barely audible as you nestle closer into the warmth of his chest.

“Not in the way you think,” he answers, nudging open the door to your room with his foot.

You’re too drowsy to ask what he means and instead you hum softly, a noncommittal sound that Logan feels more than hears. Lowering you onto the bed, he moves with a gentleness you’ve never felt from him before. He brushes a strand of hair from your face and pulls the blanket over you before he turns to leave.

Your limbs are heavy, eyes barely open, but you call out softly—“Logan?”

He looks back towards you. “Yeah?”

“I’m glad Charles found you,” you murmur, closing your eyes.

Logan doesn’t answer, but you swear you feel the lightest of kisses against the top of your head before he leaves.

+++

It’s deep into the night when you hear the front door finally open. Your heart flutters against your ribs as you swing out of bed, unsure of what condition you’ll find him in. He was expected back two days ago, those extra hours away feeling like an unfathomable eternity. 

You find him sitting at the kitchen table, dress shirt hanging off one shoulder, the rest of his clothes rumpled and bloodied. A large gash oozes from his shoulder and you can’t stop the gasp that falls from your lips. 

Logan looks up at you, eyes narrowed and lined with exhaustion. “Don’t look at me like that,” he grunts, tugging off the rest of his shirt. 

“How else am I supposed to look at you?” you ask, taking a tentative step forward. “No phone call or text letting me know you’re not coming home and then you waltz in after midnight soaked in blood and covered in wounds.” Unshed tears burn in your eyes but you will yourself not to cry. 

“Didn’t ask you to care about me,” he bites back, but his tone is more weary than argumentative. 

“Oh, fuck you, Logan,” you snip, but your tone lacks venom.

He ignores you, pushing up from the chair with a heavy groan and limps over towards the cabinets. He shuffles through one of them, pulling out the makeshift sewing kit before sitting back down. You watch as he attempts to thread the needle, growing increasingly frustrated when he keeps missing. 

Shoving down your own frustration, you pull up a chair next to him and reach for the needle and thread. He pulls his hands away from you, turning in the chair to keep you away. You chase after his movements, finally grabbing his wrists and removing the supplies from his grasp.

“I don’t need your help,” he growls. 

You sigh, tired of this same argument, this same endless loop every time he comes home injured. “Goddamit, Logan, just let me help you.”

He drags his gaze up to yours, eyes tracing the lines of your face. His chest still heaves with heavy breaths, but you can see the anger bleed from him. He nods once, turning just enough so that you have access to his wound. Threading the needle, you place a gentle hand on his shoulder, ignoring the flinch he gives at your touch. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” you whisper. 

Logan huffs. “It’s a needle, darlin’. It’s not gonna feel nice.”

You try to ignore the flip your heart does at his use of the word darling. Despite his earlier gruffness and proclivity to push you away, Logan has softened to you over the last couple of months. Since that first dinner you shared, he’s joined you and Charles more often. Or if he comes home late, sought out the leftovers you’ve kept for him. He’s engaged in conversation, offering small pieces of himself, pieces that you’ve cradled close and nurtured. 

But there’s a tension between you, thick and heavy in the air, and you wonder if he feels it too. Feels that same undeniable pull you’ve always felt in his presence. You’d like to think so, otherwise you were doomed to love him silently, your feelings for him bound in the quiet of your mind.

“Just trust me,” you say. 

Slowly, you release your power, warmth spreading from your fingertips, easing his pain and discomfort as you begin to stitch him up. You try to ignore the heavy press of his gaze on your face and you can almost hear his unspoken thoughts, his words still stuck on his tongue.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, his shoulder relaxing as you continue to work.

You glance up at him then, finding his expression softer than you’ve seen it. “A mutant is a dangerous thing to be, Logan,” you answer, your voice soft. “Few people know what I can do. Those I trust.”

For a long moment, Logan just looks at you, his eyes unreadable. Then, a rough, tired sigh falls from his lips. “You coulda told me.”

You take a steadying breath, his words lingering in the space between you. “Maybe,” you say, your fingers brushing against his skin as you continue to stitch. “But you don’t make it easy to talk to you.”

Logan lets out a low huff. “No. I guess I don’t, do I?”

You finish the last stitch, securing the knot. Your fingers linger a touch long than necessary, the warmth of his skin a comfort you’re loathe to lose just yet. Slowly, you lift your gaze to his and you feel your heart beat solidly against your ribs as he looks back at you like he’s seeing something there he hadn’t allowed himself to before. 

Logan’s voice is low when he finally speaks. “Why you keep stickin’ around? Watchin’ me come home time after time covered in blood?”

“Because you deserve it.” The words tumble from your mouth before you can stop them. “Even if you don’t see that.”

He doesn’t respond, not right away, as he continues to watch you, his eyes tracing the lines of your face. Then he reaches up for you, fingers curling around your wrist, his skin warm and rough against yours. He holds you there as if grounding himself in your presence, his thumb drawing random patterns against your skin. The gesture is simple, but vulnerable and open in a way he rarely shows.

“I’m no good for you,” he murmurs, glancing down at where he’s touching you. “For anybody.”

“How ‘bout you let me be the judge of that?” you answer, your voice steady. “You’re more than you think you are.”

Logan clenches his jaw, a flicker of disbelief crossing his features, and you know deep below the surface he’s waging a war against himself, one he’s been fighting for far too long. His thumb stills on your wrist, his grip loosening slightly, but not letting go. 

Placing your hand over his, you give him a soft smile. “C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up.”

+++

You’re surprised that he doesn’t argue, doesn’t try to brush you off or push you away as you gently nudge him towards the bathroom. He still gives you a dubious glance as he looks down at the tub, but you just ignore it, moving past him to run the tap.

You give him privacy to undress and get settled before you reenter the bathroom. The sight of him, as large as he his with his knees pulled up to his chest, makes you laugh, garnishing a terse look from him.

“You find this amusing?”

“Big man in a little tub? Yeah, I do,” you reply with a smile. “Just relax, Logan. This’ll be our secret.”

He huffs, but does seem to visibly relax, resting his arms over his knees. You kneel down in front of him, resting one hand gently against his forearm as your other reaches for the washcloth. You can feel the tension release from his muscles as your power floods through him and he breathes out a soft, “Oh,” as all the pain and discomfort is eased from his body.

You wonder how long it’s truly been since he’s felt like this, unburdened by the pain and suffering of his own body. Your heart aches for him as you slowly begin to wash him, rubbing soft circles over the scarred flesh of his back, rinsing away the blood dried to his skin. 

Even battered and marred as he is, you still find him beautiful—you always have. When you first started working with him all those months ago, you felt that pang of attraction when you met him, you’d have been blind not to. Ruggedly handsome, so strong and sure of himself. But you know that wasn’t all that drew you to him. Deep down, below all the tough, seemingly impenetrable exterior, you saw the man he truly was. Someone born of scars and rough edges, yet gentle. Someone who would selflessly put himself before others, even at his own expense. 

You let the cloth linger a moment longer against his skin before dipping it back into the water, watching as his blood rinses from the fabric. Squeezing the excess water out, you press it back against his collarbone, tracing the warm cloth along his neck and over his shoulders. Logan doesn’t move, his eyes half-closed, his expression relaxed in a way you’ve never seen before.

Something deep tugs at you as you realize how vulnerable he is right now, how trusting. He hides behind a gruff exterior, his true self guarded so carefully so that he doesn’t let people in, doesn’t open himself up to the hurt that trusting another person can bring. But maybe you’ve finally cracked through, broken down a little bit of that wall he surrounds himself with.

The warm water drips from his skin as you continue to wash him, letting your fingers trail gently along the newly cleaned lines of his arms. Logan shivers at your touch, but he doesn’t pull away. If anything, he seems to lean into it, his breathing deepening, muscles falling even more slack. 

“Feel nice?” you ask in a murmur, voice barely above a whisper.

He nods, finally glancing up at you through his half-lidded gaze. “’S very nice,” he replies, his voice rough.

“Good. You deserve it,” you say, repeating your sentiment from earlier.

You feel a flicker of warmth as his eyes meet yours and he simply nods. It takes everything in you to not smile too widely, to keep the moment gentle, but you take his acceptance to heart. 

Running the cloth down his ribs, you pause when you feel the misshapen knot of a bruise beneath your fingers and glancing down, you find a deep purple hue coloring his skin. Your eyes dart to his with worry, knowing that an injury like that will take him at least a week to heal, if not longer, in his weakened state. That with every breath he’ll feel the pain of his muscles pulling and the bruise spreading if you’re not touching him.

Dropping the washcloth in the water, you press your palm against his side and take in a deep breath to steady yourself. Then, a warmth spreads from your skin into his as you pull his injury from him, feeling his skin knit back together, feeling his abused muscles realign themselves under his skin. A dull, yet sharp ache, blooms along your ribs as you continue to pull his pain into yourself, erasing the injury from his body. With a final gasp, you draw back, your fingers now running along unmarred flesh knitted whole. 

Logan tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze as the back of his knuckles brush against your cheek. His eyes flicker to yours, holding your gaze, and for a moment, the room falls into a deep quiet.

That pull between you, the magnetic force that you’ve felt since the beginning, feels amplified now. You’re acutely aware of every inch of space between you—how small it is, how easy it would be to close it. How badly you want to close it. You swallow, feeling the tension coil in your belly as he continues to hold your gaze, unblinking, but more open and raw than he’s ever been before.

“What are you doing to me?” he asks.

Your breath catches in your throat at his question, voice rough and laced with something between wonder and disbelief. As if he can’t quite fathom what you’ve done for him—what you’ve given him so freely.

Logan’s eyes search yours, his fingers drifting from your cheek to trace along your jaw, lingering with a tenderness that belies the man he presents to the outside world. His gaze is steady and intimate, as if he’s trying to understand you in a way that goes beyond words. But you say nothing, your heart pounding too loudly in your ears to form a reply.

“You took it on yourself, my pain?”

You simply nod, distracted by the way Logan’s fingers continue to brush along the edge of your ear, tracing the lines of your face as if he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go. 

“Why?”

“Because I want to,” you whisper, unable to resist the pull of his hand against your skin, the warmth of his touch that you feel with every fiber of your being. “Because it’s the one thing I can do to help you.”

A beat of silence passes, the air thick and heavy with unspoken words. He exhales, shaky and deep, letting his hand slide to the back of your neck. The calloused pads of his fingers press gently against your skin, anchoring you in place and you can feel him pull you closer, his gaze dropping to your lips, his breath mingling with yours in the small, intimate space between you.

“I shouldn’t want this, want you,” he says, voice so low it’s almost a rumble. “But, fuck, I do.” 

His confession is raw, leaving him unguarded for the first time in a long time and before he can pull back, before he can throw those walls back up around himself, you close the gap, resting your forehead against his. You bring your hand up to touch his face, thumb brushing over his cheek as you breath him in, feeling the heat radiate between you. 

Logan’s hand slides further along your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he finally, gently, presses his lips to yours. His kiss isn’t demanding or rushed or filled with passion, but a lingering connection, the promise of something more. His lips are softer than you imagined, his touch more careful than you expected, as if he’s afraid he’ll break you. Slowly, his thumb traces circles against your cheek, steadying and soothing, pulling you closer. 

When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours, eyes closed. His breath is warm against your skin. “I don’t wanna push you away anymore,” he murmurs.

“Good because I don’t want you to.”

Logan lets out a breath, a hint of a smile finally softening his features. 

Reluctantly, you pull away and pick the washcloth up again, intent on finishing what you started. The water turns to rust as you wash him of blood and grime, making sure you reach each cut, each bruise, each scar on his body that makes up the map of who he is. 

You turn off the tap and hand him a towel, averting your eyes as he stands, wrapping the towel low across his hips. Logan reaches for you, tugging on the collar of your shirt to pull you closer. You stumble a bit as he pulls you in, surprised by the insistence in his grip. Logan’s eyes meet yours, an intensity behind his gaze that makes your breath catch.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, hand slipping along your jaw, his thumb pressing against your bottom lip. 

You’re drawn forward as Logan’s lips find yours again, but this time there’s an urgency behind the kiss, a desperation and need he’s no longer trying to hide. He holds your face gently in his hands as he deepens the kiss, his nose pressing against yours, his beard scraping against your skin and you find yourself melting against him.

This is what you’ve been craving since you met him. Despite it all—the rage simmering just below his surface, the sharpness of his exterior, the sometimes shocking callousness of his words—you always knew there was a tenderness underneath, a softness that even his tortured past couldn’t erase. 

Logan’s hands drift from your face, trailing down your neck and tracing along the curve of your spine as he presses you closer until there’s no space between you. The dampness of his skin bleeds into your shirt and you gasp into his mouth when he shifts his hips just enough and you feel heat of his erection against your thigh.

He pulls away from your mouth long enough to husk against your lips, “I’m old, not dead.” His teeth nip lightly at your bottom lip. “I’ve gotta beautiful woman lettin’ me kiss her, what did you expect?”

Your fingers trail along the edge of the towel slung low across this hips and a thrill runs through you as you feel his abdominal muscles flutter beneath your touch. You peer up at him, noting the flush of his skin, the black of his eyes as you tug the fabric just enough to loosen it. “How long has it been since someone has touched you, Logan?” you ask, your breath warm in the space between you.

Logan’s hands urge your hips closer, seeking friction as he starts to slowly rut against your thigh. You hear him swallow as your fingers dip below the fabric, brushing along the damp hair at the base of his cock. 

“F—fuck,” he groans, guttural and low, his head dropping down to your shoulder. “Since before you.”

The weight of Logan’s confession presses into you and in that moment you want to give him everything. Wrap him in all the love you can muster, show him something other than pain and suffering. 

You move your hand from the towel, allowing the fabric to fall from his waist and pool forgotten on the floor. Logan’s breath catches as your fingers wrap around him fully, the heat and weight of his cock pressing against your palm. 

A ragged groan escapes his throat. “Christ,” he mutters, voice thick and vibrating against your skin. “You don’t gotta—”

“I want to,” you interrupt, slowly and deliberately dragging your hand along his length, tracing the vein along the underside of his cock with your fingertips.

Logan’s hips jerk involuntarily, seeking friction, chasing your hand, and you oblige, tightening your grip just enough to elicit another groan from him. 

“What do you like?” The question lands in the sliver of space between you, your strokes still light, teasing.

“Firmer, more ah—” He breaks off as you tighten your grip on the upstroke. “Fuck, yes, like that, sweetheart.”

A shiver runs down your spine as his hands find your waist, fingers clutching at you almost hard enough to bruise. His breaths are growing uneven, each exhale warm against your neck as he fights to maintain some semblance of control.

“You keep that up,” he rasps, lips grazing your ear, “and I’m not gonna last long.”

His admission sends a rush of pride through you and you tilt your head back to look at him, your thumb brushing over the sensitive head of his cock, spreading the wetness there. Logan’s eyes meet yours, dark and heavy-lidded, his expression raw and unguarded. You like him like this, such a large, imposing man boiled down to pure wanton need. 

“I don’t mind,” you reply, keeping your movements steady, your strokes firm yet gentle. You focus on the subtle shifts in his breathing, the way his fingers grip you tighter each time you find the right rhythm. “Just wanna make you feel good, Logan.”

He leans forward, capturing your lips into a kiss that’s both rough and messy, teeth nipping at your lip as his tongue licks into your mouth. He groans are muffled against your mouth as his hips begin to thrust in time with your strokes, his movements growing more erratic as he chases after his release. 

“Can’t believe—ah, fuck—can’t believe how good you’re makin’ me feel,” he growls against your lips.

You smile into his mouth, your free hand brushing along his hipbone as your strokes quicken. His whole body tenses, the muscles in his shoulders and arms flexing, his abdominal muscles taut as he teeters on the edge.

“Let go, Logan,” you say. “I’ve got you.”

With a strangled groan, he comes, his release spilling over your hand, hot and thick. His body shudders against yours as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. You hold him close as he continues to thrust lazily into your grip, your own movements slowing as you guide him through the aftershocks. 

For a moment, neither of you speaks, then Logan lifts his head, his hazel eyes soft as they meet yours. “You walked into my life and I knew—I knew—you would ruin me.”

You smile to yourself, unable to stop the thought that floats into your head—he’s ruined you as well. 

+++

The text comes in at a little over one AM—hurt.

You jump out of bed, adrenaline rushing through your veins as you slip into one of his discarded flannels and head out into the night. Pacing the driveway, your heart jumps into your throat at every passing headlight, your thumbnail almost bitten down to the quick as you wait for him.

The minutes bleed into eternity until you finally see the limo turn down the long drive and it takes all your willpower to not run and meet him halfway. You’re bouncing on your heels as he finally comes to a stop, the driver’s side door opening with a faint groan of steel. 

Your heart stutters in your chest as he emerges from the car, blood soaking through his shirt, dark and spreading, as he steps towards you on shaky legs. Logan’s face is pale in the moonlight, his breathing uneven and shallow and white-hot dread shoots up your spine as you see his arm hanging limp, two of his claws unsheathed and dripping blood.

“Oh, fuck, fuck!” you gasp, rushing to his side.

Logan tries to wave you off, gritting his teeth as he grips the doorframe. “”M fine,” he grits, but the tremor in his voice betrays him. 

You reach for him, hands already attempting to steady him as his knees buckle and he collapses to the ground beneath him. “Careful. Claws,” he rasps as his left hand seeks purchase against your shoulder.

“I don’t fucking care about your claws, Logan,” you snap, although you both know your anger isn’t at him. You glance up at him and for once you think you actually see fear in his eyes. “What happened?”

“Gas. Robbery.” Each word punches out of his chest, the effort to speak sending tremors down his limbs. “Got ‘em.” He nods down towards his limp arm, claws still unsheathed, but slowly, so slowly starting to retract.

He winces as you help him peel off his coat to get to the shirt underneath. Your fingers shake as they trace the holes the bullets made—one in his shoulder, dangerously close to his lungs and the other just below his ribs. Hooking your fingers through the fabric, you rip it from his chest—the wounds are deep and his skin is hot and slick with sweat.

Panic claws at you and unshed tears burn in your eyes. You’ve seen Logan hurt before, but this—this was different. His breathing is painfully shallow, his usual gruffness and resilience absent. 

“Logan, you’re not healing,” you whisper, your voice shaking as your fingers stain with blood. Logan simply grunts, trying to wave you off, but lacking the strength. “I can’t…I can’t lose you. I can help.”

Logan’s eyes widen as he grabs for your wrist. “No. You’ll hurt yourself.”

“I don’t care!” you shout. “I love you, dammit, and I’m not just going to sit here and watch you die!”

Before he can protest, you press your palms over his wounds, the familiar warmth of your power surging through you as it spreads from your palms into his torn flesh.

The pain hits you like a freight train.

It’s sharp and relentless, searing through your shoulder and into the softness of your belly like molten fire. You gasp, biting back a scream as your body jerks instinctively away from the intensity, every cell in your body demanding you withdraw from the torture. 

But you don’t stop. You cling to him, tears streaming down your face as you channel your power into him, knitting his flesh back together. You can feel it, the way his muscles, bones and tissue rearrange themselves, months of healing taking place in mere moments. Every second feels like an eternity, but you refuse to let go.

You’re dimly aware of Logan yelling at you to stop, his own pain momentarily forgotten as he watches you endure his agony. 

Black dots dance in your vision as the last of his wounds come together, the spent bullets clinking to the gravel and you finally collapse against him, trembling, your breath coming in ragged gasps. The fire in your body begins to dull, fading to a cold, hollow ache as Logan wraps his arms around you, pulling you tight against his chest.

“Hey,” you mumble against him, your voice barely above a whisper. “You’re okay now.”

“Me?” Logan’s voice is low, disbelieving as his hand cradles the back of your head as if you might shatter. “You’re the one—why the fuck would you do that? You could’ve—dammit, you—”

His words break off, his forehead dropping to yours as his breath shudders against your cheek. You can feel the tension radiating through him, warring with himself between his gratitude and anger, between his guilt and the love he’s too afraid to speak out loud.

“I told you why,” you answer, lifting your head to look up at him. 

Logan’s jaw clenches, his words caught in his throat, but his eyes say everything is voice won’t. You don’t need him to say it, not yet, but you can feel it, pressing just below the surface.

“C’mon, let’s get you inside.”

+++

There’s a reverence in which Logan washes you. 

Steam swirls around you as he works the thickly lathered loofah over your shoulders, down across your collarbones and down along the soft planes of your stomach. The water rinses away the faint metallic tang of blood, leaving behind the fresh scent of soap. He continues with a silent determination, as if the act of washing you can erase all the pain you’ve taken from him.

You know better than to convince him you’re fine, that the pain is always temporary, that it only lasts for a few minutes, sometimes just a bit longer. That the pain is something you’d endure for him again and again if he’d let you. 

His thumb brushes along the underside of your ribs, searching for a wound you know he won’t find. You reach for him, lacing your fingers together with his. He blinks up at you, hazel eyes holding far too much worry for such a stoic man.

“I’m not going to break, Logan,” you say softly.

A wordless noice escapes his throat as he removes himself from your grasp and continues to work, ditching the loofah in favor of his hands. His fingers are warm and calloused against your skin as they glide lower, down over the swell of your hips, over your thighs, down towards your knees. 

His touch morphs from one of care and comfort to one more sensual, simmering with unspoken tension as his fingers rest in the hollow behind your knee. You glance down at him, water droplets catching in his hair, running off the slope of his nose. 

Though you’ve seen him bare before, you can help but trace the lines of his body—the broadness of his shoulders, the well defined muscles of his chest, the sturdiness of his thighs, the scars that mar his skin. The sight of him stirs something deep within you and you feel your pulse thrum beneath your skin.

“Logan,” you murmur, your voice almost lost in the sound of the water.

He looks up at you then, eyes locking with yours. A storm swirls within them, a mix of guilt, affection and an intensity that takes your breath away. Leaning in, he presses the barest of kisses to the inside of your knee before he rises to his full height, pressing you close.

“D’you mean what you said before?” he asks, voice low.

I love you, dammit!

“Yes,” you answer without hesitation.

Logan exhales sharply, the tension he’s been holding coiled in his muscles loosening as he loops his arms around your waist. “I’m not very good with words,” he admits, his breath fanning across your damp skin. “Can I show you?”

There’s no mistaking the meaning behind his words and you can only nod, your voice catching in your throat. 

His lips find yours, mouth moving over yours slow and deliberate as if he’s savoring the taste of you. The first touch is a spark, the second a fire, and by the third, it’s an inferno that engulfs you both and leaves you breathless. Logan kisses you like you’re his anchor, his salvation, his touch desperate and full of everything he can’t yet put into words.

Your fingers slide into his hair, gripping the strands at the nape of his neck as you pull him closer, deepening the kiss. He groans against your mouth, the sound swallowed in the space between you. His tongue brushes against yours, teasing and exploring and you respond in kind, your nails scraping along his scalp.

Logan’s control is fraying. You can feel it in the way his teeth nip at your bottom lip, the way his hands press along the curve of your spine, the way he can’t seem to find enough of your skin to touch, to caress. A low growl rumbles through his chest as you slip a hand between your slick bodies, finding his cock, thick and heavy against your belly.

You give one slow drag of your palm along his length before he’s gripping your thighs and forcing your legs around his waist. His mouth leaves yours, trailing down to the curve of your jaw as he presses you against the wall, the coolness of the tile a direct contrast to the heat of your skin and you can’t stop the gasp that escapes your lips. 

Despite his age, the metal bones inside him slowly poisoning him and causing him human aches and pains, he’s still able to hold you up solidly with one arm as the other trails along your hip bone and dips down to where you’re warm and wet. 

“This all for me?” he asks in a murmur, sliding a finger along the seam of your cunt, just barely brushing against your clit. 

Your breath hitches and you grip his shoulders, nails pressing lightly into his skin as you nod. Logan’s eyes darken at your reaction, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Yes,” you finally manage to whisper. “Always for you.”

“Good,” he growls, leaning in to nip at the skin just below your ear. The deep rumble of his voice vibrates through you, his touch deliberate and almost torturously slow as he slides his fingers through your folds, spreading your slickness with a focused and unrelenting precision. 

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp, your head tilting back against the wall as he finally presses his thumb to your clit, circling it with just enough pressure to have your thighs trembling around his waist. 

“I got you,” he coos against your skin, his lips trailing from the pulse point in your neck to your collarbone. His teeth scrape along the curve of your shoulder, his free hand gripping your hip tighter to steady you as his fingers continue to tease and coax. “Lemme make you feel good.”

Every nerve ending is afire beneath him, every motion, every stroke of his fingers against your cunt leaving your mind reeling with pleasure. Your nails dig further into corded muscles of his shoulders, desperate for something to anchor yourself to. You pull back when you see the tiny, crescent shaped cuts marring his skin.

His eyes snap up to yours, sharp and molten. “No, do it,” he urges, fingers still moving. “Mark me with somethin’ pretty.”

“Fuck, Logan,” you gasp. 

“Say my name again,” he demands, his voice rough and commanding. There’s a quiet desperation in his tone, as if hearing it grounds him. Grounds him to this moment. To you. 

You can’t help but obey, whispering his name like a prayer, and he rewards you by slipping one long finger inside you, the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure along your spine. Logan watches your face intently as if memorizing the way you react to his touch. When he adds a second finger and slowly begins to thrust his hand, you cling further to him, the heat inside you building to an almost unbearable intensity.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice low and reverent. “You’re so beautiful like this. So wet and warm and tight around me.”

