#I was going to say 'I was drawn this way' but that's false

[perdidosbucky-yyo]

OHMYGOOOOOOD

Thank God this wasn't as sad as the others 😭 I needed a break from crying.

"Maybe it’s fate," she joked, but her tone had a hint of seriousness.

The way I almost screamed bc IT IS FATE 🥺🩷

Logan followed without complaint, falling into step beside you as you made your way to the car. The streets were quieter than usual, but the tension between rival families was palpable—something was brewing, and everyone knew it.

Istg when I read this I was so sure y/n would end up with a bullet between her eyes, that's how scared I am😂

You laughed, standing up and dusting your hands off. “Sorry to disappoint. I’ve got a weakness for strays.”

Logan being the ultimate stray😅🤭 she's always drawn to him

Mr. Russo gave Logan a once-over, then grinned, his false teeth gleaming. “You any good at cards, tough guy?”

This was so precious to me!! Logan playing cards with y/n and her friends ❤️

“Yeah?” You took a step closer, crossing your arms with a playful grin. “And here I thought I’d be driving you crazy.”

“You do,” he murmured, almost too quietly. His lips turned up slightly, but he looked away, that unspoken wall going back up.

This has so many meanings, not only flirting but I can imagine after over 100 years loving and losing the same person over and over, that would definitely drive him crazy

You glanced down the hall and shrugged. “Guess I can live with that. For now.”

Logan’s lips twitched, just barely. “For now,” he echoed, and there was something heavier in those words, something he wasn’t sharing.

MY HEART ACHED💔💔💔💔

The kiss was desperate, wild, like he was making up for lost time. His lips claimed yours with a roughness that sent a shiver down your spine, his hands moving to cradle your face, pulling you closer as if he couldn’t stand the distance. You gasped against his mouth, your fingers finding their way into his hair, tugging him down harder.

Logan groaned into your mouth, a deep, almost pained sound, and the desperation in it made your blood race. He kissed you like he was starving, like he needed this, needed you, and you felt your body melt into him.

Omfg I've never seen them so passionate it's making me feel things 😮‍💨 the smut was perfect balance of passion and desperation

And this time, he was determined to make it last as long as he could. Maybe, just maybe, even put that ring to use.

Screaming crying throwing up 😭🥺🥺🥺 bc I desperately need to see when he proposes but I can't even imagine how it would go

You felt a surge of affection for him then, this man who’d somehow become both your protector and your closest confidant. He was rough around the edges, guarded and distant with everyone else—but with you, he was different. You brought out a softness in him, a warmth that felt as though it had been buried for a long, long time.

This might be one of the best dialogues I've read, bc it's so true 🥺 for decades this man has tried everything in his power to cherish and protect the love of his life, she's the only one that brings out a resemblance of peace on him😭💔

Logan’s gaze darkened. “It’s not. You know that. And anyone who tries to take it without your say? They got me to deal with.” His voice was low and dangerous, a promise just for you.

Forever obsessed with this story and the way he will do anything to help and adore y/n❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

i love you, in every time ࿐‧₊ 1973 - we meet again my dear...

chapter summary: After leaving Team X behind, Logan finds himself back in New York City working as a bodyguard for various people. Until he finds himself acting as a bodyguard for you, a mobster's daughter.

word count: 18.3k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: i'm a sucker for the bodyguard trope (and also just dofp logan in general, that man makes me go feral), so you know i had to do it when given the chance! i had so much fun writing this version of reader, especially because this is the closest to 'modern' times that we've gotten and i didn't have to do a ton of research about this year. the tags might give away a little bit of the plot, but i promise it's gonna be a fun ride ;)

warnings/tags: fluff, angst, 70s!logan, mafia/mob, implied age gap, flirting, smut, thigh riding, unprotected piv, creampie, arranged marriage

series masterlist - chapter 4 → chapter 6

He left Stryker, Victor, and Team X behind, settling in New York City as a bodyguard, hired by various people: politicians, the mafia, anyone.

Logan was now getting his fifth job, protecting a mobster’s young daughter.

He was used to jobs like this by now, but something about this one felt... different. As he walked through the large estate, the details blurred around him. His focus was on the job—until the moment he saw you.