His words barely register in your mind, too focused on the way his fingers curl and thrust inside you, finding that soft spot that makes your eyes roll back. He’s relentless now, his thumb pressing hard against your clit as he brings you closer and closer to the edge.

“Logan, I’m so close,” you whine, your hips beginning to roll against his hand, seeking just a bit more friction, forcing his fingers deeper inside of you.

The tension coiling low in your belly finally snaps, your orgasm washing over you in waves that make your whole body shudder as you cry out his name. Logan holds you through it, his hand continuing to thrust against you as he draws out every ounce of pleasure from you, his own breathing ragged against your skin.

When you finally come down, Logan presses a kiss to your temple as he helps you unwrap your legs from his waist and carefully sets you down, keeping you close. 

You tilt your head to meet his gaze, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “I didn’t think you’d be into shower sex, old man,” you tease with a smile.

His laugh is low. “I can make exceptions. I need a bed to fuck you properly, though.” 

“Prove it,” you challenge.

+++

The heat and intensity between you doesn’t diminish as Logan helps you out of the shower and guides you down the hallway towards his bedroom. A shiver of anticipation crawls up your spine as you get closer, knowing that once you cross this line, there’s no going back, that he will have claimed you fully.

You scoot back onto the bed, watching as he approaches you with a fire in his gaze that doesn’t waver. He climbs onto the mattress, knee pressing down between yours as he cages you in from above, gently pinning you beneath him. 

Leaning down, his lips brush against yours, teasing. “Still wanna challenge me, sweetheart?” His voice is a low gravelly growl that sends a prickling rush of arousal down your limbs.

“Always,” you reply breathlessly, arching into his touch as his hands slide down your thighs, parting them with ease. 

His grin is sharp as he leans back to take you in fully and you acutely feel the weight of his gaze against your skin. He traces his calloused fingers over your damp skin, along the dips of your collarbones, under the swell of each breast, mapping the curve of your hips as if committing you to memory. Dipping his head, he leans down between your legs, his beard grazing the sensitive skin of your inner thighs and you can’t help but shudder at the sensation.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful,” he says, almost to himself, his voice dripping with desire. He drags his lips higher, brushing along your damp cunt, his breath hot and tantalizing. “And all mine.”

The possessiveness in his tone has you clenching around nothing, heat pooling low in your belly and your fingers tangle in his hair, urging him closer. But he ignores your silent plea, almost deliberately testing your patience as he kisses you everywhere except where you want him most.

“Logan, please,” you gasp, the ache between your thighs almost painful.

“Patience,” he chides with a smirk, though his own resolve seems to be thinning. His hands grip your hips, pulling you closer before he flattens his palms against your thighs, opening you fully to him. Then, his tongue is on you, lapping at you with flat, broad strokes in a rhythm that quickly has you teetering on the edge.

Logan’s focus is unrelenting, his low growls of approval vibrating through you as he works you over with an enthusiasm that proves to you this is about more than just pleasure—he’s claiming you, showing you just how much you mean to him. Making you his. 

Your thighs tremble around him and his warm, rough hands hold you steady as he slips one, then two fingers deep inside of you. It’s embarrassing how quickly you come as he thrusts his fingers against that spot inside you, your second orgasm of the night crashing over you as his name falls from his lips in a breathless moan. 

Before you can properly catch your breath, Logan is moving from between your thighs, making his way back up your body, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses against your skin. His lips finally find yours in a kiss that’s messy and desperate and you can taste yourself on his tongue, sharp and bright, and the intimacy of it sends a thrill through you. 

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” he groans against your lips, his voice wrecked as he grinds his hips against yours, his cock hard and insistent against your hip. “Could spend the rest of my life between between those thighs.”

“Why stop there?” you tease, your lips tugging into a smirk. “I thought you said you’d fuck me properly.”

Logan’s eyes darken, your challenge seeming to light something dark and primal in him. His grin is all teeth as he sits back on his heels, hands curling around your hips and pulling you down the bed like you weigh nothing until your hips are flush with his. “You gotta mouth on you, sweetheart. Should we see if you can still talk stuffed full of my cock?”

The weight of his cock brushes against your slick folds and you gasp at the sensation, your nerve endings exquisitely sensitive. Logan grips himself at the base, giving himself one languid stroke before running the thick head along your cunt, teasing you with shallow thrusts. Each slow, deliberate stroke of him sliding against you leaves you desperate and aching and you lift your hips in search of more.

“Look at you,” he murmurs. “So needy. Bet you’ll take me so well, huh?”

“Yes,” you breathe, nails digging into the muscles of his forearms. “Please.”

He presses into you then, the stretch of his cock making your jaw drop as he takes his time, sinking in inch by inch, filling you completely. Logan’s gaze is locked on yours, heavy and possessive as he watches every flicker of pleasure cross your face. 

“Fuck” he groans when he’s fully seated against your hips, his body trembling with the effort to stay still. “You feel…so fuckin’ tight. So damn perfect.”

Your hands clutch at his shoulders, anchoring yourself to him as he starts to move, pulling out torturously slow before thrusting back in harder, setting a rhythm that’s relentless and consuming. Each stroke of his hips has you crying out, your body arching into his as you meet him thrust for thrust.

“Takin’ me so well, sweetheart,” he growls, his fingers gripping the flesh of your hips hard enough to bruise as he continues to pound into you. “Like you were made for me.”

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mixing in with your whimpered moans and Logans own ragged groans. He leans down, bracing himself on his forearms, the wiry hair on his chest teasing your nipples as his lips find your neck, biting and sucking marks into your skin that feel like promises.

Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him in deeper, your heels digging into his back as the coil inside you begins to tighten once more. He feels it too, the way you body clenches around him, and his pace falters slightly, his breaths coming faster.

“C’mon,” he rasps against the pulse point on your neck. “Wanna feel you come. Wanna make you fall apart.”

It doesn’t take much more—just a few more well-angled thrusts that hit that spot inside you and the tension finally snaps, your orgasm ripping through you with a force that leaves you trembling. Logan’s finesse is slipping, thrusts growing erratic as chases his own release.

“Come Logan,” you manage in a whisper. “Come for me.”

His hips stutter as he groans your name, spilling into you as his body tenses, lazily thrusting against you as he wrings out the last of his pleasure. He stays deep inside you, still for several moments before he shifts just enough to collapse against your side.

For a long moment, neither of you moves, the only sounds in the room being your heavy breathes and the pounding of your heart. Logan rests his head against your chest, heavy and sweat slick between your breasts. You brush at the strands of hair against his forehead before running your finger along the old scar on his cheek.

He lifts his head to look up at you, his gaze soft yet still simmering with hunger. “I do, you know,” he murmurs. His fingers brush idly against your skin. “Love you.”

A smile spreads across your face, warming blooming in your chest.

“I know.”

+++

You wake before he does, rolling over to find him prone, face buried in the pillow he hugs close to his chest. Sunlight filters in through the half slatted blinds, catching on the silver in his hair and beard and you can’t help but admire how handsome he looks, how at peace he is beside you. He’s relaxed in sleep for the first time since you came here. You’ve heard his growls and yelps of terror that echo in the night, seen the claw marks that pierce his sheets.

Your mind filters back to last night and how he looked as he came apart inside you, how desperate and needy he was for your touch upon his skin. The memory of his gasps and groans send a rush of warmth over your skin, making you dimly aware of the ache between your legs. Logan, so guarded, so unyielding and seemingly unbreakable, trembled as he came, his voice rough and wrecked as he called out your name. You shiver thinking about it.

You want to hear it again. But not now.

Resisting the urge to reach out and brush the hair from his forehead, you leave him undisturbed and slide out of bed. Padding into the kitchen, you find Charles sitting in his chair at the kitchen table, the newspaper spread out in front of him. He looks up at you with a warm smile as you start a pot of coffee, the machine humming to life. 

“Ah, I see,” he comments, a smirk tugging at his lips.

You glance over at Charles, his eyes back on the paper in front of him, but his smile still paints his face, sly and knowing. Heat creeps up your neck as you busy yourself with the coffee. “Are you reading my mind?” you ask, trying to force nonchalance into your tone.

Charles chuckles softly and taps at his temple. “I don’t have to. You’re projecting. And quite loudly, at that.”

You bite your lip as you fill your mug, leaning against the counter as the coffee warms your hands. You attempt to clear your mind, trying to think of anything mundane—the weather, baseball, laundry. Charles just shakes his head. “Relax, my dear. What the two of you do together as consenting adults is none of my business.”

“Oh, God,” you groan, your cheeks aflame. “That’s what I’m projecting?”

“Not that explicitly, no. You think more in feelings, rather than words. But they’re quite powerful emotions and rather hard to ignore when they’re radiating as strongly as yours are this morning.”

You bury your face in your hand, peeking at Charles through your fingers, which only seems to amuse him further. “You’re enjoying this far too much,” you mutter. 

“Perhaps,” Charles says with a laugh. “But you’re helping him. Healing him. And that, my dear, is worth everything.” 

Before you can respond, you hear the sound of heavy footsteps coming down the hall. Logan rounds the corner, hair tousled from sleep, his body still bare except for the pair of low slung sweatpants clinging to his hips. His eyes find yours first, softening in a way they rarely do for anyone else as he scratches at the back of his head and mumbles, “Mornin’.”

“Morning,” you reply with a smile, thankful for the distraction. You pour a second cup of coffee and offer it up to him. “Coffee?”

Logan grunts in affirmation, moving towards you, but instead of reaching for the mug, he loops an arm around your waist, pulling you against him. He buries his face in your neck, beard scraping against your skin as he sighs. “Didn’t like wakin’ up with you not there,” he breathes into your hair, his voice so low you almost don’t hear him.

“Sorry,” you whisper. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“S’okay,” he says softly, pressing the lightest of kisses just under your ear. “Next time, wake me.”

Your heart stutters against your ribs at his open display of affection, the softness and warmth in which he holds you, and the promise behind his words. From over his shoulder you see Charles give you a slight nod, a bright smile on his face before he turns his attention back to the newspaper in front of him.

You think back to what Charles told you all those months ago, about how you were a home for Logan. Those words echo in your mind as you feel Logan’s steady weight against you. He’s so different now, soft and unguarded and in that moment you know.

You’re home, too.

[harryssyndrome]

Hoax | h.s

summery: “don’t want no other shade blue but you. No other sadness in the world would do…”

based off this request. Thank you so much anon for this idea, this was so fun writing and I hope it’s something you were looking for. I tried to be as angsty as possible with a blend of cutesy sweet, hope it’s a perfect mix. Let me know in the comments? [thank you! mwah mwah mwah 💋]

Posted on: November 26th, 2024. I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO COPY OR TRANSLATE MY WORK IN ANY PLATFORM. Like, comment & reblog are appreciated 💓Italics are past memories. Hope you lovelies enjoy this little big piece.

wc: 6.6k (oops🤭) || Masterlist 🤍

Tag-List: @fruity-harry @angeldavis777 @wheredidmyeyesgo @cherryloveshs | TAGLIST IS OPEN! || REQUESTS ARE OPEN!! 💌

The morning had started just like any other, the sun streaming in through the kitchen window, casting a warm glow over everything, but YN barely noticed. She sat at the counter, her hands curled around a coffee mug, its warmth barely a match for the cold ache building inside her. The apartment felt empty, despite the soft hum of the city just outside the window. She could feel the weight of the silence pressing down on her, a silence that had grown more oppressive over the past few weeks.

Harry had been on tour for what seemed like forever now, and their communication had dwindled. What had once been late-night calls and stolen moments between sound checks had turned into rushed, distracted conversations, where he was either too busy or too tired to give her his full attention. YN had always known the demands of his career, had always been willing to share him with the world, but it was starting to feel like he was slipping further away from her.

She had tried to be understanding, tried to remind herself that this was just a phase—that he was only gone for a while, and they would find their way back to each other. But today felt different. Something in the air was charged with tension, a sense of dread that hung around her like a cloud. Harry had promised to call her during his break between rehearsals, and as the minutes ticked by, that sense of unease only grew. She hadn’t heard from him, not even a text to explain why.

When the phone finally rang, she grabbed it with an anxious breath, hoping for the reassurance she so desperately needed.

“Hey, babe,” Harry’s voice crackled through the phone, distant and strained. There was a tiredness in his voice that made her heart ache even more.

“Hi,” she replied softly, trying to keep her tone light, but the worry slipped out anyway. “I was starting to wonder if you forgot about me.”

Harry didn’t immediately answer, and YN could feel him shifting on the other end, perhaps looking for the right words, or maybe just gathering the energy to engage with her. “I didn’t forget,” he said after a beat, his voice uncharacteristically flat. “It’s just… things are hectic right now. You know how it is.”

YN frowned, her fingers tightening around her mug. She knew how it was. She knew that Harry’s tour schedule was demanding, that he barely had time to breathe, let alone talk to her. But it was different now. It had been different for weeks, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

“I get it, Harry,” she said softly, trying to keep the frustration from her voice. “But it feels like we haven’t really talked in days. I feel like I’m losing you.”

The words hung in the air between them, thick with unspoken emotions. She didn’t want to say it. She didn’t want to accuse him of pulling away, but she couldn’t ignore what was happening anymore. She missed him. She missed the way they used to connect, how they’d stay up all night talking about their dreams and fears, how they’d laugh until their stomachs ached. Now, it felt like all they did was talk about logistics and time zones. She wanted more than that.

Harry let out a heavy sigh, and for a moment, she thought he was going to apologize, that he would offer the comfort she so desperately needed. But instead, his voice grew colder, his words sharper. “You miss me? Maybe you miss the version of me that you had before all of this. But I’m not the same person anymore, YNN. I’m just tired. Tired of feeling like I’m constantly being pulled in a million directions.”

Her heart sank at his words, the finality in them hitting her harder than she had expected. “What does that mean?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Harry’s words came out in a rush, almost like he couldn’t stop them, as if they were coming from a place deeper than he intended. “It means that I don’t have the energy for this right now. I don’t have the energy to keep pretending that everything is fine when it’s not. And maybe I’m just tired of pretending that you’re not asking for more than I can give. Maybe I need space. Maybe we both need space.”

The words stabbed her. She felt them deep in her chest, each one like a dagger, twisting further with every breath. “Space?” she echoed, barely able to form the word, the hurt creeping into her voice despite her best efforts to hold it back. “I’m not asking for space, Harry. I’m just asking for you. For the person you promised me you’d always be.”

Harry didn’t respond right away, and when he did, his voice was tight, defensive. “Maybe that person isn’t here anymore, YNN. Maybe that’s what I’m trying to say.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. YN could hear the faint rustling of something on his end of the phone, the noise of people moving in the background, but it didn’t matter. The emptiness between them felt so loud, so unbearable. The connection that once held them together was fraying, thread by thread.

She swallowed hard, the tears welling in her eyes. “Fine,” she said, her voice breaking as she spoke. “If that’s how you feel, then I guess I’ll leave.”

The words came out before she could stop them, and she immediately regretted them. But the damage was done. The silence that followed was deafening, and the weight of Harry’s absence felt so heavy, so crushing, that she could barely breathe. The person she loved, the person she had given everything to, had just told her he was done. He was tired of her.

Before she could say another word, she ended the call. The click of the phone disconnecting felt like the final nail in the coffin, sealing whatever it was that they had left.

YN sat there for a long moment, staring at the phone in her hand as if it were some foreign object. She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. Her mind was numb, her thoughts tangled in confusion and hurt. The apartment, their shared space, felt so small now. It felt suffocating. Every corner of the place was a reminder of everything that had once been good, everything that was now falling apart.

Tears blurred her vision as she stood up from the counter. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know where to go. But she couldn’t stay there. Not with him, not with the words he had just said. The love they had built felt like ashes, and she couldn’t breathe in the smoke any longer.

She started packing her things, her movements automatic, like she was on autopilot. Her hands shook as she threw clothes into a bag, not caring if they matched or if they were folded neatly. Nothing mattered in that moment except the urgent need to get away from the place that had once been home. She ignored the phone buzzing with messages, messages from Harry, apologizing, pleading with her to call him back. She couldn’t. Not yet. Not after the things he had said.

When she finished packing, she grabbed her bags and walked out the door. The apartment felt even emptier as she closed the door behind her. There were no more goodbyes, no more promises. Just the echo of his hurtful words ringing in her ears.

YN drove to her parents’ house in a daze, her eyes stinging with unshed tears. She couldn’t stop thinking about everything that had happened, about how quickly their love had unraveled. She needed space to think. To breathe. To figure out how to move on from this. But deep down, she knew it wasn’t that simple.

It wasn’t just a fight. It was something deeper. Something that couldn’t be fixed with apologies.

When she pulled into the driveway, she didn’t feel the relief she thought she would. Instead, the silence that had followed her from their apartment seemed to follow her here. Even the familiar sight of her childhood home didn’t offer the comfort it once had. It all felt distant. Empty. Just like her heart.

She stepped out of the car, closing the door behind her with a soft click. As she walked up to the front door, her phone buzzed again. She ignored it. She couldn’t bear to look at it. She couldn’t bear to see his name flashing on the screen. The man she loved had just shattered her heart into a million pieces, and she didn’t know how to pick them up.

The night had been a blur for Harry. The anger, the disappointment, the gnawing guilt in his chest from the argument with YN—it was all too much to bear. In the solitude of his hotel room, far from her, he drowned out the pain with alcohol. He knew he had messed up, knew he had hurt her with his words, but the overwhelming pressure of being on tour, the constant demand of being a public figure, and the exhaustion had driven him to the brink. He had never intended for it to escalate the way it did, but in his drunken haze, it all came crashing down.

Somewhere between the blurry shots and the endless stream of drinks, he found himself in a bar, surrounded by strangers, feeling more alone than he had in a long time. His phone was buzzing on the table, the screen lighting up with YN’s name flashing, but he didn’t pick it up. The coldness in his heart had become too unbearable, and he pushed her away instead of confronting the hurt he had caused. He just wanted the world to stop spinning for a moment. He wanted to forget everything that had gone wrong.

And that was when Emily Ratajkowski had walked in.

They had known each other for years, casually friendly in the way celebrities often are when their circles overlap. Emily, ever the charmer, had greeted Harry with a friendly smile. They sat and talked, their conversation casual at first, just the usual small talk about work and life. But Harry, caught in his haze of regret, had let his guard down. The more they talked, the more the words flowed. In some strange way, it felt easy to talk to her—like she was a stranger he could confide in, someone who didn’t carry the same weight of their past, the years of intimacy and history he shared with YN.

It didn’t take long before the alcohol took its toll. Emily’s laughter had filled the air, and Harry had found himself leaning closer, her presence soothing in a way that made him forget the ache in his chest. Before he knew it, they were kissing. His mind screamed for him to stop, to think about YN, to remember everything he stood to lose. But in that moment, he didn’t. The guilt had been smothered by the fleeting comfort of the kiss, the escape from his spiraling thoughts.

He didn’t remember much after that. The night blurred into incoherence, a jumble of laughter, flashes, and fleeting touches. Harry woke up the next morning, disoriented and groggy, the light filtering through the hotel room window far too bright. His phone was buzzing incessantly, and his stomach churned when he saw the series of missed calls and messages from YN. The weight of it all hit him like a wave, and for a moment, he just sat there, trying to piece together the fragments of his memories.

Then, his phone lit up with an alert—a notification from a gossip website, and his heart dropped into his stomach. There, in front of him, were pictures of him and Emily Ratajkowski, the kind of photos Harry had spent years avoiding. They were kissing, their lips pressed together, captured in a moment of reckless abandon that Harry didn’t even fully remember. The headline was cruel: Harry Styles and Emily Ratajkowski—A New Romance in the Making?

His throat tightened as he scrolled through the photos, his mind racing. He didn’t remember kissing her. He didn’t remember anything about that night except the overwhelming sense of regret that now gripped him. He had ruined everything. The fragile thread holding him together seemed to snap in that moment. He had lost YN, and now the media would make sure the world knew it. His personal life was on full display, and all he could think about was how much he had fucked it all up.

Desperation began to rise in his chest, and without thinking, he began sending text after text to YN, each one filled with apologies, regret, and pleas for her to talk to him. But she didn’t answer. The silence on the other end was deafening.

Meanwhile, YN was in her parents’ house, sitting in the living room with the muted glow of the television casting long shadows across the room. The house, once a place of comfort and warmth, now felt suffocating. Her mother had been quiet ever since YN arrived, sensing the heavy tension in the air. She tried to comfort her daughter, offering tea, but YN couldn’t bring herself to care. The weight of the argument, of the harsh words Harry had said, sat heavily in her chest, gnawing at her.

But when the photos surfaced—when she saw Harry with Emily, their lips locked, the headlines flashing across her phone—her world shattered all over again. The room spun around her, and she felt like she was suffocating. The love she had poured into her relationship with Harry now felt like a cruel joke. She had trusted him. She had believed in him. And now this—this betrayal was too much to bear.

Tears blurred her vision, and she quickly turned away from her phone. Her mother noticed the change in her expression and asked softly, “YN, what’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“I can’t do this,” YN whispered, choking on her tears. “I can’t keep doing this. I thought he loved me… but now… now I don’t know who he is anymore. It didn’t even take him a night to move on?”

Her mother hugged her tightly, murmuring comforting words, but YN couldn’t hear them. The pain of what she had seen—the public humiliation of it all—felt like a physical weight on her chest. She needed to get away. She needed to clear her head.

“I’m going for a walk,” she said, her voice distant, as if she were speaking to herself rather than her mother.

Her mother nodded, understanding the need for space, and watched as YN stepped outside, the cool evening air wrapping around her like a blanket.

The lake stretched out before her, calm and unbothered by the storm raging inside her. Its surface shimmered faintly under the overcast sky, the golden light of the fading afternoon barely breaking through the thick clouds. The familiar sight of it— the way the trees reflected on the water, the distant sound of birds, the rhythmic lapping of waves against the shore-should have brought YN the comfort she was seeking. But all it did was make her chest tighten with a suffocating ache.

She had always come to this place for solace, even as a child. The lake by her parents' house was her sanctuary, a space where the noise of the world couldn't touch her. But now, as she stood there, arms wrapped tightly around herself against the crisp autumn air, the silence was deafening. It wasn't peace she found here today. It was the echo of memories she had desperately tried to bury since she walked out of the home she had once shared with Harry.

Her boots crunched softly against the earth as she made her way closer to the water's edge, the damp grass soaking the hem of her dress. The wind whispered through the trees, carrying with it the faintest scent of pine and earth. But YN didn't notice. Her mind was far away, replaying a reel of memories she wished she could turn off. No matter how much she tried to focus on the present, her past with Harry came rushing back to her, vivid and bittersweet.

She crouched down near the shore, her fingertips brushing against the cool surface of the water. As ripples spread outward, her thoughts drifted to another time, another version of herself-a happier one. She closed her eyes, and it all came rushing back as if she were still there.

It had been a summer evening, the sun setting in brilliant hues of orange and pink.

Harry had been sitting on the dock, legs stretched out, his feet just barely skimming the water. YN had been lying beside him, her head resting on his thigh as they shared a bottle of wine they had stolen from her parents' pantry. The lake had been their escape that summer, a place where the chaos of Harry's career and the pressures of the world seemed to melt away.

"This place is magic," Harry had murmured, running his fingers absentmindedly through her hair. His voice had been low, almost reverent, as he looked out at the water.

YN had tilted her head to glance up at him, a smile tugging at her lips. "You always say that," she teased. "But you're not wrong."

He grinned, his dimple deepening as he looked down at her. "It's true, though. Don't you feel it? It's like... time stops here. Like nothing bad can touch us."

She had laughed softly, the sound blending with the gentle rustle of the trees.

"That's what l've always loved about this place. It's quiet. Peaceful. Away from everything."

Harry had hummed in agreement, his gaze softening as he studied her. "One day, YNN... one day l'd love to settle down somewhere like this. Away from the noise. Just us."

Her breath had caught at his words, her heart skipping a beat. "Just us?" she'd asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Well," he'd added, his lips twitching into a playful smile, "maybe not just us. I'm thinking a couple of little ones running around, maybe a dog... or two."

YN's heart skipped at his words, her stomach flipping in that way it always did when he hinted at their future. She laughed, nudging him playfully. "Little ones, huh? You planning on starting a family with me already, Styles?"

Harry grinned, his dimple showing as he leaned closer, the teasing glint in his eyes softening into something deeper. "Why not? I mean it, YNN. I'd love that. A house by the lake. Waking up every morning with you by my side. Teaching our kids how to fish or swim or whatever it is people do out here. It sounds perfect."

Her breath caught as she looked at him, the sincerity in his words tugging at something deep within her. "It does," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "It sounds perfect."

He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering against her cheek. "You're perfect," he murmured, and before she could respond, he leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her lips.

The world had faded away then, leaving only the two of them, wrapped in a bubble of love and possibility.

“I wouldn’t want anything less than forever when it comes to you.”

His words had settled into her heart like a warm glow, and she had leaned in to kiss him, the taste of wine still lingering on his lips. In that moment, with the sun setting and the world quiet around them, she had believed him. She had believed in forever.

YN blinked, the memory dissolving as the present came crashing back. The lake was still, the air cold, and Harry wasn't there. Her chest ached as she stared at the dock, the image of them sitting there overlaying the reality of its emptiness. She could almost hear his laughter, feel his hand in hers, but it was all in her mind.