You were standing by the window, the sunlight filtering through the curtains, casting a soft glow over your face. There was something familiar about the way you held yourself, the way your hair fell over your shoulders. For a second, it felt like the air was sucked out of the room.

Logan’s chest tightened.

It was you.

Same face. Same presence. Same pull that had haunted him for over a century.

But you were different, too. This time, you weren’t a schoolteacher, a nurse, or a coal miner’s wife. You were his new job.

You turned, eyes meeting his, and for a brief moment, it felt like you recognized him too. That sense of familiarity flickered across your face before you smiled—polite, but distant.

“Y/N, this is Logan,” the mobster—your father—introduced. “He’ll be your new bodyguard.”

Your father’s voice faded into the background as Logan’s gaze remained locked on you. You gave a small nod, extending your hand. “Nice to meet you, Logan.”

Logan stared at your hand for a beat too long before taking it. That brief contact sent a shock through him, an old memory he couldn’t quite shake.

“Likewise,” he muttered, his voice rougher than he intended.

Your father clapped Logan on the back. “I expect you’ll keep her safe. There’s been some... tension with a rival family.”

Logan only nodded, but his attention stayed on you. You were right in front of him, alive. But you didn’t know him. Like always.

After your father left the room, you leaned against the window frame, crossing your arms. “So, how long have you been doing this?” you asked, your tone casual.

Logan leaned against the wall, watching you closely. “Long enough.”

You raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth. “That’s vague.”

He didn’t respond, and for a moment, silence settled between you two. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but there was something unsaid hanging in the air.

“What about you?” Logan asked, more to fill the space than out of curiosity. “How do you feel about having a bodyguard?”

You shrugged. “I’ve had worse.”

That earned a faint, almost imperceptible smile from Logan, but he quickly covered it with a grunt. “Glad to hear it.”

A pause. Then you looked at him, your eyes narrowing slightly, like you were trying to figure him out. “You seem... familiar.”

Logan stiffened. “Don’t think we’ve met before.”

You tilted your head, studying him. “No, but... I don’t know. Something about you.”

Logan’s heart pounded in his chest, but he kept his expression neutral. He couldn’t tell you. Not about the past lives, not about how many times he had watched you die.

You shrugged it off, smiling again. “Maybe I’m just imagining things.”

“Maybe,” Logan muttered, not meeting your eyes this time.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of introductions, schedules, and instructions from your father. Logan followed at a distance, keeping an eye on you, but his mind was elsewhere.

That night, Logan sat on the balcony just outside your room, staring out at the city lights. His thoughts raced, the weight of the engagement ring in his pocket feeling heavier than usual.

You were alive. Again.

But for how long this time?

---

You plopped onto your bed, the wire from your rotary phone stretching with you, “he is good looking though.”

You could practically hear Jennifer’s grin through the phone, “oh, yeah? Man, all your bodyguards are good looking. It’s not fair!”

You laughed, twirling the phone cord between your fingers. "He’s… different though. I can’t quite put my finger on it. He’s quiet, but not in the usual 'I’m-paid-to-watch-you' way."

"Is he mysterious?" Jennifer teased, her voice light. "Maybe he’s got some dark, brooding backstory. Mob families always hire guys like that—‘strong and silent.’"

You snorted. "Maybe. But he’s not like the others." You hesitated, leaning back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling. “There’s something familiar about him… like I’ve met him before.”

Jennifer paused on the other end of the line, then her voice softened. "You think he’s one of your dad’s guys from back in the day?"

You shook your head, even though she couldn’t see it. "No, it’s not that. It’s… weird, Jen. Like I know him, but I don’t. It’s been bugging me since I met him."

"Maybe it’s fate," she joked, but her tone had a hint of seriousness. "You’ve been going through bodyguards like they’re tissues. Maybe this one’s here to stick around."

You rolled your eyes but smiled. "Fate? You’ve been reading too many romance novels."

"Hey, a girl can dream!" Jennifer laughed. "But seriously, if you feel something, maybe it’s worth looking into. He’s hot, right?"

You smiled at that, though your thoughts wandered back to Logan. The way his eyes lingered on you, like he was seeing something no one else could. "Yeah," you admitted softly. "He’s definitely that. He’s probably as old as my dad or somethin’. But man, Jen, if you saw him you’d lose your mind.”