The betrayal burned anew, the image of him with Emily flashing behind her eyes.

How could he have said those things, painted that picture of their future, and then so carelessly let it all fall apart? How could he kiss someone else after everything they had shared?

How had they gone from that to this? How had the man who once promised her forever ended up kissing someone else? The image of Harry and Emily flashed in her mind again, sharper this time, and her stomach twisted. She wrapped her arms tighter around herself, trying to hold together the pieces of her heart that felt like they were falling apart.

The lake, once her sanctuary, now felt like a cruel reminder of everything she had lost. The life she had envisioned with Harry-the house by the lake, the little ones running around, the forever they had dreamed of-felt like a distant, unattainable dream. And yet, no matter how much she wanted to hate him, to shut him out completely, her heart wouldn't let her. She still loved him, even now, even after everything.

YN sank down onto the grass, her knees pulled to her chest, tears streaming freely now. She thought of the countless nights they had spent talking about their dreams, their plans. The way Harry had once made her feel so safe, so sure of their love. And now, it all felt like a cruel joke, a dream turned nightmare.

"Why, Harry?" she whispered into the stillness. "Why did you have to ruin everything?"

The question hung in the air, unanswered, as the sun dipped lower on the horizon.

She let herself cry then, the sobs wracking her body as she finally allowed herself to feel the full weight of her heartbreak. The lake bore silent witness to her pain, its surface rippling gently as if trying to offer her some semblance of comfort.

The lake, once her sanctuary, now felt like a graveyard for their love.

When she returned to the house, her heart felt heavy, each step laden with the weight of everything she was feeling. But it wasn't the emptiness of the house that grabbed her attention; it was the faint sound-the small, deliberate taps against the window. At first, she thought it was the rain playing tricks on her, the gentle taps against the glass. But when she heard it again-sharp and insistent-her breath caught in her throat.

Her mind didn't even have time to process it fully. She spun toward the window, her heart pounding in her chest. And there he was.

Harry.

He stood in the pouring rain, his face pale, his hair clinging to his skin. His clothes were soaked through, and his hands trembled slightly as he threw small pebbles at the window, as if trying to wake her from a nightmare she couldn't escape. She stood frozen for a moment, unsure of what to do. Was this real? Was this the same man who had hurt her so badly?

But then, she saw it in his eyes-the desperation. The raw vulnerability. The silent plea for forgiveness that spoke louder than words ever could. He was standing there, drenched, with nothing left to lose. He was a broken man, and in that moment, she could see that he knew he had ruined everything.

Before she could stop herself, she ran to the down to the front door, threw it open, and without thinking, rushed outside into the rain.

The rain fell in torrents, its relentless downpour drowning out all sound except for the beat of water against the ground. Harry stood before YN, drenched, his eyes wide with desperate urgency, a look of raw pain etched into every line of his face. His clothes clung to his body, soaked through, but it was nothing compared to the turmoil inside of him.

“YN…” His voice broke, as if the weight of her name was too much to bear. His hand reached out shakily, desperate to bridge the gap between them, but she pulled away slightly. He flinched, not from her rejection, but from the weight of his own guilt that seemed to pull him lower with every passing second.

“I—” He took a breath, trying to steady himself, but his words tumbled out in a frantic rush. “I never meant for it to be this way. I never meant to hurt you, YNN. I swear, I never thought—God, I was so drunk, so damn stupid. I don’t even remember what happened, but I know I messed up. I know I messed everything up.”

YN’s heart clenched painfully in her chest. She wanted to scream at him, to tell him how much he had hurt her, how much his words still stung like a constant ache in her soul. But instead, she stood there, her breath coming in ragged bursts, staring at him as he trembled in the rain. She wasn’t sure whether it was the cold of the storm or the pain inside him that made him shudder, but it was impossible to ignore the depth of his regret.

“You do remember, Harry,” she finally spoke, her voice shaking but strong. “You remember everything, even if you don’t remember that moment. You remember the things you said to me. You remember how you treated me. How you—” She stopped herself, not wanting to continue with the painful words. But the memory of his cutting tone, his dismissive words, echoed in her mind, taunting her, making her question everything they had ever shared. “I trusted you. I loved you. And you—you broke me.”

Harry’s eyes welled with unshed tears as he took a step toward her, this time not caring if she pulled away. He was beyond caring about the rain, beyond caring about anything except for the woman standing before him, the one person who had always been his everything.

“I know,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, and she could see the raw vulnerability in his eyes. “I know I broke you. And that’s the worst part of it. I never wanted to hurt you. Not in a million years. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you, YNN. You’re it for me, you always have been.” He reached for her again, but this time she didn’t pull away. His fingers brushed against hers, a tentative touch, as if he were afraid she might vanish the moment he let go.

“But I let my stupid insecurities, my stupid mistakes, cloud everything,” he continued, his voice cracking. “I’ve never been more scared of losing someone than I am of losing you, and I couldn’t see that until now. I couldn’t see that you are the one I need. That it’s not the fame, it’s not the tour, it’s not anyone or anything else—it’s you, YN. You’re the only thing that matters.”

The words hung in the air like fragile threads, each one trembling with a rawness that made YN’s heart ache in ways she didn’t think possible. The anger, the hurt—it was still there, simmering beneath the surface, but now there was something else too: hope. Hope that maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t all lost.

She swallowed hard, her throat dry. She wanted to push him away, wanted to shout at him for what he had done, but when she looked at him—really looked at him—there was something so devastatingly human about him, standing there, shaking in the rain. He was broken, but there was sincerity in his apology, a plea that reached her heart in ways his words never had before.

“You don’t even understand what you’ve done to me, Harry,” she said, her voice quivering as she took a step back. “You think it’s just about what happened with her, with Emily? It’s not. It’s about everything that led up to that moment. It’s about the words you said to me, the way you dismissed everything we had, everything I gave you. It’s about how you made me feel like I wasn’t enough.”

Harry closed his eyes, a silent tear slipping down his cheek. “I didn’t mean to make you feel that way, YNN. I never wanted you to feel like you weren’t enough. You’re everything to me. I’ve been an idiot, and I know I’ve hurt you, but please… don’t let this be the end for us. I can’t lose you. I just can’t… live without you. I can’t.”

The storm raged around them, but the silence between them felt deafening, thick with the weight of everything unsaid, everything unresolved. YN could feel the anger still bubbling inside her, but she also felt the pull of something deeper—the love she had for him, the love that she had thought was gone, but now seemed to flicker in her chest like a fragile flame.

She wanted to stay angry, to hold onto the hurt, but something inside her was giving way.

“Harry, I…” Her voice faltered, the words catching in her throat as her chest tightened painfully. “I don’t know if I can forgive you right now. I need time. I need space to figure this out.” She shook her head, unable to meet his eyes as the tears finally spilled over, mingling with the rain. “I don’t know if I can go back to who we were. You hurt me too much.”

He stepped forward again, his hand reaching for her, trembling with the force of his desperation. “Please, YN. I’ll do anything. I’ll give you all the space you need. I’ll be patient, I swear. I’ll wait as long as it takes. But don’t walk away from me. Please.”

She didn’t respond immediately. The storm had drowned out every thought, every hesitation in her mind, but there was still one thing she knew for certain: she couldn’t let him go. Not yet. She wasn’t ready. Not when her heart was still so tangled up in him, so unable to let go of the person he had once been to her.

“I need time,” she repeated softly, her voice barely audible against the pounding rain. “I need to think, Harry. Please, just… just go inside. I can’t—” She couldn’t finish the sentence, not without breaking apart completely.

Harry nodded, his face a picture of heartbreaking understanding. His heart was in pieces, but he was willing to wait, willing to do whatever it took to prove that he could make things right. Without another word, he turned toward the house, slowly, unwilling to leave her in the storm but knowing that he had to respect her need for space.

YN watched him go, her heart heavy in her chest, torn between love and hurt, between forgiveness and anger. The rain continued to pour, and as she stood there, feeling the cold seep into her bones, she wondered if they would ever find their way back to each other—or if this was the beginning of the end.

The night had felt like an eternity. Each minute stretched on, filled with haunting thoughts and the pounding rhythm of YNs heart. Her mind was tangled in knots, the anger still burning bright, but beneath it all, there was an undercurrent of something she couldn’t deny: the love she still had for Harry. It was the kind of love that had once felt so pure, so easy, but now felt fractured, jagged, like trying to hold onto a shattered glass piece that was bleeding into her heart.

She hadn’t been able to sleep. The past few days, the pain, the betrayal, the anger—it all swirled together in a mess that made her restless. Harry’s words from the night before—the desperate, raw apology—replayed over and over again in her mind, like a broken record. And yet, each time she thought of it, the hurt crept back in. She had tried to push it away, tried to convince herself that she could ignore it, but the reality was that she couldn’t. Not when the memories of their love, of their happy moments, still clung to her like the scent of his cologne.

But it wasn’t just the hurt she was feeling. There was something else, something deeper, something that felt too real to ignore. She couldn’t escape the way her heart still responded to Harry, no matter how hard she tried.

As the morning light began to filter through the windows, YN could no longer stay in the silence of her room. She had to see him. She had to confront everything that had happened and, maybe—just maybe—find a way to heal. But even as the desire to see him grew stronger, there was still that gnawing uncertainty. Could she really trust him again? Could she really forgive him for what had happened?

The house was quiet as she made her way down the stairs, the soft creak of the wooden steps echoing in the otherwise still air. The soft hum of the morning felt foreign against the heaviness that weighed on her shoulders, but she ignored it, pushing forward. When she stepped outside, the cold hit her like a rush, but it was nothing compared to the chill in her heart.

The lake was quiet, still as glass, the air thick with the faint scent of damp earth and fresh water. And there, sitting on the grass at the edge of the lake, was Harry. His posture was slumped, his shoulders drooped, as though the weight of the world was resting on him. The sight of him in this state, so broken and vulnerable, pulled at her heart in ways she couldn’t explain.

He looked so small, so lost.

For a moment, YN stood there, watching him. She wasn’t sure what to do, what to say. But as she watched him, she realized that she couldn’t stay away. Not anymore. She had to speak. She had to let him know how much he had hurt her, but also how much she still cared, despite everything.

Her footsteps were quiet on the soft earth as she made her way toward him. Harry didn’t look up immediately, but she could see the slight twitch of his head as if he felt her presence. His face was blank, his eyes staring out at the water, but there was something in the way he held himself that spoke volumes.

YN stopped just a few feet away, standing still as the silence stretched between them. For what felt like an eternity, neither of them spoke. The tension was thick, palpable, like a heavy fog.

Finally, she couldn’t stand it anymore. The silence, the uncertainty. She had to break it.

“I don’t even know where to start, Harry,” she said, her voice trembling just slightly as she crossed her arms over her chest, trying to protect herself from the rawness of the moment. “You hurt me. You really hurt me. And I don’t know if I can ever forget what you said to me. What you did to us.”

Harry flinched, as if each word she spoke cut through him. He finally lifted his head, his red-rimmed eyes meeting hers. There was guilt in those eyes, raw and undeniable. His voice came out barely above a whisper.

“I’m sorry, YNN. I’m so sorry. I can’t even begin to explain how much I regret everything. I was angry, and I was drunk, and I didn’t—” He cut himself off, his hands shaking as he clenched them into fists at his sides. “I never meant to hurt you. Not like that. You’re everything to me, YNN. You always have been.”

YN took a deep breath, her chest tight with the conflicting emotions. She wanted to stay angry, to protect herself from the pain he’d caused, but she couldn’t deny that his words, his remorse, were hitting something deep inside her. It wasn’t enough to erase the hurt, but it was a start. She looked at him, really looked at him, and saw how broken he was. He was a man who had made a mistake, but he was also a man who still cared for her.

“I don’t want to feel like this anymore,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I don’t want to live in the hurt and the anger. I want to move past this, but I need to know that you’ll never do this again. I need to know that you’re willing to fight for us.”

Harry’s eyes welled up, the emotion overwhelming him. He reached out then, taking her hand gently, almost like he was afraid she might pull away. “I swear to you, YNN. I’ll fight for us. I’ll fight for you. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this right. I’ll spend every single day proving to you that you’re worth more than anything, more than the stupid mistakes I’ve made. You mean everything to me.”

YN’s breath caught in her throat. It was impossible to ignore the depth of his words, the rawness in his voice. But it wasn’t just the words that got to her; it was the sincerity in his eyes, the vulnerability that he rarely showed anyone, let alone her.

She stepped closer to him, her heart pounding as she tried to make sense of the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside her. She had been so angry, so broken, but looking at him now, she realized that she couldn’t just walk away.

“I want to believe you, Harry,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “I really do. But I need time. I need time to heal, to trust you again.”

Harry’s face softened, relief flooding through him. “I understand. Take all the time you need. I’ll be here, every step of the way. I’ll prove to you that I’m worth it. That we’re worth it.”

And in that moment, everything felt a little bit clearer. The storm inside her had not fully subsided, but the clouds were beginning to part, and the sun was starting to peek through. She stepped closer, closing the distance between them, and in one slow, careful motion, she placed her hand on his chest. The steady beat of his heart under her palm was a reminder of how much he still cared.

“I’m willing to try,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m willing to try if you promise me that you’ll never let me go again.”

Harry’s eyes shone with tears, and he pulled her into his arms, his hands cupping her face gently as he kissed her forehead, his lips brushing softly over her skin. “I promise you, YNN. I’ll never let you go. You’re my everything. I love you.”

YN closed her eyes, letting his words wash over her. She hadn’t been sure if she could forgive him, if she could ever move past the hurt. But standing here in his arms, feeling his heart beat against hers, she realized that love wasn’t always easy. It wasn’t always simple. But it was worth fighting for.

“I love you too,” she whispered back, her voice trembling with emotion.

And as they stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world around them felt a little less heavy, a little less uncertain. The future was still unclear, but for the first time in a long time, they both had hope.

They’ll be alright.

[ninii-winchester]

Only Girl

Pairing : Dean Winchester X Reader

Word count : 1.8k

Warnings: smut, oral (m & f receiving), dirty talk, spanking, language, age gap. MDNI NSFW

Part 2 to One of your girls

A/n : I wrote smut for the first time so go easy on me please.

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO COPY MY WORK, TRANSLATE IT OR POST IT TO ANY OTHER PLATFORM. REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED.

Still pressed against the wall outside the bar, Y/n whimpered waiting for Dean to make a move, Kiss her, touch her, just to do anything. Dean squeezed her hips once before pulling away. She turned around to look at him, her face turned into a small frown. Dean chuckled as he noticed her disappointment.

"As much I'd like to give everyone a show like you did, I'm not fucking you outside a bar for our first time together." Dean said dragging her towards the Impala. The drive back to the motel was quick and the she didn't waste anytime walking inside. Dean slowly followed behind her.

Y/n started walking towards their room but stopped when she saw Dean stopping at the counter, "Room's this way, Dean." She pointed her finger to the hallway. He looked at her but didn't respond, instead he clicked his tongue and turned back to the clerk. She watched him put his credit card on the counter, getting another keycard. Dean took his time walking them to their new room and it was making her go crazy. She wanted him bad, she needed him to fuck her into next week but his unhurried and slow moves were driving her nuts.

He opened the room and let her walk in first, her heart was beating loudly in her chest, anticipation getting the best of her. The moment he stepped inside the room his lips were on hers. Fucking finally. She desperately kissed back, grabbing the back of his head pulling him closer. She let out whine when he pulled apart.

"So needy." He tsked gripping her waist.

"Dean please." She whispered batting her lashes at him. He smashed his lips to hers again, his hands moving down to grab her ass. A moan escaped her lips as he landed a slap on her left ass cheek. He let his tongue graze hers, moving in perfect synchronisation. He picked her up and slammed her back into the door, not breaking the kiss.

"Fuck." He pulled away from the kiss, breathing heavily. "Do you really want this?" He questioned in all seriousness, if she wants to stop better now because he knows if he went any further he won't be able to. She nodded her head. "Words, baby."

"Yes Dean, fuck me." Dean groaned when he heard her say that. "Hard." She added and Dean's eyes darkened. He put her back on her feet.

"You have a safe word, sweet girl?" He asked in his deep voice. Y/n could feel her pussy clenching around nothing and clit throbbing.

"Cherry." She replied. Dean nodded before pulling away completely. He walked backwards and she took a step but he stopped her.

"Didn't ask you to move, did I?" He questioned sitting on the edge of the bed and she shook her head, taking a step back. "Now strip, and crawl to me." Whatever self respect she had left, after the bar stunt she pulled, went flying out of the window as soon as those words left his mouth. She worked fast to get off every piece of clothing off her body, once she was completely naked she dropped to knees and crawled towards Dean. She stopped right in front of him, he gave her an approving look. "Good girl." He said grabbing the back of her hair. "You're such a slut for cock aren't you, pretty girl." He pulled her body up so she was sat up straight.

"Only for you cock Dean. I want it so bad." She whimpered, feeling an ache in her throbbing cunt.

"I know sweetheart, isn't that why you acted like a whore in front everyone." Dean taunted unbuckling his belt. He grabbed both of her hands and tied them behind her back using the belt. He unzipped his pants, pulling them down to his thighs, he pulled out his hard dick from the confines of his boxers, Y/n licked her lips watching the pre cum oozing out of the tip. "Now suck like the cockslut you are." She didn't waste a second before wrapping her lips around the tip, sucking it like her favourite candy. Dean threw his head back as she swiped her tongue on underside of his shaft, she then took the whole length inside her mouth, deep throating him, "God fuck baby." He snapped his hips, fucking her mouth, Dean sucked in a breath as she choked on his dick, breathing through her nose. He pulled her hair harshly. "Fuck, that mouth feels like heaven."

She continued licking and sucking, hollowing her cheeks intent on making him cum but Dean had other plans. He grabbed her head to pull her off him but she tightened her lips on his cock, he yanked her off harshly, a string of saliva drooled down her chin. He glared at her.  "You're fucking insatiable." He pulled her to straddle his thigh, he could feel her juices coating his bare thigh. His knuckles brushed against her clit and she gasped. "So fucking wet, just from sucking my cock."

"I've been a good girl haven't I? Make me cum please." Y/n whined. She was getting impatient, she needed her release now, without a thought she started grinding her pussy against his thigh.

"You've been good, go on fucking rut against my thigh, make yourself cum." Dean leaned back on his arms watching her struggle to move on his thigh with her hands bound. Tears of frustration pooled in her eyes and she let out a loud whimper.

"Dean please, need to touch you, I wanna cum on your cock." She cried and he grabbed her face kissing her, at was all teeth and tongue clashing, his hand left her face and moved behind her to undo the belt. As soon her hands were unbound she pulled at his shirt, borderline close to ripping it off. Dean flipped her, so laid on the bed. She moved a bit up and laid her head on the pillows. Dean kicked his jeans and boxers and joined her on the bed.

Dean spread her legs open revealing her glistening pussy. "Look at that, such a pretty pussy." He dragged his fingers over her folds making her clutch the sheets tightly. He didn't waste another second before latching his lips onto her clit, sucking harshly. He then shoved his tongue inside her. "Fuck tastes so good." He groaned into her pussy. "I could stay here forever." Y/n grabbed the back of his head and pushed it to her core. She locked her legs on his shoulder keeping him in place.

"Oh God yea, fuck don't stop." She yelled as Dean continued lapping on her juices. "Yes baby, I'm so close."

"That's it baby, say my name." He groaned, pushing two fingers knuckles deep inside her cunt. And she screamed his name, loudly. "Let everyone know who's making you feel so good." He moaned against her clit, scissoring his fingers inside her, hitting her sensitive spot that made her see stars. "Cum for me, sweetheart." And she did. Hard. she felt her whole body shake as her orgasm came crashing. She panted heavily, Dean continued to suck on her clit making her push at his shoulders slightly but he didn't move, he went on relentlessly, overstimulating her. "Dean fuck." He felt her clench around his fingers again, indicating her approaching orgasm. Dean chuckled darkly before he abruptly pulled away.

"Dean what the fuck." She looked down at him.

"I'm still in charge, hot stuff. You cum when I say you cum." Dean smacked her ass sitting up. He grabbed her by the ankles and pulled her closer to himself, settling between her legs. He leaned down and wrapped his lips around her right nipple, his tongue circling the hardened nub while one of his hands groped her left tit. She reached down between their bodies and grabbing his cock, rubbing the tip over her folds. Dean slapped her tit harshly, "such a whore." he said pulling away from her nipple. "You just can't live without cock, can ya?" Before she could answer he gripped her hips tightly and slammed his cock inside her cunt making her back arch from the bed. He didn't let adjust before pulling out and shoving it back in.

"Oh Dean yes fuck me." She bit her bottom lip as he continued to fuck her at a harsh pace, he pushed her legs over his shoulders, hitting her deep from the new angle.

"Look at that tight little cunt taking me so well." She heard Dean groan above her, his gaze locked on where their bodies meet. Her walls clenched around his length, he continued thrusting, hitting her g-spot. He smacked her ass multiple times, "You're squeezing my cock so hard, you like being spanked, little slut." He landed a few more slaps to her ass, "Is this what you wanted?" He wrapped his hand around her throat, "Putting up a show at the bar, begging for my cock, little slut couldn't even wait for me to get another room. You wanted me to fuck you in that room when Sammy could walk in on us huh? Such a whore aren't ya.?"

"Yes yes fuck I'm a whore for you cock. I'm your cockslut, fill me up, fuck i want it so bad."  She begged reaching down and rubbing her own clit. "I'm gonna cum." She whimpered, "please I can't hold it." She waited for him to give her permission to cum but he took his sweet time.

"Hold it baby, I'm right behind ya." Dean choked out, his thrusts faltering, a telltale sign he's close. "Cum. Fucking cum on my cock." He growled squeezing her throat slightly as he spilled his seed inside her. The coil in her stomach snapped and she let go, spilling her juices all over his cock. He stilled inside her, both of them panting heavily, coming down from their highs. He pulled out of her slowly, she winched slightly suddenly feeling empty. "You okay?" Dean asked looking over at her.

"Yeah." She replied smiling at him.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" He asked gently and Y/n could feel her heart burst at his softness. As much as she liked him manhandling her, she was loving his softer side.

"Nope, not at all." She replied honestly.

"Okay." He pecked her lips "I'll be back in a second." He went to the bathroom and came out a washcloth. He joined her bed after he helped her clean up. He wrapped his arms around her pulling her closer to his chest.

"Dean." She called out his name softly, "this changes every thing you know that, right?" She whispered lowly.

"Yeah I know but this isn't going to be a one time thing and we'll talk about this tomorrow I promise. You need to rest okay?" Dean replied kissing the top of her head.

"Okay." In the soft after glow, he held her close, peacefully falling asleep in each other's arms.

[back2bluesidex]

Misconception - MYG ft. KSJ

Pairing: Yoongi X Fem!reader X Seokjin

Theme: Angst, friends to ? au, cheating

Wordcount: 1.2k+

Summary: You and Yoongi have been friends for nine years, you have loved him for five of those. But reciveing nothing but pain from his end you decide to move on only for Yoongi to come breaking down your resolve.

Warnings: Jealous Yoongi, bad decisions, kissing without permission, cheating

Minors are not allowed in this blog!!

A/N: Just a little piece from Six Degrees of Separation.

Read the full Series here

Yoongi knows it’s unfair and childish but he doesn’t like this Kim Seokjin at all. 

For one, he is unbelievably handsome. 

For two, he seems to really like you. 

And Yoongi never liked the guys who liked you too much. While back then, he never acted upon his disapproval because he was sure of his irreplaceable position in your life, now he is not sure anymore. 

His eyes land on you with every little chance he gets tonight. He is aware that he is staring at you much more than it’s socially acceptable but honestly, he doesn’t give a damn. 

While staring at you, he had made a couple of eye contacts with Seokjin, which really pissed him off. 

He doesn’t like being caught red-handed. 

“Can you show me the way to the restroom?” Seokjin’s voice is as sweet as his face. Yoongi absolutely hates it. 

“Sure. That door.” he vaguely points towards the washroom. Seokjin leaves but not before giving him a cryptic glance. 

As soon as the man is inside the restroom, he finds his feet working on autopilot and in moments he is standing before you. 

“You look good.” he says shamelessly as if he didn’t burn you with his cigarette just a year back. Your face morphs into hurt, then sarcasm all within a second. 

“Thanks.” avoiding looking at him, you take a large sip from your glass. Your ignorance stings him like a freshly injected needle. 

“Have you eaten anything? Or are you drinking again on an empty stomach? You know you don’t do good-” it’s his habit to babysit you and old habits die hard.

“The Yoongi that pushed me that night at Jimin’s place and the Yoongi before me are completely different. Why are you pretending so hard, Yoongi? Are you afraid I might step in between you two? If you are then don’t worry. I am not as bad as you think of me. Chill.” you cut him off, try to leave him behind but he stops you. His hand holds you in place and his heart thumps from the skin-to-skin connection. 

“I am not pretending. I am repenting. I- I am extremely ashamed for the way I behaved with you that night. I regret everything. Every single thing, Y/N.” so many unsaid words threaten to spill out of his throat. He is not sure about anything anymore. 

Not about himself, not about Hyeri, not about you. 

“I don’t know how that matters anymore. You can’t take back what you said and did and I.. I can’t go back being your friend. So, let’s just stop here. Congratulations on taking your relationship with my cousin a step ahead. My good wishes will always be with you two.” you smile but it falters. 

“Y/N, please-” he tries to say something, anything that will make you listen to him. But fate has different plans. 

“Yoongi, what are you doing here?” Hyeri butts in and the only chance Yoongi could get with you, slips away right through the gaps between his fingers. 

“Attention everyone.” Hyeri claps her hands, “thanks for joining us this evening. As you know me and my boyfriend finally decided to move in together after dating for five years. But there is more to it. Not only did we decide to move on but also to finally put a ring on each other as the first thing in the new year. So, today also serves as the official invitation for you all to our engagement ceremony which will be held sometime next month. Please bless us with your well wishes. Even though we have fifteen minutes left, a very happy new year to you all!” 

Yoongi’s blood boils. He sees red. Hyeri has truly crossed the line now. They have no fucking plan of exchanging any kind of rings for at least six more months. She is all over the place with her lies, competition to walk over you - It was the last nail in his coffin. 

He will have to take a step now. 

“What do you think you are doing?” he seethes, anger pours through his eyes. 

Hyeri acts all innocent again, “what?” 

“You know what I am talking about.” 

“Oh that? I just said it on a whim. Chill, it’s just rings. Let’s get it in installments. We can invite only a few people and get done with the engagement ceremony-” “You know what? Fuck you.” Yoongi cuts her off and leaves for the balcony. 

It’s already past midnight, a new year, a completely new day. And he will make sure to make it a new beginning for him. 

His heart drops to his stomach when an unexpected sight unfolds before him. 

Your lips are lost in Seokjin’s mouth. He is holding you by your waist, while you wrap him by his neck. He has draped his blazer on you to keep you warm. 

You two kiss and kiss and kiss not giving a damn about being caught by anyone in the action. Unbeknownst to Yoongi, his teeth girt with each other.  

This. this could have been him and you only had he not have Hyeri - wait. What is he even thinking? 

He clears his throat to break through the troubled thoughts that have clouded his mind and reduced visibility to zero. 

You two part your mouths being alert of the presence of a third person. 

You look at him, he looks at you. So many things remain unsaid, unchanged but at the same time blooming into existence. 

“I think it’s time we leave. I will get the car ready.” Seokjin announces, sounding breathless due to the kiss. 

“I will quickly see Hyeri.” You nod. 

“I will walk you out.” Yoongi joins even when he absolutely didn’t have to. 

You two get into the elevator after you exchange a quick bye and a hug with Hyeri. She had pinned him down with a glare but he didn’t care. He needs to talk to you, even when he doesn’t know what he should say. 

“Thanks for coming.” he starts. 

You scoff, “Are you mocking me?” 

He turns his head to look at you. Your lipstick is a little smeared around the small of your mouth - it’s Seokjin’s doing, he wants to rub it off, preferably with his tongue. 

Fuck! No! He scolds himself before opening his mouth to offer an explanation, “No. You joining us tonight have been fruitful to me. I got answers to so many of my questions.” 

“What?” you chuckle humorlessly, “what question? That you are finally ready to tie the knot? That you-” 

Yoongi grabs you by the lapels of your winter coat and crashes his lips on you. Later, he will blame it on his intrusive thoughts. Now, he will let himself enjoy it. 

He kisses you with intent, sucks your lower lip as if it’s his first meal after days. You stay unmoving, not kissing him but not pushing him away either. 

He bites on your lower lip, asking for entrance. You put your hands on his chest and push him away lightly. 

Your pupils are blown out. There are so many questions dancing around your eyes. Yoongi is sure he has answers to none of it. 

Your face remains blank. 

“I won’t ask you what the fuck was that. Guess we are even now.” you say. The elevator dings as if to rescue you from him. You walk out without glancing at him again. 

He remains in the elevator, watches as the door shuts, cutting you off of his line of sight. 

Yoongi really fucked up a big time.  

Read the full Series here

[two-white-butterflies]

★ — imgonnagetyouback | max verstappen

Description: Max ends the relationship with a phone-call.

Pairing: actress!reader/max verstappen

Disclaimer: Everything written in this fanfic holds no truth about anyone's personality or actions. It is made purely for entertainment.

A/N: everything i do used to be inspired by the 2014 ver. grimes. reader is unhinged as her, but gets development in the end!! THIS IS AN ODE TO THE "MONSTER" TITLED FIC I READ ABOUT LEE PACE.

"Let's break up."

Let's break up.

You could still hear the aftertaste of his voice on your ears. How nonchalant he sounded while denying a relationship of seven years. Why was he quick to leave? Did he find someone else?

You sniffled, wiping your snot with a tissue on your right.

I'm gonna get revenge.

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yourname: me, the dogs and @edmundquandt

liked by 728,391 others

>comments

maxversworldargentina: huh isn't she dating max? did u break up?

reversethismess: Who is he?

victoriaverstappen: ❤️

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Y/N L/N AND FORMULA ONE DRIVER, MAX VERSTAPPEN CONFIRM THEIR BREAKUP.

Yesterday UMG Inc. Agency released a statement to SSN confirming the breakup between Y/N L/N and her Formula One boyfriend.

The pair began to date each other in 2017, where Verstappen was accepted into Toro Rosso and Redbull Racing. They have been together for 7 years and have been dubbed as the most iconic couple in the Formula One paddocks.

Rumors between the two splitting emerged late March, however the couple affirmed that they were still dating each other. On December, however the netizens were greeted with radio silence.

According to L/N's team: the breakup was mutually agreed upon, as they grew apart from all the travelling required for their job.

>comments

grills93: I can't make it go away by making you a villain, I guess it's the price I pay for seven years in heaven.

lnworld: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO AND HER NEW INSTA POST WITH EDMUND???? NOOOOOOO

carshfo: she defo cheated with edmund bcs no way lol

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Max's pulse was racing at the sight of you around another man's arms. Seeing your arms wrapped around his shoulders, leaning into him for balance as you laughed at a joke that wasn't funny at all. "- and then we found out that there wasn't a building in the hotel with those rooms." Edmund finished his joke.

By that time, you were already laughing uncontrollably.

Max clenched his jaw.

A piece of his heart regretted breaking up with you.

"Control yourself mate, he's a big investor." Yuri reminds.

Max didn't give a flying fuck. He didn't own any Redbull stocks. He's a good driver, this Edmund Quandt has nothing on him. His features only soften once he remembered the reason why he broke up with you. He wanted to focus more on his career. He wanted to test the pond for more fish.

He needed upgrades on his car.

Fuck.

He needed to chafe his knees for this guy.

"Funnily enough, when I was in Texas I had a similar encounter. I knew exactly what to do." Edmund placed a hand on the small of your back. Max prevents his eyelids from twitching.

Charles smiles, showing the crowd his dimpled cheeks. Charles always had the ability to charm other people. He was perfect, and now he's friends with Mr. Quandt whom he only met.

"I'm sorry for asking this Edmund, but are you two...?" Charles paused, allowing the other man to fill in the blanks. Edmund smiles - pearly white teeth and a godly physique.

Max doesn't fail to observe the glance that Edmund gives you, a look that asked for your permission.

"We're dating each other, for a month now - but we're still testing the waters." you chuckled, ignoring the presence of your ex-boyfriend despite his figure melancholily staring at you.

"I just want to put a ring on her." Edmund admits.

The other people fade into the background.

"My father always says, give her a ring with a big diamond so she won't be able to see how much of a monster you are." he teased.

"You're not a monster." your eyebrows merged into each other.

Max wanted to punch the air.

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yournamepriv: i love this big baby 🥺 @e123456

liked by 92

>comments

haileybeiber: i love this for u omgg

sophierichiegrange: So cute ❤️🥺

e123456: You got my good side! - yournamepriv: Ur good side is 360 degs

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Max takes a deep breath. Again.

You forgot to remove him as a mutual in your private account. And he was greeted by a picture of you kissing Edmund Quandt. His mind raced through a million different thoughts. Regret, anger, resentment - but they were mostly filled of regret.

He didn't appreciate what he got, and now it's gone.

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maxandynfanbase: do you get deja vu? 😭

liked by lewishamilton and 72,192 others

>comments

mercyplease9: EDMUND IS SO TALL??

ohnoaosd9: lewis we can see u 💀

holyhell1: i like pic 2 more

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yourname: visited some mangrove swamps with this big baby. 🥺your integrity makes me seem small... #savethemangroves tagged: edmundquandt

liked by maxverstappen, lewishamilton and 1,283,923 others

taylorswift: You and Edmund have the KINDEST heart. - yourname: thanks taytay i wanna see u and trav here next time - taylorswift: Will do! I'll tell you when my schedule clears up. - yourname: love u ❤️

haileybeiber: We love a momma who cares

sophierichiegrange: <3

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"I can't believe she's out there helping the fucking mangroves." Max places his phone on the couch.

He couldn't believe your sudden change in tune, that drastic of a change to come from someone like you? "She used to complain being in the EU because it meant not using plastic straws." he breathed, still choosing to believe that you were like him.

Still the same crazy. Still the same stupid.

"She's really being fake for him." he shook his head.

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yourname: i totes know how to play 🎾 this friday we're having an event for all the young racecar drivers that unfortunately can't afford to pursue the sport. all proceeds will go to @bmwfoundationsports and the @grandprixtrust !!

liked by edmundquandt and 1,283,912 others

>comments

edmundquandt: ❤️

CharlesLeclerc: Will be in attendance. 🫡

oracleredbullracing: We love a Queen with a good heart

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maxverstappenupdates: Max Verstappen in @bmwfoundationsports and @grandprixtrust.

liked by kellypiquet and 23,392 others

>comments

youalloverme: HE LOOKS SO SAD...

maxismybf: Hadnsumm

posyposie: wondering if a dodged a bullet or just lost the love of my life

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He takes another sip of his whiskey, forgetting about the cameras that snapped his figure left and right. There were a million things he wanted to say to you, but he wanted to start with a question.

"I never imagined seeing you change yourself for a guy." he scoffed.

You turned around with your eyebrows raised. Flabbergasted at his insinuation. "Change myself?" you repeated the word, finding it to be hilarious on his tongue.

"The whole save the earth, save the kids thing - you don't care about that. I understand though, money is money and your boyfriend has a lot of that." Max allowed the alcohol to speak in his behalf.

"You don't have the right to talk about me or my integrity. You abandoned me, remember?" you argued, feeling anger pulse through your veins.

Since he left, you tried to make yourself better.

"When I was with you, we were both horrible people. Quite literally the rich people cliche that we promised not to become. I guess you were right, we weren't growing together - and now I've become a better person without you - all because of Edmund." you gritted your teeth, grabbing the champagne on the table before the media realized that the 'ex-lovers' were talking to each other.

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(PRE-EDMUND QUANDT.)

I'm gonna get revenge.

That night you planned to ruin his chance at winning by exposing a flaw in the car that would allow the other drivers to overtake him. A button outside of the car - with the engineers that could remotely turn off a key engine that allowed his car to move faster.

He told you about it because driving at that speed endangers his life, and if you were the only one in the administration panel that knew about it - he made it your duty to push that button.

You grabbed your laptop, sneaking inside the garage. "What are you doing?" a voice emerged from behind you, and you momentarily stopped with the program.

You turned around - only to be greeted with your ex-boyfriend, Edmund Quandt. A man that your parents adored. A man whom everyone thought was going to become your husband, and he was here - behind you. Looking at you.

"Just grabbing my things, I won't be here anymore." you lied. Despite your obvious lie, he chose to give you the benefit of the doubt. He always kinda chose to see the better side of a person, rather than thinking the worst of them first.

"Oh why is that?" he asked with a smile. "Because of things..." you evaded the question - not wanting to rant about your other ex-boyfriend that broke up with you because of a phone call.

"Are you done with grabbing your things?" his eyes narrowed.

"Oh yeah." you breathed.

You had to evade your plan of revenge.

"Do you want to grab some coffee?" he offered.

"Of course."

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Max Verstappen I'm really sorry for doing that. Must be all the Whiskey I drank 😅

Y/N L/N Drunk actions are sober thoughts, Max

Max Verstappen I still shouldn't have confronted you It's just really weird seeing you post things like save the turtles, donate to the kids we never gave a fuck about those 😆

Y/N L/N Yeah, I didn't care about them But now I do We used to be the same but now we aren't

Max Verstappen ?

Y/N L/N You broke up with me because you wanted to focus on your career Because all you care about is money and success We both got stuck on that We didn't see the value in other things When we broke up, Edmund brought me back to earth Opened my eyes to the privilege we've been granted

Y/N L/N Take this as a warning Max The high life isn't gonna last forever

*blocked*

[satellite-evans]

Juntos.

Pairing: Franco Colapinto x reader

Summary: Franco struggles with disappointment after losing his racing seat, but your support helps him feel less alone in facing the tough situation.

Word count: 1.4k

Warnings: angst, little fluff

main masterlist

A/N:

Hi everyone, this is my first Franco fic so I am very excited!!! I am very new to Formula 1 so I will try my best to make the stories as realistic as possible. I dramatized this fic a little bc I could not help myself lol but I love Carlos sm and wish him nothing but luck in Williams. Also, I would not mind if you guys help me understand Formula 1 more xxx

hope you guys will like it :)

Also, the Spanish words I used are directly from Google Translate, if I made mistakes please feel free to correct me <3

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, recommendations, vents or questions are always welcome. I love talking to you guys about anything <3

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

The dim light of the apartment cast a glow over the cozy space, the kind that usually made the room feel warm and inviting. Tonight, however, it felt different—heavier, subdued, as if the walls themselves understood the weight of the emotions filling the air. The scent of a faintly burning candle lingered in the background, a forgotten remnant of an attempt to lighten the mood earlier in the evening. Outside, the muffled sounds of the city hummed faintly, a stark contrast to the suffocating silence inside.

Franco sat on the edge of the couch, his head bowed, fingers tangled in his dark hair. His shoulders hunched forward, as though bearing the weight of an invisible burden too great to carry. The usually vibrant spark in his eyes, the one that ignited whenever he talked about racing, was gone. Instead, his gaze was fixed on the floor, unseeing, his expression hollow. It was as if the moment he walked through the door, all the fight had drained out of him, leaving behind a man who didn’t know how to put the pieces of himself back together.

You stood by the kitchen counter, your heart breaking at the sight of him. He hadn’t said much since he got home, just a quiet “Estoy en casa” before sinking into the couch. He used easy Spanish words around you since he knew you wanted to learn the language. That's how kind he was. You’d known this day would be hard for him, but seeing him like this was almost unbearable. The news had come down like a guillotine: Carlos Sainz was taking the seat. Franco was out, with no prospects for next year. No contract, no guarantees. Nothing but the crushing void left behind by a dream slipping through his fingers.

It wasn’t fair. You knew how hard he’d worked, how much of himself he’d poured into his career. The endless hours in the gym, the relentless study of data, the sacrifices he made, all for the pursuit of speed, glory, and a chance to prove himself on the biggest stage. And yet, it hadn’t been enough.

He’d tried to hide it at first. When he’d called you after the meeting, his voice had been calm, even detached. But you’d heard the slight tremor, the hesitation that betrayed his carefully constructed mask. And now, here he was, the man you loved, unraveling before your eyes.

Taking a deep breath, you walked over to the couch, a cup of tea in your hands. The steam curled softly in the air, a fragile whisper of warmth against the cold tension that filled the room. You set it down gently on the coffee table before lowering yourself onto the cushion beside him.

“Franco,” you said softly, your voice a lifeline in the quiet. He didn’t look up, but the slight shift in his posture told you he’d heard you. Gently, you reached out, your fingers brushing against his hand. His skin was warm, but his fingers remained still, unresponsive.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion. “I know how much this meant to you.”

For a moment, there was no response. Then, slowly, he lifted his head. His eyes met yours, red-rimmed and brimming with unshed tears. The sight of him like this—so raw, so vulnerable—made your chest ache.

“I did everything,” he said, his voice cracking. “Everything. And it wasn’t enough. They just… threw me away. Like I don’t matter.”

Tears pricked your own eyes as you reached out to cup his face, your thumbs gently brushing against his stubbled cheeks. “You do matter, Franco. To me, to your family, to the fans who adore you. To everyone who’s ever seen you race and knows how talented you are.”

He shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “Talent doesn’t mean anything if you don’t have the politics, the money, the… connections. Carlos… he’s amazing, and he deserves it, I know that. But I can’t help feeling like I’ll never be enough, no matter what I do.”

“No soy suficiente,” he murmured, his voice soft but firm. "I'm not enough." His words hung in the air, filled with a quiet intensity.

“Don' say that, you're more than enough,” you echoed, your voice steady despite the tears threatening to spill. “And I know this feels impossible right now, like the world’s closing in on you, but this isn’t the end of your story. You’re Franco. My Frankie. You’re a fighter, a dreamer, and you’ve never let anything keep you down before. This won’t either.”

His shoulders sagged, and for the first time that evening, he leaned into you, his head resting against your shoulder. The weight of him felt heavier than usual, as though he’d poured all his sorrow and weariness into the simple act of leaning on you. You wrapped your arms around him tightly, cradling him as if you could shield him from the pain of the world.

“No sé qué haría sin vos,” he murmured, his voice muffled against your neck. "I don’t know what I’d do without you."

“You’ll never have to find out,” you replied, pressing a kiss to his temple.

His arms came around you then, pulling you closer, as though he was afraid to let go. You felt his tears dampen your shirt, and the sound of his quiet sobs broke your heart all over again. But you didn’t let go. You held him tighter, letting him pour out everything he’d been holding inside.

“You’re my everything, Franco,” you whispered, your voice cracking with emotion. “And I’ll always be here. No matter what. Together, we’ll get through this.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes glassy but filled with something deeper now—gratitude, love, and maybe a flicker of hope. Slowly, he leaned in and kissed you, his lips trembling against yours but charged with a fierce intensity. The kiss was deep and searching, a collision of his anguish and gratitude, his need to find solace in the one constant in his life—you. His hands cupped your face, fingers threading gently through your hair as though anchoring himself to you, pouring everything he couldn’t say into the kiss. It wasn’t hurried but deliberate, each movement a testament to the depth of his emotions. You could feel the raw edges of his heartbreak and the unspoken promise of his love, so consuming and desperate it made your chest ache.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breathing uneven, the faintest quiver still lingering in his lips. The weight of his gaze bore into yours, as though he was silently pleading for reassurance that you’d stay by his side. And in that moment, you both knew you were his safe haven, his reason to keep fighting.

“We’re going to get through this,” you repeated softly, brushing a strand of his hair from his face. “Together.”

A soft murmur broke the silence. “Juntos,” Franco whispered, almost to himself.

You blinked, pulling back slightly to look at him. “Juntos? What’s that? An unreleased Sabrina Carpenter song or something?” you teased lightly, hoping to coax even a hint of a smile from him.

For a moment, he just stared at you, and then, to your relief, a small, genuine giggle escaped his lips. It was the first time you’d heard him laugh all night, and it warmed you to your core.

He shook his head, a faint smile playing on his lips now. “No, it’s Spanish. It means ‘together.’”

“Together,” you repeated softly, the word settling in your heart like a comforting balm.

He nodded, his gaze searching yours. “You’ve been saying it all night without realizing it. ‘Together, we’ll figure it out.’ ‘Together, we’ll find a way.’ You keep reminding me I’m not alone. And… you’re right. Juntos. We’ll do this juntos, no matter what.”

Tears welled in your eyes again, but this time they were from the overwhelming love and gratitude you felt. You leaned forward, pressing your forehead to his. “Yes, juntos. Siempre. Always.”

A soft chuckle escaped him again, and he pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you tightly. In that moment, the weight of the world didn’t feel as heavy anymore. Together—juntos—you knew you’d face whatever came next.

[saiyanprincessswanie]

Love Of My Life

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: 1675

Summary: When Bucky walks out of your life unexpectedly without a word from him you're left with a broken heart. Three months later he returns, do you forgive him or let him go?

Warnings: angst, begging for forgiveness, happy ending.

Prompt: an old flame rekindled, Theme: Write about letting go, or not wanting to.

Inspired by Queen’s “Love of My Life” song

A/N: Thank you to my beta reader @lfnr-blog-blog-blog for reading this for me. All mistakes are my own. Thank you to @fictional-affairs for the lovely moodboard & @whimsicalrogers for my divider.

A/N 2: this was written for the Winds of Autumn Challenge @the-slumberparty

Reblogs & Comments are welcomed and encouraged. It lets me know you like my work. 😊💜

I do NOT consent to translating or reposting my work on any social media platform, app, or third-party site. If you see my work anywhere besides my personal Tumblr & AO3 accounts, it has been stolen. I will NEVER give written or verbal permission to repost or translate any of my fanfics as they’re MY intellectual property. 🚫🚫

It’s been three months since Bucky walked out of your life. One day you were a happy, loving couple and the next day Bucky came home from a mission as a changed man. He was anxious, short-tempered, and kept his feelings to himself. He wasn’t the man you fell for all those years ago. When you tried to get him to talk to you he would tell you to “leave it alone.” Then when you didn’t he would storm out the door and not return until you were already in bed. One day he stormed out the door after a fight and he never returned. The love of your life had just hurt you. He swore he would never break your heart yet you stood in your house alone.

It took weeks to figure out what you did wrong. Did you say something wrong or push him too much? But after time went by you figured out it must be him and not you. Something must have spooked him on the mission that rattled him to his core. Whatever it was it must have been something big as nothing seemed to scare Bucky, except his past with Hydra.

Now here you were all alone and trying to pick up the pieces. Since Bucky left abruptly all his things were still scattered across the house and in closets. Maybe one day he would come back, you told yourself. You tried to convince yourself. But for now, you need to try and heal.

So now, three months after he left you to pick up the pieces you got a knock on your front door from an unexpected visitor. You open the door and find Bucky standing at your front door. You were shocked to see him standing there in his jeans, henley, leather jacket, and biker boots. He smirked when he saw you wearing one of his henley shirts and leggings. You didn’t know what to say to him as he looked you over.

“Sweetheart, I know this is a shock but I was wondering if I could come in and talk with you.”

Tears started to gather in your eyes at his words. You turned around leaving the door open for him and headed to the living room. You heard the door close and then his footsteps heading toward you. What did he have to say after three months of being a part? You had to admit you were curious. But the other part of you was angry with him. How dare he show up asking to talk with you when he couldn’t give you the time of day when he left.

You sat on the couch and Bucky joined you on the other side. He watched as you refused to look him in the eye. He couldn’t blame you for not wanting to and watched as you wiped the tears from your eyes.

“So, what brings you back after all this time?” You asked.

“I’ve missed you for one thing.” He states as you roll your eyes at him.

“Seriously I have.” He continues. “I knew the day I left was the biggest mistake of my life but I needed help. That mission shook me to my core and I wasn’t the same person when I returned. I was afraid that if I didn’t do something, we would never be together again.”

“You knew it was a mistake to leave and yet you still left. What the hell Bucky I could have helped you if you would’ve just asked me. That’s what a relationship is all about. When one of us is down or struggling the other picks us up. But instead of doing that, you left for three months!”

Your anger was starting to show its ugly face as you couldn’t understand why he thought leaving was a good thing. None of this made sense to you.

“Doll, let me start from the beginning so you might understand. Okay?” He looked at you with pleading eyes as if begging for a chance to be heard.

“That’s fine Bucky.” You softly answer, your hands fidgeting in your lap afraid of what he might say.

“The mission was supposed to be simple. Get in, get the information we need, and wipe the server. Things seemed to be going to plan until over the speaker system I heard the winter soldier trigger words. At first, they didn’t bother me but as they continued I started getting a headache and flashbacks. The words were spoken over and over again until I was finally able to escape. When I got back for debriefing I was still feeling off like something was trying to escape my mind. Then when we went over all the information I had downloaded it had a file called ‘The Winter Soldier reprogramming’ on it. The file showed different strategies on how to bring me back under control by Hydra. It scared me as I’m so afraid to go back under. When I came home I was on edge dreading any minute I could turn on you. So I decided it was best for me to go back to Wakanda to run tests to make sure I never become the soldat again. I left this all in the letter I left you.”

You could understand to an extent why he did what he did but your frustration got the best of you and what did he mean ‘a letter’?

“But why not tell me this in person instead of running away? You should have been honest with me. Instead, you left me brokenhearted and trying to pick up the broken pieces after you left. What letter are you even talking about? I got no letter from you.”

Bucky moves a little closer to you and looks into your eyes. “You’re right, I should have been honest with you in person. But doll, I left you a letter on your nightside table explaining everything. I’m sorry I broke your heart for leaving the way I did. I will do anything and everything to win your trust back. I promise I’m never leaving you like that again. What can I do to prove to you that I’m sorry?”

“I don’t know Bucky…” Your eyes cast downward as you try to figure out what you want to do.

“Doll, please. I’m begging for your forgiveness and a way back to your heart.” Bucky drops to his knees in front of you, grasping your hands like they are a lifeline. He could see you were still hurt and contemplating his words.

You needed to find that letter to see if he was lying to you. Even though your heart was telling you he was being truthful, your mind was spinning a web of deception.

“Bucky, I need a minute to myself.” You stood from the couch looking down at Bucky and offered a small smile. “I’ll be right back.”