You twirled the phone cord around your finger, still smiling to yourself, but your thoughts kept circling back to Logan. Something about the way he looked at you—like he knew more than he was saying—stuck with you. It wasn’t creepy or overprotective. It was... familiar. Comforting, even.

Jennifer’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. “Hey, don’t overthink it, okay? Enjoy the view for once. Not everyone gets a hot bodyguard with a mysterious vibe. Maybe he’s the silver lining to your dad’s whole ‘paranoia’ problem.”

You laughed quietly. “Yeah, maybe.”

You hung up not long after, still feeling the weight of that odd, lingering sense of déjà vu.

---

The next morning, Logan was waiting for you downstairs. Dressed in his usual dark clothes, he stood near the front door with his hands in his pockets, posture relaxed but alert. His eyes flicked toward you the second you entered the room.

There it was again—that heavy gaze that made it feel like he could see right through you.

“Mornin’,” you said, offering a small smile.

“Mornin’,” Logan replied, his voice gravelly.

Your father wasn’t home—out dealing with ‘business’—which gave you a rare moment to yourself. Well, mostly. You slipped on your leather jacket and glanced at Logan, your lips quirking up in a teasing grin. “What’s the plan, bodyguard? Gonna follow me around all day?”

Logan grunted, something close to amusement flashing in his eyes. “That’s the job.”

“You always this chatty?”

“Only when I meet interesting people.” His tone was dry, but there was the faintest flicker of a smile beneath it.

You snorted, heading for the door. “C’mon, hope you like running errands.”

Logan followed without complaint, falling into step beside you as you made your way to the car. The streets were quieter than usual, but the tension between rival families was palpable—something was brewing, and everyone knew it.

Still, Logan’s presence made you feel... safer. Like nothing bad could happen as long as he was there. It was strange. You barely knew him, but being around him felt easy. Natural. Like you’d known him for a lot longer than a day.

---

When you said you were going to run ‘errands,’ Logan hadn’t expected you to walk straight into an animal shelter. He followed you through the entrance, nodding politely at the woman at the front desk as you greeted her like an old friend.

“Morning, Lorraine!” you said with a bright smile.

Lorraine, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes, smiled back. “There’s my favorite troublemaker. The pups will be glad to see you.” She cast a curious glance at Logan. “And who’s this?”

“My latest babysitter,” you said with a smirk, glancing at Logan. “Logan, meet Lorraine. Lorraine, Logan.”

Logan gave a curt nod. “Ma’am.”

Lorraine chuckled. “A man of few words. I like him already.” She waved you both toward the back. “Go on, they’ve been waiting for you.”

As soon as you walked past the front desk and entered the back area, the sound of excited barking filled the air. Dogs of all sizes pressed their noses against the bars of their cages, tails wagging furiously at the sight of you.

You crouched down in front of one of the kennels, talking softly to a scruffy little mutt as it whined and pawed at the bars. “Hey, buddy. Miss me?”

Logan leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching the way you scratched behind the dog's ears. There was something easy about the way you moved here, something soft. For a mobster’s kid, you had a surprisingly gentle touch.

"Didn't expect this to be part of the job," Logan muttered after a moment, his voice low but teasing.

You glanced up, grinning. "What, thought I’d be shopping for fur coats or shaking people down for cash?"

Logan raised a brow. "Somethin’ like that."

You laughed, standing up and dusting your hands off. “Sorry to disappoint. I’ve got a weakness for strays.” You reached into your jacket pocket and pulled out a small bag of treats, tossing some into the kennels. "These guys have it rough enough without me skipping out on them."

Logan watched as the dogs practically fought over the treats, barking happily at your attention. You moved from cage to cage, giving each dog a little affection. It was... unexpected.

Logan watched you toss the last treat into one of the kennels, the scruffy mutt practically vibrating with happiness. He leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, an amused glint in his eyes as you turned and dusted your hands off with a grin.

"You’re full of surprises," Logan muttered.

You raised an eyebrow, smirking as you folded your arms. “Oh, yeah? Disappointed?”

"Not exactly." His lips twitched, like he was fighting a smile.

You took a step closer, tilting your head. "Well, what did you expect?"

Logan shrugged, keeping his expression neutral. "Spoiled. Entitled. Maybe a little dangerous."