You left Bucky in the living room and headed to your shared bedroom. Inside the room you walked to your side of the bed where a table sat. Bending down you looked under the bed and under the table. There was no letter. Pulling the table away from the wall you looked down and there was an envelope. Turning it over in your hands you saw his hand writing with your name on the envelope. Opening the envelope you pull out a letter and your heart sinks.

To my sweetheart,

I’m sorry that I’ve been hard to be around lately. I know my mood has been up and down since I came home from my last mission. The problem is during the mission Hydra tried to use the trigger words on me. It’s causing my mind to question whether or not they worked as my PTSD has been kicking up again and I can’t get this headache to go away. With that said, I'm heading to Wakanda to see if Shuri and Ayo can help me again. The last thing I want to do is hurt you so I must take some time away from you. I promise that I will come back to you. Wait for me.

Forever Yours,

J.B.B.

You sit on the bed and start to cry. He was right, it was all in the letter. How could you be so stupid thinking that he would just leave you without a word. You should have known better. Bucky was your everything.

You hear Bucky walk into the room and feel the bed dip as he sits next to you. Turning into his chest you cried. Bucky wrapped his arms around you and held you tight.

“It’s okay, doll. I gotcha. I promise it will be okay.”

“Bucky…I’m so sorry for thinking the worst of you. I should’ve known you wouldn’t have just left me. Please forgive me.”

Bucky pulls you gently away from him as he takes in your teary eyes and wobbly lip. His flesh hand slowly wipes the tears from your face and he gives a soft smile.

“If anyone should be sorry it’s me. I should have just told you my plan instead of writing it. I caused the pain you’ve been feeling for the last three months. I promise I will take every second of every day to make it up to you. Just give me the chance to do that, doll.”

“I will, Buck. We will work this out. I love you so much.” Your hand runs through his hair and Bucky briefly closes his eyes as he shivers from the feeling.

Opening his eyes again his shining blue eyes stare at you. “I love you too, doll.” Bucky pulls you in for a kiss and puts all his feelings behind it.

Looking back at it you’re happy you made it. You rekindled your feelings for one another and proved to the other that each was unwilling to let the other go anytime soon without a fight. Never did you go through something like this again as you always communicated openly.

Taglist

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[loveisanimaginarydagger3000]

Master List

This page is geared towards an 18+ Audience. Please read through any warnings at the start of fics as they are there for a reason.

please DO NOT repost my work without my permission.

My Ao3 Account- LoveIsAnImaginaryDagger

My Wattpad Account- LovePersevering2

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Buy Me A Comic

Who I write for: Wanda Maximoff, Natasha Romanoff, other Marvel Women, Caitlyn Kiramman and Vi from Arcane.

What I will write: Smut, fluff, angst, g!p, au

Wanda Maximoff

Oneshots (All 18+)

New Neighbours- After meeting a beautiful woman in a store, you soon discover that she's your neighbour and she's single.

Devil In Disguise- Wanda isn't as innocent as everyone thinks she is.

Break Me- Wanda needs you to be rough with her and give her exactly what she wants.

Detention- Your Professor keeps you behind after class as you were distracted.

Take Control Of Me- You ask Wanda to use you as she wishes.

Are You Interested? -  "I'm very attracted to you, would you be interested in having an affair?"

Heatwave Fun- You and your girlfriend find a way to cool down during a heatwave.

Dirty Thoughts- While babysitting the twins, Wanda is left to listen to all the sinful thoughts of the older woman flickering through your mind.

Listen To Mommy- Your Mommy teaches you a lesson after being a brat.

Focus- Wanda tests how well you can concentrate while her hands roam your body.

Can't I?- "You can't control me the way you do them." "Can't I?"

Teach Me- After tutoring the twins, their mother decides to give you your own personal lesson.

Touch Me- You beg Wanda to give you what you desperately want.

Protective Girlfriend- Wanda gets worried when you hurt yourself in training. You find a way to convince her that you're perfectly fine.

Boyfriend- Inspired by the song by Dove Cameron

Please...- An affair that turns into more.

So Wrong- How can something so wrong feel so right?

We're Going To Get Along Just Fine- You go home with a mysterious woman from the bar.

Attention (G!P Reader) - You're girlfriend thinks you're spending too much time focussing on work so you give her the attention she wants.

A Workout To Remember (G!P Reader)- Your Gym crush makes a move on you.

Trick Or Treat (G!P Reader)- Loosely inspired by WV ep6 and the phrase trick or treat.

Lingerie (G!P Reader)- Wanda surprises you in a new lace set.

Series (All 18+)

The Babysitter (WIP- Currently 144k words)- In need of money and a way to escape the problems at home, you get a job babysitting two lovely boys named Billy and Tommy Maximoff. What happens when you start to feel things you shouldn't for their mother? Will it bloom into love or leave you heartbroken?

Good Luck, Babe! (WIP- Currently 33k words)-

Returning to Westview after twelve years away causes you to look back on your secret love affair with Wanda, to remember the intimate moments you shared together before her refusal to accept her true self drove the two of you apart, leaving you to pick up the pieces of your broken heart alone.

What happens when you reunite with the woman you've been trying so hard to forget, forced to watch her suffer in an unhappy marriage that was slowly drowning her, still too scared to confront her true feelings?

Secrets (Completed- 23k words)- DARK FIC- "Do you swear on your life?" She lets her fingers trail up your arm, moving to your drag along the side of your neck and your jaw before resting on your chin, holding your face to look at her.

"I swear on my life," you whisper, unable to look away from her.

"Would you be interested in having an affair?"

This fic also includes relationship with Natasha Romanoff in which the reader is not faithful in.

Enemies With Benefits (Completed- 16k Words)- You hated her. She hated you. It was just sex. Nothing could possibly go wrong, right?

Miss Maximoff (Completed- 8k) - After strange circumstances, you find yourself falling for the married woman next door.

I Don't Hate You- After going too far in training, Steve makes you check up on Wanda. Upon hearing a groan, panic fills you before you hear your name falling off her lips in a desperate moan. Oh.

Natasha Romanoff

One Shots

I Wanted You- "We tried so hard not to be torn apart. But at the end of it all, we both wanted something different...I wanted you. And you...you didn't want them to know."

Daddy Issues- TW for Abuse. Inspired by the song Daddy Issues by the Neighbourhood

Warm Us Up (18+)- After your reluctance to work together causes you to be stranded in a safehouse, You come up with an idea on how to stop the two of you freezing to death.

I Kissed The Scars On Her Skin- You comfort Natasha after she starts to feel insecure about her body.

Series (All 18+)

The Soldier Of Death (WIP- Currently 32k words) Warning of graphic depictions of violence. - Soldat Smerti. The Soldier of Death. You were the perfect weapon: loyal, obedient, and merciless, or so Hydra thought. What happens when these traits are put to the test? Your captivity in the Avenger's tower and the presence of a redhead makes you realise you didn't have to be a monster. The question was though; Did Hydra make you the monster or were you always one?

Secrets (Completed- 23k) Dark Fic- Same fic as the one mentioned in the Wanda Series section.

Love Is For Children (Completed 43k) - "You love her, don't you?" "Loved. I loved her."

Bad Idea (Completed 4.7k) - A friends with benefits story that turns into lovers.

You Need Me- Natasha should hate you. You're the enemy. But she can't lie and say you were wrong. She did need you.

Miss Romanoff- What happens when the mysterious woman you went home with turned out to be your new professor...

Wanda And Natasha X Reader

Should Have Knocked- You accidentally walk in on Wanda and Nat in a compromising position. What you didn't expect was for them to ask you to join them.

The Devil And An Angel- Your girlfriends tempt you to sin.

Alone In The Compound- Thinking you were alone, you and Wanda take advantage of the emptiness of the compound. What you didn't expect was for the Black Widow to walk in on you two.

Kinktober

Kinktober 2024

Kinkmas

Arcane- CaitVi

Crossing The Line- F1 Enemies to Lovers Smut

More posts with links to be added soon, all of posts are on my other accounts so check them out if you want to read them before I post them on here :)

[mvrtaiswriting]

Hey! Someone suggested your blog for one piece and I decided to check it out!

I’d also like to make a request

How would the monster trio(+katakuri if you wanna write for him) be with a s/o who always looks at them as if asking them for permission to beat some one up (you can add anyone else if you want) f!reader or gn! Reader whichever one

Headcanons pls<3

Have a great day!

Monster trio + Ace, Law and Usopp with a s/o who looks at them before fighting someone.

hullo, thanks for requesting this! i unfortunately dont write for katakuri but i added law and ace to the mix, i hope it's fine! enjoy this lil headcanons, i loved writing these!! also, using this as a chance to restate that requests are open!

warning: none. gn! reader.

feel free to reblog, like, and leave a comment. i would very much appreciate it. if you enjoy my works, click here to read more or buy me a coffee. 

Luffy: All it takes is a glare. It doesn't take long for Luffy to recognise the sparkle in your eyes. He feels it too; the tension building in your muscles, the adrenaline rising up in your veins making your heart beat ten times faster than usual. Lowering his straw-hat to cover his eyes, Luffy simply chuckles in response. He knows your potential and he is curious of the limits your able to reach and break. He takes this as a good opportunity to train and test your powers; nevertheless, he is watching your back and ready to step in.

Sanji: Sanji smirks and lights up a cigarette, making himself comfortable and untying his tie. He knows well that whoever crosses your path is in real danger - and he brags about it whenever he has the occasion to. He is overly proud of you; plus, winning a fight would always guarantee a special treatment from him. Preparing your favourite meal, smothering you in kisses, an endless ramble of praises. He enjoys the fight, making sure you don't get hurt as he meticulously observe your combat moves.

Zoro: Zoro tries to make you back off. Despite his love and respect for you, he would rather let you stay away from the battlefield. He is aware of your combat abilities, he just thinks it would be easier if you'd let his swords deal with it. Nevertheless, it's easy to convince him if you buy him an extra bottle of booze. After all, despite his protective instincts, he enjoys a partner who can fight and protect themselves. Seeing you go feral and win a fight always tickles his senses.. so you might be in for a good, particularly nasty training session afterwards.

additional characters:

Law: Law definitely doesn't approve your conflictual nature. Although he is a little trouble maker himself, he prefers approaching things, and fights, in a more methodical way - having a precise strategy, and more importantly, a reason. Getting caught up in a worthless fight would mean catching the marine's attention, and that would be dangerous. When he sees you joining the battlefield regardless, he sighs and stands back. But if you manage to get hurt.. be ready to hear him grumble under his breath about irresponsible you were as he medicates you.

Ace: You and Ace would meet looks, the same impulsive idea running through the synapses of your brain. He nods in response, a clever smirk drawing on his lips as he transforms the ramble in a challenge.

"First one to land a punch wins."

Usopp: Tries to discourage you from it. He knows you would be perfectly able to win the fight - but he also knows he would struggle to help you. Your fearless nature worries Usopp, and sometimes it makes him wonder how the two of you get so along. Dangerous situation fuel you, whilst he prefers running from them. Usopp would never give you the permission to battle someone if the situation permits a safe escape - a long, frustrated sighs is the only slightly positive answer you could receive. And when you jump head first in the battle, he whines and snorts, ready to snipe the enemy if the situation escalates.

[emjiroki]

☆Part 2☆

Original Post Part 1

Warnings: biting/marking, breeding mentions, CNC, yuuji fluff at the end

"I- Y-Yuuji" you stammered, shivering against the hard body behind you as he dragged his pointed nails along your side, moving up to grope your breast over your shirt.

"No no no little bunny, you're in my hands now," he purred, gathering your hands behind your back, "address me correctly".

"S-Sukuna" you whimpered, a tremor running up your spine as he sucked up a dark bruise against your throat.

"That's right" he said with a chuckle, "and it's the only name you'll know once I'm done with you".

You gasped as he turned you to press face first into the couch, your cheek against the cushion as he mounted up behind you, sliding his thickness in deep with a fluid thrust of his hips. You squealed as he bottomed out, the crown of his cock kissing your cervix. The couch creaked and groaned with every savage movement, your moans muffled into the cushions.

"This couch is too fucking small" Sukuna growled, swiftly pulling out and gathering you up in his arms to carry you to your bedroom, throwing you down onto the mattress before shouldering between your legs.

Your face burned as his deep wine colored eyes gazed between your thighs, his face lowering to bump his nose against your clit and drag his tongue along your slit, a quiet groan rumbling in his chest.

"Now I see why you're in this kids every thought" he said with a wicked grin, "this fat pussy is too sweet not to think about".

Your face burned deeper at his roundabout compliment, a soft gasping whine breaking from your lips as he suckled around your clit for only a moment before he grasped your thighs and lifted until your ankles were by your ears.

The hunger in his eyes had your heart pounding, looking more like he was going to devour you whole. He tapped his cock down against your clit, his mouth moving down to your calf and sinking in his teeth. When he didn't get the reaction, he wanted he slapped his hand against your ass, leaving a red mark in his wake.

"Please," you cried out, your pleading tone seemingly pleasing him.

"That's right, beg for me,Feed me your desire," he growled, "I want to relish in every sound you make, every squeal and every moan."

Without another word, he was sinking in deep, your breath catching as he pummeled in past the soft spot Yuuji usually hits. You watched him bite back a deep sound, his fangs tugging at his bottom lip as your walls convulsed around him. You could feel every ridge and vein along his shaft as fucked into you slow, seeming to savor the pleasure scorching through him. Your brain felt fuzzy at the sloppy sounds of your cunt sucking him in, mewls and moans spilling from your drooling lips nearly overshadowing the creaking of the headboard as Sukuna wrapped a strong hand around it.

The splintering of the wood had your eyes snapping open, Sukuna's hips never stilling as he threw the piece of the headboard he had torn off onto the floor with a growl.

"Cheap mortal crap, my bed was made from stone and furs" he said, replacing his hands on your thighs to keep you spread, "a much better place to breed you full of my spawn, but I suppose this will make do".

"Sukuna fuck" you whined, right on the edge of orgasm as your legs clamped down against his shoulders.

"If you're going to cum, to do it, I won't give permission twice".

Your eyes rolled back as your walls squeezed him, a debauched high-pitched moan flooding the room as you creamed around him. A shiver ran up your spine as you felt his warmness fill your belly, a savage bite to the plush of your thighs and a stifled groan being the only indicator that he reached his peak. You breathed a soft sigh, relief rushing through you at the thought of Yuuji coming back.

"Oh, missing your boy toy already?" Sukuna crooned, condescension dripping from his dark tone as he let your legs down only to flip you over onto your stomach, caging you in with his muscular thighs as he rutted his still throbbing cock against your ass, "the first pussy I've had in a thousand years isn't getting away so easily little bunny".

He threaded his fingers through your hair and tugged as he leaned in close, "we're done when I say we're done".

Exhaustion was over taking you, your eyelids have as your pussy throbbed and your legs cramped, Sukuna's cum leaking out onto the sheets between your legs when you suddenly felt Yuuji's warm hands touching you.

"You okay?" He asked quietly as he pressed soft kisses against your shoulder.

"Yeah" you croaked, your voice hoarse.

"Want me to start the shower?" He asked, tracing the bite mark on your shoulder. You nodded, giving him a kiss before he left the bed.

The warm spray of the shower seemed to bring you back to life, along with Yuuji kissing and sucking against your skin tenderly.

"I really don't know what happened, I guess I just lost control of him for a minute" Yuuji said, his eyes wracked with guilt.

"Really love, it's fine," you promised for the tenth time, even though you flinched when he touched the bruises. It had been seven pm when the switch happened and now it was four am, to say you were tired was an understatement.

"The way she was screaming for me I think she enjoyed herself" Sukuna's voice spoke from Yuuji's hand, "get used to it, this won't be the last time".

Yuuji leaned over and pumped a squirt of body wash into the curses open mouth, Sukuna splattering for a moment until he disappeared.

"Pain in my ass" Yuuji muttered, helping you wash your hair. You laugh together for a moment, until an uneasy feeling settles in your stomach. You really hoped you wouldn't have to give Yuuji a positive pregnancy test in a few months.

[unmaskthewriter]

The Night We Met {Arthur Morgan x F!Reader}

Summary: After Arthur’s passing, you visit his grave to find closure but instead, you find quite the opposite. Inspired by The Night We Met by Lord Huron.

I do not give permission for any of my work to be copied, published and/or translated on any platform including Tumblr.

A/N: Apologies for the absence, dearest readers! I’ve had a bit of a mental block, so I’ve put out this small piece of writing to perhaps get back on track! Mainly Arthur x Reader but small Charles x Reader if you squint really hard.

Warnings: Mentions of Canon Character Death

Word Count: 660ish

A cool, spring breeze traveled through the mountains of Ambarino. Patches of bright, dewy grass covered the ground on either side of the dirt path. Luckily, it was not nearly as cold as last year.

“Almost there, girl.” You gently patted your horse, Gypsy, soothing her as she made the climb upward towards a clearing. Carefully dismounting your horse, you hitched her to a nearby tree and slowly made your way closer to the other side of the clearing towards the edge of the cliff. Your eyes came upon what you were searching for: a wooden grave adorned with a variety of fresh flowers.

It almost felt as if your feet were being weighed down, dragging along slowly. You tried to ignore that weak in the knees feeling as you approached. Removing your leather riding gloves, you knelt alongside the freshly dug dirt.

‘Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness’

“… for they shall be filled,” You speak softly to yourself, trying not to give into the sadness, “you’re supposed to be here with me.” Defeated, you give into the onslaught of hot tears that escape the corners of your eyes, trailing down your cheeks and dripping off your chin. You feel your heart ache for what was, and what could have been. A moment of silence passes.

“When we met, I had beat you at a game of poker.” You sniffled and pulled something from the pocket of your goat jacket, carefully placing it amongst the flowers.

A single poker chip.

“Some say it’s luck, some say it’s skill. Whatever it was, it led me to you. I’ll never regret the years we had together, even if we spent them as outlaws.” You hiccuped, quickly wiping your tears away as you felt anger take over. Clutching the newly grown grass beneath you, you look to his grave. Feeling suffocated from the sadness, you knew you had to leave.

“I won’t let Dutch and Micah get away with this… I promise. I love you, Arthur. I always will.” You swiftly speak, standing quickly and turning back to return to Gypsy.

As you did so, you spotted a wild buck standing in the clearing. The animal makes eye contact with you, as if connecting with you, before slowly sauntering off.

I had all and then most of you

some and now none of you

take me back to the night we met

Returning to camp at Moonstone Pond in a daze, you see someone sitting near the fire. Approaching slowly from behind with a hand hovering over your holstered revolver, you try to get a closer look.

It is Arthur, holding the daughter you share together in his arms, singing softly to her. Such a tiny thing in his arms with dark hair and bright eyes to resemble his.

“I ain’t got no father… I ain’t got no father… I ain’t got no father… to buy the clothes I wear.”

“A-Arthur?” Your voice breaks as you take in the sight. He looked just as he did before he was sick. His soft blue eyes gazed at his daughter adoringly while his thin, chapped lips formed into a rare smile. His stubble was just barely coming in on his cheeks, and his hair was long, but tidy. You wanted to hug him, kiss him, tell him how hard things have been without him but as quickly as he appeared, he is gone, and you are alone again. Charles, who despite his own problems and has been your rock since the gang had fallen apart, is at your side with your daughter in his arms as you fall to your knees, sobbing. You tried to find peace in knowing Arthur had done better than most in his final days and moments, but that was of no consolation to you as your grief had come undone.

“Shhh… it’s alright. I’m here.” He sits alongside you, holding you close with one arm while rocking your daughter to sleep with the other.

I don’t know what I’m supposed to do

haunted by the ghost of you

Oh, take me back to the night we met

[winchesterwild78]

The Director

Characters: Jensen Ackles x Reader (wife)

Warnings: None. This is a fluff piece.

A/N: Got inspired by a series of pictures  @jackles010378 posted. Just a quick story about a day on set with Director Jensen. This is a work of fiction and does not depict real life. No disrespect to Jensen or his family. All work is my own, do not take it or copy it without permission. Wrote this fast and edited it fast, please overlook any errors. 

Minors DNI 18+

Jensen loved being an actor, but he also loved directing. He had a great eye that lended to amazing shots and takes. He was thrilled when he was approached to direct some episodes of his latest project. 

“Hey Y/N, how’s things going at home? How are the kids?” You heard your husband’s husky voice ask on the other end of the phone. “Hey babe, we’re good. They are outside playing and I’m fixing some lunch. Is everything okay? You sound off.” 

Jensen let out a long sigh, “Yeah, they asked me to direct the next few episodes.” “Oh Jens, that’s great! Why don’t you sound more excited?” “I don’t know. I guess I’m just nervous. It’s a lot of responsibility and I don’t want to screw it up.” “Jensen, you’re amazing at what you do. You always give all of yourself to anything you do. It doesn’t matter if it’s work, family or friends. You put all of yourself into everything. That’s one of the things I love about you. Jens, honey, you can do this.” 

“Thank you baby, I just needed to hear your voice. I love you.” “I love you too, Jensen, now, go do your thing baby.” You hung up and felt a pang of guilt. Jensen always put too much pressure on himself and you knew being by his side would help calm him. 

You grabbed your phone and called Gen. “Hey Gen, I have a huge favor to ask. Can you watch the kids for me? Jensen has been asked to direct and I’m afraid he’s spiraling.” “Sure, Y/N. Bring them over. We can all hang out and they can have a sleepover.” “Thanks, Gen! You’re the best.” 

You ran upstairs and packed yourself, and the kids. You took the kids to Gen and Jared’s and thanked her again. Then you headed for the shooting location. You were thankful this latest project was local enough so you could drive to set. 

You called Clif so he could meet you at security and get you inside without issue. You arrived and made it through security without any problem. “So, Clif. How is our boy doing? Honestly.” “Well, he’s stressed and of course he’s trying to make sure everything is perfect. You know how he hates to let people down.” “I know, thanks for getting me through security.” Clif hugged you and led you to the set. 

You saw Jensen behind the camera and he called cut as soon as you stepped in. He hadn’t seen you, and he was giving directions to the actors. You could see he was getting frustrated and he was trying to contain it. He called action and you watched as he moved around the set with the camera to get the perfect shot. 

One of the actors tripped and fell, so Jensen called cut again. The actor immediately started apologizing and Jensen put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, it happens. Are you hurt? Do you need a break?” The actor shook his head and told Jensen no. The actor looked no more than 20 so you knew he was new. Jensen was always so kind and understanding with mishaps on the set. Afterall, he and Jared did plenty to drive their directors crazy. 

Jensen saw what time it was and he cut for lunch. He was frustrated. As the room cleared out you saw him sit down, take off his hat and run his fingers up and through his hair. He let out a frustrated sigh. Seeing him like that always broke your heart.

You walked up behind him, his head still down and hands in his hair and you put your arms around him. “Hey there Mr. Director. You look like you could use a break.” You kissed his cheek. Jensen’s head went up and his big green eyes looked at you with excitement and love. “Hey baby, what are you doing here?” He stood and threw his arms around you and softly kissed your lips. “I had Gen watch the kids, and I came to see if I could help with my husband’s stress.” 

He sat back down and pulled you between his legs. Cupping your face he kissed you again, this time it was more passionate. “Come on baby, let’s get you to your trailer so you can eat some lunch and relax. I’ll rub your shoulders.”

The two of you walked back to his trailer, hand in hand and he wore a mischievous smirk. Once in his trailer he plopped down on the sofa and pulled you with him. He peppered kisses all over you and had you giggling. “I love hearing your laugh, darlin’. It’s one of my favorite things to hear.” You smiled at him, “I love when you make me laugh. Now, let’s get you some lunch. What do you want and I’ll make it or go get it.” 

“I’d rather just take you to the bedroom.” He wiggled his eyebrows at you. “Jensen Ross Ackles!” You laughed. He stood up and grabbed you around your waist, “Y/N Y/M/N Ackles. I can’t help it. I'm in love with my wife and can’t wait to please her.” You giggled, “Fine, but you promise you’ll eat after.” “Darlin’ I plan on eating during.” He winked at you and you blushed. 

“Yes, I’ll grab something later.” You took his hand and led him back to the bedroom of his trailer. Clothes were shed and you helped Jensen relax and release all his built up stress. A few times actually.

By the time you two were finished he had about 15 minutes before he had to return to set. “Jens, you need to get dressed and back to set soon.” He pulled you closer to him and groaned, “Do I have to. I’d rather just lay here in your arms for the rest of the day.” “Me too, but you have a job to do. I’ll be here with you tonight. I have a bag packed and Gen is watching the kids.” His smile grew big, “That’s great. I will get you all to myself tonight.” You shook your head, “Now, go finish the shoot for the day.” 

You both got dressed and Jensen grabbed a quick bite from craft services. He pulled a chair up for you to sit next to him while he finished shooting for the day. You loved watching him work, and sitting next to him helped calm him. The rest of the shoot went smoothly. By the time Jensen called cut for the day, everyone was exhausted. 

Jensen took you by the hand and led you out of the set and towards his trailer. Once inside he pulled you close to him, “Thank you for coming to set today. I love you so much.” “You’re welcome baby. I love you too, Mr. Director.” 

Tags are open, if you want to be added, let me know.  

Tags: @nescaveckdaily  @kr804573 @k-slla @jackles010378 @jawritter

@xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @roseblue373 @cheynovak @jassackles  @chriszgirl92

@suckitands33 @arcannaa @n-o-p-e-never @ladysparkles78 @smoothdogsgirl

[hookhausenschips]

Ghosts From The Past

Chapter 4 to The Game of Seduction

Navigation

Summary: Y/N’s carefully constructed new life is shattered when a ruthless figure from her past tracks her down, forcing her to confront the chaos she thought she’d left behind. As violence erupts and secrets threaten to unravel, she must fight to protect herself while navigating the tangled loyalties of her undercover mission.

WC: 2.6k

Warnings: Violence, Physical Abuse (not from Lando), Stalking, Threatening Behavior, Themes of Trauma, Unresolved Past Conflicts, Power Imbalance, Control, Emotional Vulnerability, Physical Vulnerability, General Mature Themes

Taglist

17+

• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

My heart stopped when I saw who it was. 

No. It can’t be him. 

For a moment, I stood frozen behind the door, my mind racing. The face on the other side of the peephole was one I’d worked hard to bury in the recesses of my past, someone who wasn’t supposed to be here—who wasn’t supposed to know where I was. 

What are you doing here? 

The knock came again, sharper this time. 

“Y/N,” the voice called, muffled by the door but unmistakable. “I know you’re in there. Open up.” 

The pounding on my door grew louder, each knock echoing through my apartment and settling in my chest like the ticking of a bomb. 

“Y/N,” his voice called, that unmistakable drawl slithering under the door. It wasn’t loud, but it carried menace, cutting through the walls and settling into my bones. “You’ve got five seconds, or I’m coming in.” 

No, I thought, my breathing ragged as I pressed my back against the wall. Not him. Not now. 

He was a ghost I thought I’d left behind, buried in the Caribbean along with all the other pieces of my past. He wasn’t someone you just ignored. He was ruthless, cunning, and he never played fair. 

He didn’t need to shout or threaten with bravado. He didn’t make empty promises. 

The knocks grew into a fist pounding against the wood, the door rattling under his strength. “You know I’ll find you, girl. You really think a flimsy lock is going to stop me?” 

I moved quickly, silently, grabbing my phone and shoving it into my back pocket. I didn’t have time to call anyone, and honestly, who could I call? Lando? He’d have too many questions, and this new presence would blow my cover sky-high. 

No, I was on my own. 

The door wasn’t going to hold. 

I could hear him on the other side, his fists hammering against the wood with relentless force. Each blow sent tremors through the frame, the sound vibrating in my chest. 

“Y/N!” His voice cut through the door like a knife. “You think you can ignore me? Open the damn door before I break it down!” 

I didn’t move. My back pressed against the wall, my hand gripping the knife I’d taken from the kitchen. My mind raced through options, every escape route feeling too slow, too risky. 

Another crash. The doorframe splintered. 

“Last chance, girl!” His voice bellowed. 

Then came the final blow. The door slammed open, the lock and hinges giving way under his strength. He stepped into the apartment, his towering frame filling the doorway like a storm cloud. His eyes locked on me instantly, dark and gleaming with cruel amusement. 

“There you are,” he said, his lips curling into a smirk. 

My stomach twisted as I took him in. Malik. 

I hadn’t seen him in years, not since I left the Caribbean. He was a ghost from a life I’d buried, someone who thrived on chaos and control. And now, he was here, his towering frame and predatory smirk filling the narrow alley. 

“What do you want, Malik?” I hissed, my voice low and sharp. 

He chuckled, the sound grating against my nerves. “What do I always want? You owe me, and I’ve come to collect.” 

“I don’t owe you anything.” 

His smirk faded, replaced by a cold, menacing glare. “Oh, you owe me plenty. You think you can walk away from what you did? From me?” 

I didn’t wait for him to finish. With a sharp motion, I drew the knife from my waistband, lunging at him before he could react. 

--- 

Y/N didn’t wait for him to move. She lunged first, her knife flashing in the dim light. Malik anticipated the attack, sidestepping her with ease and grabbing her wrist. 

“Still so predictable,” he sneered, twisting her arm until she cried out in pain. The knife clattered to the floor, but Y/N didn’t hesitate. She spun, her free hand slamming into his jaw with enough force to snap his head to the side. 

Malik stumbled but recovered quickly, his grin widening. “Feisty as ever.” 

He lunged, his hands grabbing her shoulders and slamming her into the nearest wall. The impact knocked the air from her lungs, but she didn’t stop. She drove her knee into his stomach, the blow forcing him to loosen his grip. 

Y/N scrambled away, grabbing a lamp from the side table and swinging it with all her strength. The base caught Malik across the head, shattering on impact and sending him staggering. 

“You’ve gotten better,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “But not good enough.” 

He advanced again, and this time, his hand struck her across the face. The force sent her sprawling to the floor, her vision swimming. Pain radiated from her cheek, but she bit back a groan, crawling toward the open window. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Malik taunted, grabbing at her ankle. 

With a desperate kick, Y/N broke free, scrambling onto the fire escape. 

Y/N descended the fire escape as fast as her body would allow, her breaths ragged and uneven. Her left arm throbbed from where Malik had grabbed her, the pain sharp and persistent. 

But she didn’t have time to focus on it. 

The sound of metal creaking above her told her Malik wasn’t far behind. She glanced up, her heart pounding as she saw him climbing down after her, his expression twisted with fury. Every creak and scrape made her flinch, her mind racing with the possibilities of what Malik would do if he caught her. 

“You’re not getting away that easily!” he shouted, his voice echoing in the narrow alley. 

Y/N hit the ground running, but her body wasn’t cooperating. The pain in her arm had spread to her shoulder, each movement sending shocks through her system. Her lip was split, the metallic taste of blood coating her tongue. 

“You can’t run, Y/N!” Malik’s voice rang out, followed by the unmistakable sound of boots hitting the pavement. 

She spun, gripping the knife tightly in her hand, her eyes locking on the figure emerging from the darkness. Malik was taller than she remembered, his broad shoulders and predatory smirk unchanged. His caramel skin glistened under the streetlights, and his dark eyes gleamed with amusement. 

“There you are,” he said, his voice low and mocking. “Missed me?” 

--- 

“I didn’t miss you then,” I spat, holding the knife steady, “and I sure as hell don’t miss you now.” 

Malik’s smirk widened. “Come on, Y/N. You don’t mean that. We were good together, you and me. Remember?” 

The memory of what he meant by “good” sent a shiver of disgust down my spine. Malik was everything I’d fought to leave behind—manipulative, violent, and always convinced he owned me. 

“I don’t have time for your games, Malik,” I said, my voice sharp. “Get out of my way.” 

He took a step closer, his hands raised as if to placate me, though the glint in his eye suggested otherwise. “You’ve got fire, I’ll give you that. But you know how this ends. Drop the knife, and we can talk.” 

I scoffed, keeping the blade steady. “I don’t talk to snakes.” 

His smirk vanished, replaced by a flash of anger. “Fine. Have it your way.” 

Malik lunged, faster than I anticipated. I sidestepped, swinging the knife in a wide arc. The blade grazed his arm, cutting through his sleeve, but it wasn’t enough to stop him. He grabbed my wrist, twisting it with brutal force until the knife clattered to the ground. 

I retaliated immediately, driving my knee into his stomach. He grunted, stumbling back, but recovered quickly, his hand shooting out to grab me by the hair. 

“You always were a fighter,” he snarled, his grip tightening. 

“And you always were an asshole,” I snapped, twisting out of his grasp and landing an elbow to his jaw. 

The impact sent him reeling, but not for long. He recovered with a growl, his fists swinging toward me. I ducked, my instincts sharp, but he was relentless. 

We grappled, the fight messy and vicious, neither of us willing to back down. Malik’s strength was formidable, but I wasn’t just fighting to win. I was fighting to survive. 

I didn’t have the knife anymore, but I didn’t need it. 

When Malik lunged, I dodged, my instincts kicking in. My injured arm screamed in protest as I swung my good hand, catching him across the face. He staggered but didn’t fall. 

“You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that,” he growled, wiping blood from his mouth. “But guts won’t save you.” 

He came at me again, his fist slamming into my ribs. Pain exploded through my side, but I didn’t let him see me falter. I aimed for his knee, kicking with all the force I could muster. He grunted, stumbling back, but his strength was relentless. 

Just as he grabbed for me again, a voice cut through the chaos. 

“Hey! Get off her!” 

--- 

I had been following Y/N since she left the McLaren estate, just as Lando instructed. Y/N was sharp—too sharp for her own good—and I knew she’d catch me if I got too close. But tonight, something felt different. 

When she slipped out of her apartment onto the fire escape, my gut told me to keep my distance and stay quiet. But when I saw her sprint down the alley, her movements frantic, I knew something was wrong. 

I kept to the shadows, my hand resting on the gun tucked beneath my jacket as I tracked her. 

When I heard the sounds of a fight—her voice sharp with anger, a man’s growl of frustration—I didn’t hesitate. 

“Hey!” I shouted, stepping out from the shadows, my gun drawn. 

--- 

Malik froze, his fist mid-swing as he turned toward the sound of Oscar’s voice. 

“Let her go,” Oscar commanded, his voice calm but firm, the barrel of his gun aimed directly at Malik. 

Malik sneered, his grip on Y/N loosening just enough for her to shove him back. She stumbled slightly, catching her breath as she backed away. 

“Who the hell are you?” Malik demanded, his eyes narrowing as he sized up the new threat. 

“I’m the guy who’s going to put a bullet in you if you don’t walk away,” Oscar replied, his tone as cold as steel. 

He hesitated, his fists clenching at his sides. I could see the calculation in his eyes, the way he was weighing his chances. 

“Don’t be stupid,” I warned, my voice steady. 

After a tense moment, he raised his hands in mock surrender, stepping back from Y/N. “Fine,” he said, smirking. “I’ll let you have her—for now.” 

He turned and disappeared into the shadows, leaving me alone with her. 

--- 

Y/N leaned against the wall, her breaths shallow and uneven. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth, and her arm hung limply at her side. 

Oscar holstered his gun and moved toward her, his expression a mix of concern and frustration. “What the hell happened?” 

She glared at him, her voice sharp despite her exhaustion. “I had it under control.” 

“Yeah, sure you did,” he said, rolling his eyes. “That’s why you’re bleeding.” 

She didn’t respond, too focused on keeping herself upright. 

Oscar sighed, pulling out his phone. “I’m calling Lando.” 

Her eyes widened. “Don’t.” 

“Too late,” he said, dialing the number and holding the phone to his ear. 

--- 

My chest heaved as I watched Malik retreat, the tension in my body refusing to dissipate. I turned to Oscar, my voice sharp and unsteady. “What the hell are you doing here?” 

He didn’t lower the gun, his eyes still scanning the shadows. “Following orders.” 

“Orders?” I snapped, the adrenaline fueling my anger. “Since when does Lando send you to babysit me?” 

“Since he decided you might need it,” Oscar shot back, finally holstering the gun. “And judging by what just happened, he was right.” 

I glared at him, frustration bubbling over. “I didn’t need your help.” 

He raised a brow, his expression flat. “You’re welcome.” 

For a moment, we stood in tense silence, the weight of what had just happened settling over us. Finally, Oscar spoke again, his tone softer but still probing. “Who was that guy?” 

“No one you need to worry about,” I said quickly, brushing past him. 

He caught my arm, his grip firm but not unkind. “Y/N. Who was he?” 

I pulled away, my voice icy. “Just a piece of my past. And that’s where he’ll stay.” 

Without waiting for his response, I walked away, ignoring the throbbing pain in my arm and ribs. 

--- 

The buzz of my phone pulled me from my thoughts. Seeing Oscar’s name on the screen, I picked up immediately. 

“What’s wrong?” I asked, my tone sharp. 

“You’re not going to like this,” Oscar said, his voice tight. 

My chest tightened. “Spit it out.” 

“I followed Y/N home, like you told me,” he said. “Some guy broke into her apartment. They fought. She’s hurt.” 

“Where are you now?” I demanded, already grabbing my keys. 

“In an alley. The guy ran off, but—” 

“I’m on my way,” I cut him off, ending the call. 

As I headed for the car, one thought burned in my mind. 

Whoever hurt her was going to pay. 

--- 

Minutes later, Lando arrived at her apartment. 

The apartment was worse than Oscar had described. 

The front door hung awkwardly on its hinges, the lock completely shattered. Furniture was overturned, the walls scuffed and dented, and broken glass littered the floor. 

Lando stepped inside, his expression unreadable as he took in the destruction. Oscar stayed at the door, his hand resting on the gun tucked into his jacket. 

“Where is she?” Lando asked, his voice low. 

“In the kitchen,” Oscar replied. 

Lando made his way through the wreckage, the tension in his shoulders growing with every step. When he reached the kitchen, he found Y/N sitting at the table, her head bowed as she cradled her injured arm. 

“You’re hurt,” he said, his voice softer than she expected. 

She looked up, her expression guarded. “I’ve had worse.” 

Lando’s jaw tightened as he stepped closer. “Who did this?” 

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, her tone clipped. 

“It does if they come back,” he said, his eyes locking onto hers. “Tell me who it was.” 

Y/N shook her head, her lips pressing into a thin line. “I can handle it.” 

Lando’s eyes darkened, his frustration evident. “You don’t get to make that call. Not when you’re bleeding and your apartment looks like a war zone.” 

“I don’t need your help, Lando,” she said, her voice rising. 

He leaned down, his face inches from hers. “You might not need it, but you’re getting it. This isn’t a request, Y/N. You’re coming with me.” 

For a moment, neither of them spoke, the air between them heavy with tension. Finally, Y/N stood, her movements slow and pained. 

Finally, Lando turned to Oscar. “Find out who he is. I don’t care what it takes.” 

Oscar nodded, his expression grim. 

As Lando turned back to Y/N, his voice softened, though the intensity in his eyes remained. “You’re coming with me.” 

She frowned. “I don’t need—” 

“That wasn’t a request,” he said firmly. 

“Fine,” she said, her voice quiet but defiant. “But don’t think this changes anything.” 

Lando didn’t respond. As he led her out of the apartment, his mind was already racing with plans. 

Whoever had done this was going to pay. 

For once, Y/N didn’t argue. As she followed him to the car, one thought lingered in her mind. 

This changes everything. 

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Series Taglist: @laptime-deleted, @planet-faerie

LN4 Taglist: @esserenorris, @tallrock35, @yourbane, @lightdragonrayne, @really-fucking-tired, @evie-119, @ilivbullyingjeongin, @ggaslyp1, @icecoldtires, @cmleitora, @cheyennep3107, @d3kstar, @fadingcloudballoon-blog, @same1995, @hinamesgigantica, @laptime-deleted, @planet-faerie

[ninii-winchester]

Timeless Love

Pairing : Dean Winchester X Reader

Word count : 3.7k

Warnings : angst, s12 ep 6 (spoilers), canon violence, mentions of demons, slight mention of john winchester, mentions of amara (slight spoiler), taylor swift reference (?), fluff. Not proofread.

Part 2 to Fleeting Love.

A/n: I don’t remember what exactly happened in that episode i just winged it.

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO COPY MY WORK, TRANSLATE IT OR POST IT TO ANY OTHER PLATFORM. REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED.

Leaving was the hardest thing Dean had to do other than breaking Y/n's heart. He cried himself to sleep every night after seeing her looking like a shell of herself at school. He missed her smile and he missed being the reason of her smile. How could he let himself fall for someone, when he knew he could never have that kind of life. Loving her was the best and the worst decision of his life. Best because he got to know what love actually feels like and worst because he knows he'd never find anything like that ever again. He wouldn't allow himself to love anyone else in this lifetime. She was his first and last love.

Dean had left town, and Y/n was still picking up the pieces of a shattered heart. Days turned into weeks, but the ache never dulled. Every time she walked by the places they'd shared—her favorite diner, the lakeside road where they'd stargazed—the memories rushed in like a flood. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't outrun the ghost of him.

As much as she wanted to hate him, part of her would always him. He was her first love, her first kiss and her first time. Deep down she knew it had everything to do with his father but his betrayal was still fresh in her mind. She knew her Dean wouldn't do that her but she wished he'd stood against his father. She wished he would've fought for their love. If only she knew the reason he couldn't do it.

Fifteen years had come and gone, and Y/n had built a life—one filled with new memories, a different kind of happiness. But despite the time and distance, her heart remained anchored to a love she never truly let go of. It wasn't that she was stuck in the past; she had moved on in every way that mattered. Yet, in the quiet moments, when the world fell still, it was Dean's face she saw, his voice she heard, as if time had never touched the feelings she carried for him.

Y/n let out a sigh as she waited for her flight to be announced. She was going to Canada for a wake of the man who saved her life. She vividly remembered six years ago, she was coming back from work and a huge dog like creature attacked her. She wouldn't have believed had she not seen it with her own eyes. It was a werewolf.

She dug into the supernatural, surprised by the sheer amount of lore tied to what was already known. Myths, legends, and creatures she once thought were just stories had entire histories woven into the fabric of the world she knew.

Asa Fox was the one that killed the thing and rescued her. Now he was no more. She owed it him to atleast pay her final respects to him.

Hours later she landed in Canada and made her way towards Asa's mother's house. It was late at night when she arrived. She stepped inside and noticed a small crowd gathered in the living room, while others lingered in the kitchen and a few more were out in the backyard. They were all lost in conversation, sharing memories and stories of the brave hunter they had come together to mourn. The air was heavy with both grief and respect as they honored the life he'd lived.

She'd found Asa's mother and paid her condolences to her, recounting how her son had saved her life and how she looked up to him. The older woman nodded and Y/n took it as her cue to leave her alone. She walked the hallway and bumped into someone, she quickly apologised and looked up to them and all the air seemed to leave her lungs.

"You.." she choked on her words and the other person looked at her in mild confusion and threw her an anticipatory glance. "Mary Winchester." Y/n finally spoke. The older woman tried to rack her brain if she knew the woman infront of her but her mind remained blank.

Y/n had seen photos of Dean's mother in his room also in his wallet and she adored how much he loved his mother. Her mind went haywire thinking back to when he told her his mother died in a house fire. Did he lie? Why would he though? Thousands of thoughts ran into her mind as she thought back to her relationship with the Winchester. Even after fifteen years he's still vivid in her head. Did everything he tell her was a lie? Was Dean even his real name.

Y/n could feel herself hyperventilate and she immediately wanted to put space between the supposedly dead woman and herself. She went to the kitchen to grab herself some water. There were only two people in the kitchen, a woman with a pixie cut and a man taller than anyone she had ever seen. She grabbed a water bottle chugging it down and calming her heartbeat. She took a deep breath before speaking,

"Uhm sorry to intrude but, is a Mary Winchester out there?" She questioned the couple gesturing towards the hallway she came from. The man looked at her with a unreadable look in his eyes.

"Yeah." The woman responded.

Y/n sighed, — atleast I'm not going crazy. She thought to herself. But if that's Dean's mom, what on earth is she doing here?

"You're Y/n." The man said. It wasn't a question. He knew her. She craned her neck to look up at his face and she furrowed her brows.

"I'm sorry have we met before?" She questioned taking a step forward. A sad smile appeared on his face. The woman beside him looked at him expectantly waiting for his reply.

"You seriously don't remember me?" He chuckled and she shook her head.

"I'm sorry, but I'd remember if I had met someone as big as you." She replied leaning on the counter behind her.

"I wasn't this big when we met Y/n/n." Sam spoke and the nickname made her eyes flash with recognition but it was quickly overtaken by the hurt that came with those memories.

"Sammy." It just slipped out. She didn't mean to call him by that name, but when he called her y/n/n, it came out subconsciously. Her heart started beating loudly at the thought of his brother being here. She had never thought she'd ever meet Dean Winchester ever again and she was not ready.

Sam knew whatever happened between her and his brother hurt her more than anything and he wouldn't blame her if she up and left without a word, but he'd missed her. And he missed the man his brother was when he was with Y/n. After her, he was just a shell of a man, running on his father's commands like a soldier. Someone who seemed to let go off every emotion and just waiting for his father's next order.

Sam introduced Y/n to the woman beside him as sherrif Jody Mills and she was good friend.

"How're you Y/n?" Sam asked and she looked at him remembering the small kid she used help with homework.

"Been good. How about you?" Sam scoffed at her question. If only she knew how he's been. And how his brother's been. Coming back from the dead, hell, purgatory. She'd probably throw a chair at him for making up all this bullshit.

"Good yeah." Sam nodded. Y/n could hear footsteps approaching and prayed it wasn't who she thought it was. God knew she didn't want to see him. Maybe she hadn't been a good person, and this was her punishment, because Dean Winchester walked into the kitchen, her breath caught in her lungs.

"Sammy where the he-" Dean words got caught in his mouth as his gaze landed on her.

Y/n looked at the man she had loved and hoped that after all these years, she'd have fallen out of love with him. But one look and her heart started thudding against her ribcage. He had aged, but somehow, he was even more handsome. He was muscular now, his arms toned beneath his layers, and she could see it all. She could feel her eyes water and she didn't want to create a scene at someone's wake, she pushed past Sam and left the space with a word.

Dean stood frozen, he couldn't believe he'd run into her here of all places. The sight of her brought back a flood of memories and feelings he thought he had buried long ago. Despite the years and the changes, she was just as beautiful as he remembered. But then he wondered why was she here? Is she a relative? Does she know about the supernatural? Or worse is she a hunter?

He didn't know the answer to his questions but he knew one thing, that them meeting again after fifteen years was fate. And he'd be damned if he let go off her ever again. He'd do anything in his power to win her back because God knows he's been miserable since the minute he broke up with her. Without wasting another second Dean went behind her. He could see her going to the backyard and taking in deep breaths.

"Y/n." He said approaching her.

"Go away Dean.”

“Just hear me out once.” He pleaded.

“I don't want to hear any more of your lies." Her voice cracked as she spoke and Dean knew she was on the verge of crying.

"Lies? What lies?" He asked holding her arm and turning her to look at him. She shrugged her arm out of his grip and pulled away harshly.

"Maybe you have a bad memory Dean, fifteen years isn't that long of a time to forget about it." She snapped glaring at him. "Need I remind you of your lies? My mom died when I was four! She's inside I've seen her with my own eyes." She yelled. "I love you Y/n! And the very next day after breaking up with me I see you making out with some cheerleader. You don't do that to someone you love." She cried pushing at his chest. "You're a goddamn liar so leave me the fuck alone like you did that night at the park."

Each and every word pierced through him like a needle. It was worse than spending forty years in Hell. He knew he'd hurt her and deserved everything she threw his way, but hearing her think that he didn't love her—it just broke his heart. He never lied about his love for her.

"Y/n, baby please let me explain. I swear I'll tell you everything." He said holding her hand and she pushed him again.

"Don't touch me. And I don't need your explanations." She wiped her tears. "I'm not here for you I'm here for Asa." Dean felt a pang of jealousy at the late hunter's name and he wondered if they'd had something before he died. Is that why she's here. He completely forgot it's been fifteen years and there might be a possibility that she'd moved on. 

"How do you even know him?" He couldn't but ask. His jealousy getting the better of him.

"That is none of your concern." She retorted sharply.

"Sweetheart please hear me out." Dean begged and she moved to go back inside but the doors were locked.

"What the hell?" She tried turning the doorknob but it didn't budge. The two of them were locked out. Dean tried pushing the door but to no avail.

"Hello Dean." Dean turned to see Billie standing there and she was smirking almost evilly.

"Billie what are you doing here?" He asked the reaper. And she told him she's here to do what she does. She's here to take everyone who's inside. Dean asked her what's happening inside and she tells him a demon's got them locked inside and something about vengeance. He had to save Sam, his mom and Jody. Dean tells her to open the door for him and let him go inside, she makes him a deal to never interfere in the natural order of things and he agrees as long as she lets him inside.

"Dean what the hell is going on?" Y/n was now scared. Although she was well aware of supernatural theoretically but she was in no way prepared to fight. And demons? She didn't know those were real too.

"I'll explain later." Dean replied as calmly as possible. "Billie, I need you to keep her safe, please." Dean requested and the reaper raised her brow.

"Dean, I can either keep her safe or let you inside. I'm getting one thing out of this deal, and you're getting only one too." His jaw clenched at her words and he was internally cursing her for being a bitch.

"Fine. Get us in." He begrudgingly told the reaper and she created an opening in the door. Dean turned to Y/n and cupped her face in his large hands. "We're going in, but you gotta trust me, sweetheart. Stay by my side and I'll protect you." Y/n thought he was completely out his wits asking her to go inside a place where there's a demon.

"Time's of essence Dean." Billie commented and he glared at her. He held Y/n's hand and before she knew the two of them were inside. He let out a sigh of relief when he saw Sam, Jody and his mom alive, and even the others. Sam filled him in how the demon had cut off the water supply and locked all the doors. Y/n was terrified of being locked in a house with a demon but Dean held her close to him. His hand gripping hers tightly.

They all gathered in the living room to make a devils trap to trap whoever the demon was possesing and to keep themselves safe, being inside it.

"Dean who was that outside?" Y/n questioned her voice a quiet whisper.

"That was Billie she's a reaper." Dean replied moving her into the devils trap. She looked at him wide eyed.

"A reaper? The one that takes souls?" She questioned and he nodded. "You're acquainted with a reaper? What the fuck?" Before either of them could say any further Jody accused Mary of being possessed since her was last one to come into the room.

Sam and Dean tensed at her accusation of their mom being possessed but then Mary stepped into the devil's trap and moved out proving she's not it. Then Jody started cackling evilly, saying that was clever of Mary. With a flick of her hand she wooshed the trap, then she started attacking everyone one by one taunting them. She threw the twins across the wall and then slammed Mary in the door. She moved her hand towards Y/n but Dean pushed her behind him and the demon made him fly in the wall. Y/n was left unguarded and demon closed in on her. Sam neared them but possessed Jody threw him in the cabinet.

Y/n screamed as the demon neared her she inched backwards, her body trembling with fear. Dean watched as Jody wrapped her hand around Y/n's neck, he got up on his feet and pushed Jody away from her, not too harshly to not hurt his friend's body. He wrapped his body over her, shielding her body with his' and Sam started chanting the incantation to exorcise the demon out of Jody. The twins joined them and then Mary finished it off sending the demon back to hell.

The lights flickered back on and everyone was relieved at last. Y/n clutched Dean's shirt in her hands and hid her face in his chest. "You're fine..it's gone." He rubbed her back soothingly. "Hey sweetheart, look at me." Dean made her pull away slightly and placed his fingers underneath her chin making her look at him. "You okay?" She shook her head, no.

An hour later, Y/n was wrapped up in Dean's jacket, his mind drifting off to the first time he'd lend her his jacket and how it was their new beginning. He wondered if it was a sign of their another new beginning together. She sat on the hood of the Impala and the boys stood in front of her.

"What. The. Hell. Was. That?" She looked at Sam and Dean, while Mary and Jody watched their interaction for afar. "I mean I know werewolves and Vampires but demons? Reapers?" Dean grabbed her hand and brushed his thumb over the back of her hand.

"How'd you know about Werewolves and Vampires?" Dean asked softly and she told him how she was attacked by a werewolf and Asa saved her. And she researched a bit about the supernatural and Dean nodded in understanding. He shot Sam a glance and younger understood and left them alone.

"Sweetheart, I'll explain everything and I'll tell you why I left. You see I'm a hunter, my parents were too. I've grown up in this life. My mom did die when I was four. A demon killed her. My dad wanted us to find that demon and kill him. When I met you, I forgot all about it. I wanted to be a normal boy, I did love you with everything I had." She looked up at his eyes and they were sincere, different from when he broke her heart. It wasn't like he was holding back, or hiding something. "My dad, he didn't want you to get involved or me to lose focus. He told me that I should break your heart so you can move on with you life." Dean explained.

"I did move on with my life Dean." He shut his eyes not wanting to see the look on her face when she tells him she found someone else. "But I couldn't love anyone else. You made me question my worth, because, fuck it I was in love. And fuck you Dean for I couldn't have us."

"I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to make you question your worth, hell I wanted to show you how much you mean to me, I just wanted to keep you safe, away from this life. You aren't even back in my life for less two hours and look at this mess. I don't even want to think of what harm I would've caused you if you'd been with me all those years." He looked apologetic. "As for my mom, God's sister brought her back."

"Who THE FUCK?" She looked dumbfounded.

"It's long story." Dean chuckled. "All I'm saying is I've loved you this whole time and I only broke up with you because I didn't want you be in danger and because my dad said it was for the best." He rubbed the back of his head, half ashamed.

"Where's your dad?" She asked after few minutes of silence.

"He died, a few years ago." Dean replied gloomily.

"I'm sorry." Even if the man was the reason for her heartbreak she didn't feel good about him being dead. After all he was Dean's father. Dean nodded. "What now?"

"We could try again, that is if you want to. I'm tired of not being with you. I feel meeting you again after all these years, it's fate." Dean said softly. "And I still love you so fucking much." He rested his forehead against her.

"I still love you too, Dean." She whispered. The tension between them hangs in the air, heavy and charged. Without another word, Dean cups Y/N's face, his thumb gently brushing their cheek. There's a moment of hesitation, a breath, and then he leans in, capturing their lips in a passionate kiss.

The kiss is deep, intense, filled with all the unspoken emotions they've both been holding back. Dean pulls Y/N closer, as if trying to convey everything he couldn't say in words. For that moment, it's just the two of them, lost in the heat of the kiss. When they finally pull back, both breathless, Dean's forehead rests against Y/N's, his eyes still closed.

"Being away from you was worse than going to hell."

"As if you'd know what hell’s like." She replied rolling her eyes. Dean pulled away, his eyes filled with mischief.

"Oh I do, I went to hell, i was there for forty years."

"You're lying." She gave him a look and he shook his head.

"I'm not. I went to hell and then Castiel the angel pulled me out. Who by the way is now my best friend."

"SAMMY? HE'S LYING ISN'T HE??" She yelled to the younger Winchester and Dean barked out a laugh at her reaction. Sam didn't know what she was on about so he laughed too.

"You've got a lot of catching up to do, sweetheart." Dean said while helping her down off the hood. He threw an arm over her shoulder and dragged her towards his mom. "Mom this is Y/n. My highschool sweetheart." He said pecking her temple.

“Nice to meet you Mrs. Winchester.” Y/n said extending her hand for her to shake but Mary pulled her into a hug.

“Call me Mary. And welcome to the family.” She smiled. Dean grinned, watching the exchange with a sense of pride. Mary’s embrace made Y/n feel instantly at ease. Mary pulled back slightly, her eyes twinkling with warmth. “I’ve heard so much about you, it’s wonderful to finally put a face to the name.”

“You have?” She questioned looking at Dean who looked away shyly.

“Yeah, I’m sorry I wasn’t around the first time.” Mary joked and Y/n let out an awkward laugh.

Dean stood by, his arm still around Y/n, feeling a deep sense of contentment as his worlds finally came together. He knew they still had a lot to talk about but he also knew that they were meant to be. It’s destiny. Now that he’s got her, he’s never letting her go matter what life throws at him. He’s finally home.

Tags:

@spnfamily-j2 @galway-girlatwork @deangirl96 @queensilber

@s0urw00lf @monkey-d-hoshizora98 @deans-baby-momma @fullbelieverheart

@riah1606 @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @hobby27

@starkleila @suckitands33 @m3ntally-unstable @kanekilovelove-blog @candy-coated-misery0731

@blackcherrywhiskey @ladysparkles78 @goest-and-fuckest-thyself-blog @graywrites5567

@thelittlelightinthedarkness @enamoredwithbella @winchesterwild78 @myuhh8

[annwrites]

⸻ one in the same. part eleven. ⸻

· pairing: otto hightower x bastardtargfem!reader · type: part of a series · summary: you make a confession to otto & see only one way out after all you've done. · tw: suicide attempt, ottocent, talk of incestuous feelings · word count: 2,873

You’ve been…not yourself since the night your husband left for Dragonstone, and you deigned to dishonor him.

You’ve not left your chambers, have hardly eaten, and have spent most of your time either crying or sleeping, a nauseating pit constantly settled into the core of your stomach. 

You finally see yourself for exactly what you are now, even if you refuse to so much as look at yourself in the mirror—you’ve thrown a sheet over the one atop your vanity—a horrid, wretched creature, filled with…revolting desires. Desires that have suddenly burnt out, leaving you feeling hollow in their stead.

Just the thought of sexual intimacy fills you with dread now. 

How could you have done it? How?

Otto had pulled you back from the edge, tended to you, loved you, cared for you, provided for you, and you’ve repaid him with attempted adultery. With incest.

He’ll never forgive you. And you will deserve it. You deserve to be alone after this.

You do not want to tell him, simply because you do not wish to break his heart, but you’ve no other choice. You cannot live with this terrible secret, and he deserves honesty. 

When Otto returns to you, you cling to him. For a long while. 

Tears sting your eyes while bile rises in your throat, but you remain silent as he threads his fingers in your hair.

“I’ve returned to you, my darling. In one piece. You needn’t have worried for a moment.”

You squeeze your eyes shut more tightly, willing this moment to last.

His first day back, and it begins with you shredding his heart in two.

“I need to tell you something,” you whisper.

He leans back, cupping your cheek with furrowed brows. “Are you…”

He glances down, settling a hand gently over your stomach.

How you wish that were the case. Even if you do not desire it, that would be easier to live with than this.

You shake your head, a tear slipping down your cheek, falling from your chin. 

You silently take his hand within your own, leading him over to the settee before the fire, refusing to so much as meet his eyes. 

“I—” You stop, trying to calm your stomach. “You’d been right in being concerned the night you left and I went to my father. Concerned with what I might…do.”

Otto straightens, studying you silently.

He does not speak a word.

“I… He was asleep. I lied to Ser Harrold. Told him I had left a book and was retrieving it.”

You digs the nails from one of your hands into the back of the other. “I was dressed in only a robe. I took it off. I pulled down his sheets and…exposed him to myself. He remained asleep all the while, thank the Gods.”

He’d been so incredibly right in pulling away from you that day. You’d made him uncomfortable, and now you could see why quite clearly. To have done it all without his consent… Vile girl.

“I touched myself,” you say tearfully, your chin wobbling. “With no care for you. For our marriage. I thought of only one person that night: myself. Ever since… I’ve not left our room. I can’t…I can’t even bear the sight of myself now.”

You bury your face in your hands, your body shaking as you sob. “I’m so sorry, Otto! Gods, I’m so sorry.”

He stares ahead into the fire, not so much as giving you a comforting word or touch or gesture.

The only sound which fills the silence is your quiet sobs as you double over, wrapping your arms around yourself. 

Finally, he stands without another word, exiting your chambers, and you race to your chamberpot, and vomit.

When Otto returns, it is quite late, and you are already in bed, but not asleep. You can't rest. Not anymore.

Your mind had raced all the while during his absence. 

Will he desire for himself a divorce now? You would not blame him. But he would need seek your father’s permission to obtain it. And what reasoning would he give him?

You know it would not be the truth. 

Otto’s side of the mattress dips under his weight, and he quickly settles into place, keeping a wide berth between the two of you.

You raise a fist to your lips, biting down on it, trying to keep quiet. Not wanting to disturb him with further tears or apologies he doesn’t wish to hear.

You turn slightly, speaking to him over your shoulder. “Do you wish for me to sleep elsewhere?”

There’s a long, silent pause. 

“You may do as you wish,” is his curt reply.

You rise then, padding over to the settee, and you lie down, closing your eyes.

You pray you never wake.

It has been a fortnight since your confession to your husband and you’ve returned to your old ways in that time: sleeping as much as possible, and eating as little as.

You’ve dropped a considerable amount of weight, but it matters little to you. Everything does now. The only thing you can think about is your husband.

Not even the news of your father’s impending marriage to Alicent had interested you, even if it had become clear quite-quickly that Otto had already been aware such arrangements were being made.

Weeks ago, you would've been livid. At all of them. Would've argued relentlessly with with your husband over it all. Enough so that you're sure you would've still driven your marriage to the brink with heated, cruel words as you were driven mad by the prospect of anyone else having your father.

Now, you see that the two of you are not nearly as close as you'd once believed. You'd kept secrets from he, and he from you.

Mayhaps...the two of you were never meant to be to begin with...

The handful of times you’ve tried to touch Otto, he has brushed off the tender gestures. He has not spoken to you unless you’ve done so first, and his replies to you have been minimal in nature.

He hates you now. You know that with certainty. And you understand it completely. 

You deserve it. Deserve…many terrible things, in truth.

The one thing you never did deserve was him.

And so you mean to do the only thing you can. 

You will set him free.

During your last dinner with your husband, you are warm and kind, even if he does not speak to you.

You tell him how you love him. How you will always be grateful for all he’s done for you. How your marriage to him has meant everything to you; had repaired your broken heart. How he is a good, and intelligent, and wonderful man.

He had eventually snapped at you—bidding you be quiet—that he did not wish to hear a further words from your lips.

You’d merely smiled and nodded, and told him ‘of course’ before growing quiet again.

While he is asleep, you write him a short note, ensuring him he should not feel guilty. That if and when he is ready, he should move on with someone worthy of him. That he should never spare you a second thought ever again.

You are easily forgettable; replaceable.

He need merely give it time, and he will soon see.

You seal your letter with a kiss, settling it atop his desk, before silently padding out to the balcony, climbing up, until you are gripping a column, your feet planted atop the railing as you stare down at the stories upon stories beneath you. 

You hope it will be quick. You don’t wish to suffer, but you will understand if you are made to.

Your eyes flutter closed and a cool breeze kisses your skin.

Your heart pounds, because in truth, you are terrified. 

You don’t wish to die…not entirely. Merely because you are afraid of what will come after. But this is the only way. You must do this. For him.

You cannot bear the thought of him being forced to live the rest of his days with a wife by his side which he despises. He’d been right to feel such a way toward you in the first place. 

He should’ve never accompanied you that day to the Sept. Should’ve never given you a moment of kindess. 

You’d not deserved it. Not once.

You solidify yourself—harden your heart—and take a moment to listen to the silence you will soon become a part of.

Maybe you will find peace this way at last.

Something you've never truly had.

“Gods forgive me,” you whisper, ready to let go.

“Don’t!”

Your feet nearly slip from the railing as you turn to look over your shoulder with tears streaming down your cheeks. 

“I must,” you tell him calmly. “You can let me go. It’s alright now. I do this for you, my love.”

Otto takes a small step closer, quickly wiping tears from his own eyes. “You needn’t do this, Y/N. Please, come down so we may—”

You shake your head, a gentle wind whipping loose strands around your face. “This is the only way. It is the only thing left.”

You turn back around. “I love you.”

Just as you make to step forward, into naught but thin air, strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling you against a sturdy chest.

The two of you collapse into a heap of limbs and tangled clothing on the marble floor of the balcony, while you struggle to get away from him, now a tearful, trembling mess.

“I want to die!” You shout. “Please, just let me! Let me die!”

Otto holds you firmly to himself, refusing to let go for a moment. 

“Please, my darling,” he pleads through tears which threaten to drown him. “We will find another way. I won’t let you. I forgive you. Please, you must forgive me.”

He takes your face in his hands, sobbing at the broken sight of you. 

Even had you not stepped off the balcony…you are nearly on death’s doorstep as-is.

When had you become so incredibly frail? So wan, and wraith-like? Your eyes…when had they grown so empty? 

“I have spent the entirety of your existence making you naught else but miserable. And you think after one instance of…of returning the favor you should pay for the transgression with your life?”

You double over, heaving for breath, rocking back and forth.

“I have to, I have to,” you repeat over and over. "Please, Gods, let me, I beg of you!"

He wraps his trembling arms tightly around you, pressing his wobbling lips to your hair, gently rocking you, desperate to give you comfort.

"I made a vow. A vow to look after your welfare. And instead of doing as much, I indulged your... Your mindset instead. I've naught else to blame but myself. I knew what it would lead to in time. I allowed this to happen."

"I am ill, do you not see?!" You shout, pulling back, shoving against his chest, desperate to finish what you started. "I am broken! Something inside of me—"

You shake your head fervently. "It cannot be fixed! I want it to end! Gods, please, let me do it!"

He takes your face in his hands once more and finally speaks it aloud.

The two of you have for months and months discussed how incredibly the same you are. In this desire, you are no different.

It makes him feel sick to admit it—to put it aloud—but once you hear, once you see that you are not alone, mayhaps this weight you've placed upon yourself to seek out your own punishment by any means necessary will lessen.

"I have desired her."

Your brows furrow. "W-What?"

He grimaces at the name which waits upon his tongue.

"Alicent."

Your eyes grow wide.

"I encouraged her to seek out your father time and again. To...please him. I, in some ways, trained her in the arts of—" He pauses. "Seduction."

You jerk away from him in shock.

"We never—" He mutters a quiet curse. "We were never in congress, if that is your concern. I merely told her ways she might draw him in. Ways you drew me in. I wanted to see her in such a manner. And then I would come to you and..."

You choke back a sob.

He looks at you from under his lashes. "The betrayal was mine first."

You cover your mouth with the back of your hand, feeling as if you are staring at a stranger.

He shrugs lightly, grasping for further explanation. "After her mother passed... She looks so like her in certain lights. She reminded me of her, and at times—at times it felt as if I had her back."

A pregnant pause settles into the space between you.

"You have my forgiveness, my love. Might I ever have yours for—"

"Did you?" You ask, looking at him with hollow eyes.

His brows knit together in confusion.

"Love me?"

He comes closer, reaching for you. "With all my heart."

"You saw me as her replacement," you state plainly, scooting away.

"As you did me with him," he states.

"At least I felt guilt. Admitted things to you I... I did not wish to so much as admit to myself. Because you bade me to. Whereas you've been lying to me since the first."

He searches desperately for a reply which will pull you back to him, but finds none to be had.

This cannot be the end. It can't. He won't lose you as well.

The two of you grow silent for a moment.

Otto next speaks.

"It is different, my love. What you feel—or felt—for him... Oftentimes, children's feelings can become...confused, perhaps, when they are young and lonely. But for a parent to look at his own child in such a light?"

His eyes meet yours. "I wished to throw myself upon my own sword at the urges which overcame me. Mayhaps I should have. So much pain may've been avoided then."

You wrap your arms around your knees, continuing to stare at him. "I know not how we return from this. To each other. To ourselves. At the very least, me to myself."

"Do you still want and burn for him?" He asks hesitantly.

You shake your head. "Not since the morn after it happened. In truth, I feel entirely numb. Towards everything. It's frightening. I've never felt this way before. I fear it will never end."

He comes closer, cupping your cheek.

"Do you still feel the same toward her?" You ask.

"Her new engagement, I believe, has changed things in that for me. In terms of how I feel. Her being claimed by him has removed a previous temptation."

You look away, studying the spaces between the small pillars which uphold the balcony's railing. "Mayhaps it's this place. A den of vipers I've heard it referred to as before."

You look at him then, with hope. "What if we left?"

He remains silent, waiting for further elaboration.

"What if we went south, to Oldtown. Or to visit Highgarden? I've always wished to see it. We could go on a sort of campaign... Just the two of us exploring the countryside, and—"

He cups your cheek. "My duties lie here, my love. I cannot abandon my post, so to speak."

You deflate, pulling away.

He comes the least bit closer. "Would that I could. I assure you, darling."

He takes you gently into his arms, holding you close, desperate for you to forgive him.

He presses a firm kiss to your temple. "We made vows that we belong to one another, and we've held true to that, have we not?"

"You don't need to fuck someone to break it," you reply acidly.

He becomes silent at your matter-of-fact reply.

"And I've told you that I forgive you. You tell me you no longer feel as you did toward him? Then I believe you as well. Can you not afford me the same benefit of the doubt in return?"

You clench your hands into fists, at war with yourself.

How can you trust him to mean what he says? You can argue the same toward him with you, but the difference is you've not made a political career out of polishing a silver tongue each and every day, so as to keep it well-honed.

He has.

You'd hardly ever suspected he felt something such as that toward Alicent he'd kept it so well hidden from you.

You do not believe he would ever act on it, no... Nor do you believe he's ever wanted for another.

You glance up to the railing again.

If he did not care, he would've let you fall. Would've not said a word.

But he'd saved you.

Just like he'd done before when it was not his responsibility to do so.

You meet his eyes once more, raising your hand, and it hovers over his cheek.

He braces for the impact of a stinging slap. One he's most sure he deserves.

Instead, you gently settle it against warm, weathered skin.

"I forgive you."

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

AS TAINTED AND AS FLAWED AS YOU (V)

NAVIGATION || RAVISHING ALLURE MASTERLIST || NEXT: CHAPTER VI

PAIRING: Nikto x F!Reader (Soulmate AU)

WORDCOUNT: 6.7k

WARNINGS: Angst, mentions of stalking & stalking behavior, creepy men, talks of death, weapons, toxic modeling standards, food issues, dead animals, blood, talks about gore, etc. (Series 18+)

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You wondered what the doves had felt when they had gotten ripped apart. Were they already dead by the time the fingers had torn into them, breaking their hollow bones, or had they been alive—past the burning; past the evisceration of their intestines? You don’t want to think about it, but thinking is the only thing you can do. Think, think, think one horrible thought after another until you’re sinking in a pool of gore.

Your Mom shakes your shoulder and you startle back to the scene of her office.

Eyes widening, you clear your throat quickly and speak above the palpitations of your heart. “Yeah?”

The woman’s wrinkles tighten. 

“I asked if you wanted any water, Beauty.”

Stop calling me that.

“Please.” A cup is held in front of your face, and you slowly take it as the box on the other side of the room is stuck in the sides of your vision. Two investigators mull over it, muttering to themselves and sending glances over their shoulders. 

Yaromir and Galina. Both are tall and dressed in dark jackets—a patch on their left arm. The inky ties contrast with a pale button-up seen under the collar. 

You haven’t even spoken to them.

Taking a long drag from your cup, you focus on taking down the liquid through your tight throat. There’s a certain point where shock overtakes the ability to think properly—you don’t know how to act except to respond to issues as they arise. 

You were supposed to go home right after AMA, but your mom had gotten a call from the Operational Officers. It seemed Nikto had been in touch, and they had given the order to come here for as much information as you could give, which, admittingly, was little. 

Everything you’d given was still the same as it had been after the explosion. 

“Nikto?” Your lips are cold.

The man blinks from the corner of the room, slightly shifting his head your way from where he watches the scene quietly. Your eyes lock and after a moment you raise the glass. 

“Do you need anything?” 

His chest slightly raises in a sigh. 

“... Negative. I am,” the Russian pauses, the fingers behind his back twitching. “Adequate.” 

You hum and pretend you heard what he said above the ringing in your ears. This was how you acted right after the scene in the bakery as well. Like a walking corpse. 

“They already called into AMA,” your mom side-eyes Nikto, her eyebrows pulling in tightly before they slide back to you and lessen. In her face is the sheen of hidden concern. “The CEO was told he can’t keep you in the building if there’s an immediate threat to your life or the lives around you—it’s all up to you until the investigation is over if you want to go back.” 

“Okay,” your response is short and swift. You set the glass to your lips and take back the last few droplets, wishing it was wine instead. Even like this, you knew that you would still drag yourself through the front doors of your work—you needed the job. You can’t do anything else properly. 

Mom sighs, the jewelry at her wrists jingling as her hands come up to rub at her temple. 

“This might offer us something—fingerprints, DNA. It’s better than incinerated pieces, at the very least.” You put your cup on the desk, hands coming back to wrap around your middle with shaking fingers finding purchase in your jacket fabric.

“Has Dad written?” Her slate body freezes like stone. 

It’s a long time before she speaks, and when she does, it’s a firm utterance that comes from her throat. The investigators are still speaking to one another, and Nikto’s dead eyes are stuck on the two of you in interest. His chin minutely tilts down.

“No.” 

You don’t know if that’s the answer, or if it’s a command for you to stop the road you’re going down. Either way, you flatten your lips and say no more, your knee jumping with nerves.

“Ma’am,” Galina speaks louder, addressing you. Your head pivots, breath sounding heavy as you lick your lips. The woman’s long, dark, hair is tied back in a ponytail, tight to her skull. Doe-like eyes don’t stray from yours. “I will need to be in contact with your manager.”

“Alright,” she continued to stare, face bland. Your heart jerks. “Do…do you need his number?”

“It would be swifter than having to gain it from elsewhere.”

You nod, face heating. 

“Sorry,” your lips mutter, hand delving into your pocket to pull out your device and unlock it, swiping through contacts before finding the correct one and listing off the numbers slowly. Galina writes them down on a piece of paper from her notebook and says little more before she turns back around to her partner and addresses him. 

“Explain it to them, I have to make a call.”

Yaromir huffs, standing up and grimacing down at the ‘gift’ with his clean-cut face. The woman walks out the door with steady steps, Nikto paying close attention to how her eyes slide to him, how they narrow, and how her lips twist at his mask—gaze icy. 

There was no question as to whether these two disliked his involvement in this case, and how they had to listen to his input as a former member of the Russian forces with far more knowledge than they could ever possess. Perhaps Nikto’s lips quirked at that, chest stuck with a pleased grunt as Galina stalked away and closed the door behind her.

But there was time for his arrogant nature later. Yaromir speaks with his light accent. 

“There will be more patrols around your penthouse,” Nikto was always surprised by the lack of action in civilian life—if it was his choice, the stalker would have already had a bullet through his chest before he had the chance to bomb that bakery. But at the very least, he knew that his mind was not one to rely on. 

You shift in his peripheral view, and he knows you’re afraid. Nikto’s feet shift from under him.

“Our resources are not infinite, but if we can’t pull anything from this,” a vague hand gesture to the mutilated animals. “There may be a need too…” Yaromir pauses.

Your mother speaks before you can.

“Too what?”

“He is saying he will need more,” Nikto’s voice is a harsh crunch of cords, of black ice. 

You tilt your head to implore him of his meaning, and he does so while not looking away from you. You were his charge after all. 

“More gifts.”

Yaromir is swift with his response. “I-I do not mean…that is only if we can get nothing out of the box—”

“What?” Your face is twisted up with disgust and shock, sputtering out as your head snaps back to the officer. “No!” 

“It is imperative that we avenge the lives of our three countrymen.” He shakes his head, raising an arm as your mother sits in silence, her lungs taking down a deep breath. “You must see our stance on this.”

Your face falls. 

Nikto doesn’t know why, or maybe he does, but the sentence makes his hands tighten like no other, a rage breeding in his chest. 

“You’re saying that I,” you stutter, and the soldier can see the way your neck pulses with the speed of blood. “You expect me to try and accept more of them? More presents from a man that’s intent on getting to me and doing God knows what?” 

In your brain, you know the truth.

They’re more concerned about the lives they deem important, and you don’t fit into that graph.

“Nothing will harm you,” Nikto growls. “Not while I’m here.”

He’s given a firm stare.

“You agree with this?”

“I have never said that,” he grunts, voice stiff as a board. “Simply stating my mission.”

For the first time working with you, he sees your face go tight with distrust and his eyelids twitch slightly lower. 

“Beauty,” you’re shaking your head, hands raising up and waving back and forth as you stand up swiftly. 

“Are you going to defend this?” Your mom’s eyes dart away before wafting back. 

“It’s all that they can do,” you scoff wetly. “And that’s only if they don’t find anything. You need to think about this logically.”

“Nothing about this involves logic,” you snap, immediately feeling bad about the taken-aback expression on the Consul’s face. 

Steadying yourself on the back of the chair, you miss Nikto taking a firm step forward, his hands at his sides in case you were to trip or fall. He had gotten good at noticing when your feet might get tangled and had taken to silent protection without delay. 

“What the hell?” You move away and run a hand down your jacket, trying to push off the panic in your flesh as best you’re able before you make a fool of yourself. Your body shivers and seeps tension, but you make it to the door relatively alright. 

“Seraph!” 

You’re down the hallway and clenching your eyes tight, turning a corner and smacking your arm into it with a stifled inhale. 

Walking, you hear the steady thump of Nikto’s boots behind you, trailing after as his shadow joins the mass of black and gray in your vision. He says nothing until you push open the door and exit the Consulate building entirely, your pupils tiny and mind running. 

“You are going to—” Your heels twist from under you, and your mouth releases a squeak before Nikto’s arm jerks out and loops around your waist, steadying you easily before your face can meet the ground.

His hand presses into your side, harsh fingers sitting there as he slightly leans over you. The open street is mostly empty today, so what embarrassment you can glean from this is limited to your stoic guard.

Nikto grunts, making sure you’re not about to do it again, and he pulls you up. He waits until you’re steady to release you, head moving to spear you open with an exasperated tweak of his invisible brow. 

You open your mouth to speak but find you have no words to say into the cold air. Turning your head away and walking to the car by yourself, your body is hunched in and bearing the weight of mountains, moments and memories flashing back and forth. 

Aly had been blowing up your phone, text after text—call after call asking if you were okay. All you’d managed was a short, ‘I’m okay. At Mom’s work.’

That had stopped the calls, at least, but not the texts.

Nikto unlocked the car just as your hand looped the handle, and you got inside the back seat. The Russian watches from behind on the sidewalk, keys in one hand and the other open to the air. Thinking. He moves his neck from one end of the street to another, face under his mask tense and hard as he breathes slowly. Like some wolf, he only clicks his tongue before loping to the driver’s side. 

As you stare hard into your lap, he barks out to you.

“We are taking you to store. Will get good food to make. Proper food.” Your spine straightens itself as the engine groans to life. 

“We,” your face goes confused, voice small. Three burnt bodies. Ripped feathers. “We can’t do that…what if…?” 

“You will be safe with me. I said this, did I not, Whelp?” Dead eyes move from the reflection of the mirror, glancing at yours. “We are going.” 

And that was how you two ended up standing in the black and white grocery store, Nikto causing people to splinter off and regard you both with concerned glances. But some of those stares are your fault as well. 

You pass a newspaper as you carry your basket, the picture of a fiery bakery on the front cover—your form clearly desirable. Your body halts at that, blankly watching before a hand settles over your spine. 

“Move. I have list.”

“I know you do,” you say weakly, stomach rolling nearly to an alarming level. “Let’s just…do this quick, alright?” Nikto scoffs lightly, but seems to agree with that as he carefully prods you along. 

The store was close to your penthouse, expensive, but close. You had told him he could do the shopping. Clearing your throat, you try to distract yourself from staring at every face turned your way—every hidden expression. 

What if he knows I’m here? He doesn’t. But how do you know that he doesn’t? He found you at the bakery—he waited for you to show up at work to deliver the box. He knows. He’s watching me. He’s right behind my back, waiting to drag me off somewhere and—

“What are we getting, Nikto?” Your shaking tone leaves you clenching your teeth, blinking away the panic. 

You’re fine.

“I tried to understand what you were saying in the kitchen, but my Russian is…bad, to put it lightly.”

“We know.” He’s not looking at you, but instead at the rows of cut meat he had brought you to. Your attention moves from one point on the wall to another, mouth salivating at the thought of good food. With it comes a sliver of guilt. “Many things,” Nikto responds to your previous question. 

“Many?” Your brows furrow, turning back. “How many?”

“Many.” You dryly stare at the back of his head as he moves forward, picking up what he wants and disposing of it into your basket. 

He carts you around like a pet, hand stuck to the back of your shoulder and fingers an inch away from holding on if you were to knock into something. You don’t know if he knows, but being able to lean into his firm grip made walking that much easier without having to put a hand on the wall. 

Perhaps he did know, with how he looks down at you every so often. Your heart warms at that, no matter how much it still fights to break out of your ribcage. 

“Where did you learn to cook, then,” you ease out slowly. You need a distraction. “On a military base?”

A single, sharp bark of a laugh makes your head snap up to Nikto and many people down the way startle. It was like a hyena, but in a way, you didn’t expect anything else to come from the man. You don’t know why, but your lips quirk at that, tight hold on your basket lessening.

It was…charming. In a deadly, cold way.

“Нет, Woman. No, no.” His mask meets you. “You do not know what base is like, hm?”

“I can’t say I do,” your attention turns to the hulking form, paranoia sitting in the backseat. But he was speaking to you, and you liked it when he did. “Explain it to me?”

Pale eyes blink at you, head tilting as silence settles.

“Ладно.” He takes a slight breath and you see his vest rise and fall, the strength of his chest pushing it out. “They are strict—tight, yes?” 

You listen intently, not looking away. He seems less of a nail in the wall while he’s here, able to focus on what meals he’ll make and how to pair something nicely. That head of his moves back and forth like a bird.

“Not allowed in the военный продовольственный магазин. We only eat when we are told—least,” Nikto hitches a shoulder, blinking at a head of cabbage that he takes and places into a bag before handing it to you. “That is what military base is like. KorTac is different, only PMC. Non-affiliated.” 

“I know a little about that part,” you relay, taking the gray lump from him and carefully placing it into the basket. “What made you want to leave the forces, then? The official ones?” Your nose puffs softly. “Was it the food?” 

You feel more than see the tension fill his body, and it’s not a second later that his hand pulls from your shoulder and you blink at the back of his head as he leaves you there. Stuck on the tile below your heels, your face is open with innocent confusion. 

“Nikto…?” You call after, hiking the basket farther in your grip. But he doesn’t turn around, and soon he takes a sharp left and you’re left alone. It was like a flip had been switched inside of him, such a sudden and dangerous dismissal. 

Throat making a small noise, you frown, lips pulling down like a bent cord. 

“...Okay,” your voice whispers, and you shake your head to yourself before turning around to walk to the front. 

It didn’t take more than two steps before a man pushed past you, bumping into your shoulder as you stumbled at the sharp slam of flesh and bone. Your eyes go wide before you have to slap a hand to the metal of the nearby aisle shelves to stop gravity. Dropping the basket with a loud clatter, you call out a heavy, “Hey!”

Half on the floor, you hurriedly straighten yourself, a hand on the back of your sleeve helping. 

“I apologize, Sir, but you really need to look where you’re walking when you’re so close to someone else.” Standing, you take a deep breath and re-situate your purse quickly, pulling on the strap so you don’t lose it. “Lord, that could have been bad.”

What would have happened if you hit your head? 

The scar on the back of your skull burns.

“Seraph?” You blink, before your head swivels—the fingers letting go of your sleeve quickly. 

You’re surprised by who you see. 

“...Sergi?”

The Baker’s Boy had his dark eyes boring into you—his mess of curls looking better than they had been when you’d gone to visit him and sitting under a ball cap. There was the white glare of bandages along his cheeks and neck.

Your spine is tight. 

“Hi,” your voice is light and airy. “I didn’t,” you stutter in shock, hand moving down to grab the handles of the basket delicately. “I didn’t expect to see you here. How…how are you doing?” 

Sergi doesn’t speak. 

A small tone of uncomfortableness seeps into your chest at the intensity of those black voids. Your vision dips to the dark hoodie and pants—the way he sticks his hands into his pockets and backs up a step. 

You hadn’t noticed how large Sergi actually was. Tall, biceps built from the strain of working in the bakery every day. At his dead stare, the sides of your eyes train in, fingers tightening over the handle of your belongings in confused hesitance. 

Your gaze darts to where Nikto had disappeared and you mirror Sergi’s prior move and back up yourself—a strange game of chess. Your free hand comes to itch at your temple. 

“It’s good to see you walking.” Testing an obviously fake laugh, your arms start shaking, the painful pinch of nerves stuck under your skin. “Is the bakery going to be alright?”

Sergi’s phone goes off in his pocket, and his hand snaps to it like lightning. You flinch, heart palpitating though you don’t know why—this man couldn’t be your stalker…he…he couldn’t be. 

Then why did your hair stand on end when he looked at you like that?

Before Sergi sets the device to his ear, he turns and says in his broken English—stiffly, worriedly, “Go home, Girl. Take the man with you.” 

“Man?” You ask to air before the Baker’s Boy turns and hurries back the way he came. The thought comes slowly and in a moment of chilled air and you place one foot forward after him as your eyes go wide. “...How do you know about Nikto?”

He’s already gone. 

People walk past you on their own business, one even clipping your right shoulder again, but you don’t notice above the ringing in your ears when shadows slink past. Your chest is tight, and your lungs are held in the grip of ruthless fingers. 

Dead doves. Burnt bodies. Half a man. 

You place your free hand over your mouth, fast breath being forced from your throat. 

What does it feel like to burn?

“Why are you here?” Nikto’s angry voice is in your head just as his hand grabs onto your arm. You get pulled to face him, face devoid of blood. “Why did you not follow?”

He continues to speak, and you stare blankly into his chest as he does. Nikto’s words grow tight on his tongue, cutting out swiftly as he clocks the expression on your face. 

Terror. 

The soldier instantly grows taller, a great void looming as his head scans the aisle. He reaches for the grip of his Beretta, resting his expansive palm there as what annoyance can be gleaned dries instantly. 

Only a wolf is left behind. 

“Explain,” is what he numbly asks, and you push out on a quick breath.

“Baker’s boy—Sergi. Dark hair and eyes, tall; muscular.” 

A growl. “What did he do?”

“Nothing,” you gasp and Nikto doesn’t seem to believe you. “He didn’t do anything. I just had a strange feeling, and I-I can’t place it. He knew you were here with me.”

The hand on your arm tightens, squeezing. You pull what little safety you can from it and swaddle yourself like a child in the blanket of his aura. That packaging of brutality like tissue paper. 

“I’m gonna be sick,” you huff, body slanting forward. There was so much stress on you—taking you down with it. Days, and weeks, and months. Never getting answers, never thinking it would go this far. 

You were a model, for Christ’s sake. You starred in pictures because people said you were pretty. You don’t feel pretty. You feel violated. 

“Enough,” the man grunts, moving his grip to your shoulder to push your spine back up. He knows that the individual you speak of is gone, and his teeth grind in on themselves. “No, you are not.” 

Saliva pools in your mouth, and you stare at his shoes without saying anything in return. 

Hard fingers loop under your chin, and your gaze is forced forward—so much so like he was about to slather mascara on your lashes in the clutter of your room. Panting, you find your nose nearly brushing his as he bends his neck down into you.

“Focus, Woman.” 

Focus? Focus on what? 

You stare into the paleness of his eyes, finding the layered flecks that shift like a cursed kaleidoscope with glass bits and a broken lens. They aren’t kind eyes, you know. They’re dead and buried, already six feet under and layered with packed dirt—pounded by the path of rushing feet charging into gunfire. 

Oh, but they were beautiful. 

Forcing oxygen to come back to you, your lids flutter at the heat of his fingers under your chin, intoxicating as his thumb finds your pulse point and presses in; feeling, studying—analyzing with those cold orbs.

And so you do, even unknowingly—you focus on the raw presence of a man already long gone. On a man with cruelty laced into his DNA, seeping from his stone heart. 

Why do you feel like this? What had he done to make your face burn at the way his gaze was locked with yours? Nothing was the answer, he had done nothing. 

Then why? Why had you chosen him? The answer felt like it was on the tip of your tongue, but you can’t quite swallow it down. Damnit, your head was hurting. 

Did Nikto have a soulmate?

All at once as the word comes back in a slow crash of cold waves, the hand on your chin disappears, and you blink rapidly. 

The Russian bear grunts as you take a long breath and quickly look away from his direct gaze. Nikto’s covered face tilts, sliding over the color of your eyes and clenching his jaw before he rips his attention away. 

Your scent was in his nostrils.

“We are leaving. Немедленно.” Nikto barks, and you've checked out before you can tell him you were going to pay, the man handing over a wad of rubles from his wallet and slapping it to the front. 

He shoves past and snatches the bags, lugging all of the ingredients back to the car in one hand as his other rarely strays from his weapon. You have your arms wrapped around your waist as you hurry after, loathed to be separated from him again as your body moves to look along the open area. But no Sergi. 

Your shoulders pull in, and somehow, that doesn’t make you feel any better. 

Would he really destroy his family's bakery? Kill three people? He had never seemed the type when you had gone into that quaint building—he had been kind. Something wasn’t adding up, but at the same time…there was no mistaking that feeling in your gut. Was it all a coincidence? 

You shouldn’t have to think like this.

The drive back to your penthouse is quiet, and you desperately wish to ask what Nikto plans to do about this. The answer is apparent when the elevator door opens and he slinks off without a word—pulling his phone from his pocket and dialing up a number before he enters the downstairs storage room. 

Your eyes close in a moment of forced calm, and you grab the bags and lug them inside with a grimace on your face and a strain in your muscles. Glancing at your mounted deer head, you frown at it. 

“He wasn’t lying about ‘many’, was he?” You ask it quietly, and its gray form offers no answer as its adornments glint like stars. For the first time, the stale air makes your chest tighten.

You had everything put away by the time Nikto came back out—a long and growled call that you could hear but not understand beyond a few barks of Sergi’s name. He had sounded angry, and you’d heard his feet pacing. 

The man didn’t like interference with his charge; the officers needed to get better at their jobs.

When Niko’s gruff voice calls to you, your head shifts easily to the side from where you lay on the couch—scrolling through the texts you’d gotten from Aly and your newsfeed. 

“I am making пирожки́, Pirozhki.” Your brows pull in. Was…he not going to talk about what just happened? You potentially just got a lead on your tormenter. “You will watch, yes? Learn. Eat.” 

“Who did you call?” Your voice carries over the space as you stand. “What did they say?”

“Lead investigator,” is the stiff answer as ingredients are gathered, gloves taken off, and folded neatly before being placed on the counter. “The boy has already been cleared.”

You nearly trip before as ease yourself down into the island seat, mouth going slack as you stutter. “What? Even after this? Did you tell them that he knew about you—?”

“Their logic says that since he was in explosion, he can not be the cause.” A look is tossed over his shoulder as he washes his hands. “I told them to look again, but I am only a hired gun, Girl. No standing with them beyond prior work for military.”

His accent grows deeper and deeper with his anger, and you have a hard time understanding the last portion—nonetheless, you get the point.

“He wasn’t acting right,” you mutter to yourself, fingers intertwined on the countertop. “Maybe I was wrong, but…” Your voice trails and a cutting board is clattered to the area in front of you; you startle and look at Nikto in surprise.

Pale eyes boar.

“A feeling is all you need. Do not mistake them, they will keep you alive.”

“Little bit morbid,” you nervously chuckle, face twisting. 

His hidden throat jerks in a baritone scoff. “It is life.”

Mushrooms and potatoes are organized—minced meat separated from the head of cabbage. A bowl is produced, and water, yeast, and sugar are added in to proof. Through these quick and efficient actions, you try to get rid of the growing hunger in your stomach, or at least quell it with a glass of wine you get for yourself. 

 But you can see Nikto’s bare hands as they level out a knife and send it down into the cabbage, you lock onto the deep scars that peel over his hands as he pulls the food into two pieces. 

You restrain a small gasp, clearly able to understand what they are as the paleness of his complexion grows even lighter in those areas. Expansive—can see where the sutures had gone in; tiny dots in the flesh that pull and flex. Nikto’s brutish fingers are not saved from those marks either, and you hadn’t noticed before, but on his left hand, his index finger was shorter than the others. You can find the jagged pieces of gray skin that curl over where the last third of his digit should be.

Struggling to open your mouth and speak, you look away swiftly before a slow realization blooms in your chest.

Maybe there was a darker reason he never took off his mask. Those marks weren’t made from any kind hand.

Struggling to add this to your catalog of full files, you bring your wine glass to your lips and take a small sip, enjoying the feeling as it settles in your stomach. After a long minute of his silent work, you begin the next round of questioning, choosing not to comment.

“What do you think about all of this?” His chopping pauses but he doesn’t glance at you before he gets back into it. “And be honest, please.”

“I am always honest,” Nikto grunts, pushing away the cabbage and getting to the mushrooms with his decimated hand. A harsh sigh. “I would have this ended in a day. Pointless hoops and politics. They do not care about you, you know this?”

“Yeah, I think that’s pretty obvious,” you agree lowly, cradling your glass as you continue. “But the gifts, and all of that—do you think there’s any hope for DNA?”

“Нет. We do not.” Your heart drops. “If this individual was smart enough to fashion an explosive with that much firepower; a detonator, then there will be no remnants of him on box.” 

“The…” Your face is locked with his, and he blinks slowly like a cat. “The contents don’t worry you? The thought of more like that?” Dead doves. Dead animals. Dead people. Who was to say this creep wouldn’t kill someone else and send you their body parts next?

“I have seen worse things, Whelp,” Nikto states slowly, though not unkindly. “The problem is if you insist on it yourself.”

Your face heats at the eye contact he levels with you, and you grow somewhat sheepish, even if the conversation makes your expression serious. 

The air is hot here, and your button-up shifts as you reach to bring your drink back to you as flour is added to the yeast mixture. Nikto’s form looked funny, mixing in the white stain of the ingredient in such a regular-sized bowl. 

The man waits for your answer as he works, and he stops inadvertently when you do with a small utterance and a tense twitch of your lips.  

“I just don’t want anyone else to get hurt because of me, y’know?” Nikto flickers his eyes to stare, but he says nothing until he returns to his job a long, heated, minute later, his hand flexing over the handle of his whisk. You hear the small vibration of a grunt. The smell of yeast is in the air, mixing and swelling when the meat is added to a pan with the cabbage, mushrooms, and potatoes that had been brought to a boil prior. 

It made your stomach roll like a lava field—and you pushed out through a tight throat, “How many calories are in this?”

“Not important,” Nikto says, turning on the oven. “You will eat.”

Your tongue licks your lips, trying to taste the food in the air like a snake would; head shaking. God, that smelled good.

“It’s…not that simple, Big Guy.” Nikto scoffs. 

“You will like it. Easy dish.” You roll your eyes and let yourself acknowledge how tired you feel and it isn’t even that late into the afternoon. 

Nikto stirs the food, and you watch him break a piece of meat and check the color to see if it’s ready—you’re just about to tell him about the food thermometer in the drawer, but the words fizzle away. 

The man hums in approval and takes the pan off the heat. 

Yet the grand revelation of his ability to see in more than black and white was hurriedly cut short by the buzzing of your phone in your pants, and your slackened face is snapped away at least for a moment, though your mind runs. You peel the device out with an unsteady hand, flipping it over to stare at the text from your mother through tight revelation.

‘The investigators couldn’t find any fingerprints. They said they need more. Galina relayed that your manager wasn’t in his office when the package showed up. No one knows where it came from or who could have gotten in without being noticed by the cameras. They’ll both call you in the morning to explain.’

Your disappointments keep stacking up and up, and this just takes the cake. 

“You were right,” you tell Nikto as he folds dough and stuffs the filling in. He glances over with a twinkle in his eye. “No fingerprints.” 

“Cameras?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary. I’m getting a call in the morning.” The soldier clicks his tongue at that, moving back to grab an oven-safe vessel. You think about mentioning his ability to see color, but with how he was freely speaking to you, you thought it wrong to potentially make him shut down as he had in the elevator and at the store. 

Nikto was intent on being a brick wall.

“Loops, Girl.” He snarls. “There was none of this in my employment. We were told to shoot, we shoot.”

“I think there would be a bigger problem if you went on a killing spree, Nikto,” you half-heartedly tease, feeling worn out. “But I guess I agree with you on that.”

“Perfect. You see sense, finally.” Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but you swear you saw his eyes flicker with amusement. 

“Don’t let your head get too big,” you grumble, finishing off the last of your drink and swirling the remnants of its dark color at the bottom of your glass. “I can barely take your attitude as it is.”

“Our pride is good trait.” He lets the food cook, walking over and putting his humongous hands on the counter, either side of the cutting board from prior. Nikto looks down at you as you stare up, wanting to peel back his brain and see what is under there—a monster? Or a scarred man? 

If there was a harsh mixture of both, you’re sure that would be the answer. 

“Makes us strong.”

“Headstrong, yes,” you smirk, pointing at his chest. He scoffs, head pulling back for a moment in a rare animated display as his eyes narrow. 

“You are certainly not from Russia, Woman.” 

You raise your empty glass in your joking toast, heart beating just the tiniest bit more calm. 

“Certainly not.” Nikto barks that hyena chuckle and flicks the item with a finger, making it ping for a moment as you chuckle before setting it down to the side and sliding it away. 

“Thank you for cooking, I haven’t had a good meal in a while.”

The man hums, looking away as if not able to comprehend a kind expression freely given to him. Your heart swoons. “You have not eaten it yet,” he reminds. 

“That doesn’t mean it isn’t good.” You smile honestly at him. “I bet it’s fantastic.”

Nikto’s fingers flicker over the counter, twitching back in for a moment. But he does meet your stare, inspecting every piece of your face for a long, pulse-pounding moment. Electricity is in the air, and you don’t know if you’re the only one to feel it or not. 

You hope you’re not.

You said you wouldn’t get involved, you remind yourself, but the inner voice is tiny now. He’s not Yefim, you placate it for now with a honied vision of fake domestically with a wolf.

Nikto was the complete opposite of Yefim. 

An angel to a devil, a saint to a sinner. These men were taking over your thoughts in a ravaging war of memory and duty. Yet now…now you might have an answer as to why.

Nikto’s eyes narrow on you slowly, horribly scarred digit tapping the material under it before he clears his throat raggedly. You like his scars. 

“It will be done soon.” 

The man turns and begins cleaning up, and you ease out with a small laugh, “Are you sure you don’t want an apron?”

His annoyed growl returns, and you find you haven’t thought of Sergi or his strange behavior in a good while. 

When the food is ready, you take a single fluffy bun and put it on your plate while Nikto takes six. You have to appreciate his appetite, at least, hearing him sigh low at the small of his creation. But before he leaves to take off his mask and eat by himself, he motions a stiff hand.

“Eat.” 

You laugh, “Nikto, come on.” He isn’t laughing; isn’t blinking. Your throat bobs with a swallow, suddenly nervous. Your head moves to what you would have to cut back on later today as the scent of fresh bread and filling fills your senses.

You wanted to eat this, but you felt guilty about it. 

One bite, you tell yourself. One bite isn’t bad. 

The lack of food, and yet the temptation of it, infected your blood as Nikto watched you pick the Pirozhki up and bring it to your lips, teeth biting down into ashy cushioning before the salt of the meat and the other ingredients coated your mouth. 

Your stomach sinks. 

It was damn near heavenly.

You chew quickly as if your body is fighting itself to have you swallow it down. “It's good,” you lick your lips, hand already moving to bring it back up before you stop yourself with tension in your bones. 

“It’s,” you say again, shifting your feet from under you as you stand near the oven. “It’s very good, Nikto. Just like I thought it would be.” 

Those pale eyes, unblinking, flick down to the bun in your hand. 

“...Hearty meal,” he explains, picking up his plate. “Eat as many as you wish, yes?”

He disappears up to his room, and you hear the door shut moments later. You watch the stairs blankly, unconsciously bringing the food to your lips and nibbling on the corner of your bite.

He was a good cook—this could end up being a problem. You already had a hard time looking at yourself in the mirror; add in meals that hold higher numbers? Your esophagus was already closing in on itself. It wasn’t just as simple as telling someone to eat, especially as a model. 

You did eat, but it all was leveled and stacked. There was a limit you needed to keep. 

But, hell, this was truly delicious.

In the time you spend in the kitchen, gorging yourself with half a mind to stop and the other egging you to keep going, you think. And you wonder.

Nikto had found his soulmate. 

Could that be the reason for your attraction? For your wandering thoughts? It had to be, you reason. No one had ever caught your eye like him—the way you had become so comfortable and felt so safe around him despite his appearance and attitude. It had to be. 

Your face stills.

So why hadn’t he told you?

You mull over your racing brain, your heart skipping beats. The two of you are oblivious in opposite corners of your penthouse; your minds on the other.

Downstairs, having been sneakily placed inside your jacket pocket hours before, lays the paper envelope of a hand-written letter. 

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