You laughed, the sound light and easy, and Logan’s chest tightened in a way that felt too familiar. "Dangerous, huh? Guess I’ve got some layers." You gave him a playful once-over. "What about you? Big, scary bodyguard with a brooding vibe. Got any surprises I should know about?"

Logan snorted. "Not really."

You narrowed your eyes like you didn’t quite believe him, but instead of pressing, you motioned toward the door. "C’mon. I’ve got one more stop."

Logan fell into step beside you as you exited the shelter and made your way toward the car. You chatted casually, filling the silence with stories about your favorite dogs at the shelter. But Logan stayed mostly quiet, his mind racing. It wasn’t just your voice—it was you. The way you carried yourself, the way you teased him like it was second nature.

He stole a glance at you as you drove. God, it felt the same as always. Like gravity pulled him toward you whether he wanted it or not.

---

Logan should’ve expected the second time around that you weren’t taking him to a normal place for errands. He was even more surprised when you parked in a nursing home parking lot and got out with that same pep in your step.

The sliding doors opened as you walked up to the front counter, where a middle-aged woman with tired eyes peered over the top of a blocky computer monitor. Her name tag read Carol.

“Morning, Carol,” you chirped with an easy smile, tapping your fingers on the desk.

Carol looked up and brightened at the sight of you. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite visitor. Here to cheer up the old-timers again?”

“Always,” you said, flashing a grin. “And I brought backup today.” You gestured behind you to Logan, who gave a brief nod.

Carol gave him a once-over and arched an eyebrow. “Well now, you didn’t tell me you’d be bringing a tall drink of water.”

You smirked, glancing over your shoulder at Logan. “Yeah, figured I’d mix things up.”

Logan just grunted in response, but the corner of his mouth twitched slightly—half amusement, half something else. Carol winked at you before waving toward the hallway. “You know where to find them.”

You led Logan down the hall, your steps light and familiar as if you'd been coming here for years. He followed quietly, his sharp gaze flicking between doorways and hallways, always alert.

“You spend a lot of time here?” Logan asked as you slowed near a door marked Activity Room.

You shrugged. “Yeah. Most of these folks don’t get many visitors. It’s nice to stop by and remind them they’re not forgotten.”

Logan gave a small grunt of acknowledgment. It was such a simple thing—volunteering at a nursing home—but it hit him hard. It was just like you to find the overlooked parts of the world and give them your attention, like the dogs at the shelter, like the people here. You always had that streak of kindness, no matter which life you were living.

You nudged open the door, stepping into the room. A group of residents sat in mismatched chairs, some knitting, others half-watching a daytime soap on an old television. At the sight of you, faces lit up.

“There she is!” one of the older women called, setting her knitting aside with a delighted clap of her hands. “I thought you forgot about us!”

“As if I ever could,” you replied warmly, walking over to give her a light hug.

Logan lingered near the doorway, watching as you moved through the room like you belonged there, chatting with each resident, asking about their week, their families—if they remembered them. His heart twisted, both with admiration and an ache that wouldn’t quit.

You noticed him standing off to the side and shot him a teasing grin. “Don’t be shy, Logan. They won’t bite.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Not worried about them.”

You laughed, turning back to an older man with a deck of cards spread out in front of him. “Logan, meet Mr. Russo. He’s got a mean poker face.”

Mr. Russo gave Logan a once-over, then grinned, his false teeth gleaming. “You any good at cards, tough guy?”

Logan shrugged. “I can hold my own.”

You slid into the chair beside Mr. Russo, motioning for Logan to join you. “Care to test your luck?”

Logan hesitated for only a moment before pulling out a chair, the legs scraping against the linoleum. As he sat down, you dealt him a hand, your fingers brushing his in the process—a fleeting touch, but enough to send a jolt of familiarity through both of you.

You caught Logan’s gaze over the cards, a flicker of something unspoken passing between you. There it was again—that sense that you knew him somehow, though you couldn’t quite place it. It nagged at you, but you let it pass, offering him a playful smirk instead.

“Careful,” you warned. “I don’t go easy on anyone.”

Logan returned the smirk, something dangerous glinting in his eyes. “Neither do I.”

---

After the game, which you won—barely, you said your goodbyes to the residents, promising to visit again soon. Logan followed silently as you made your way back to the car, the soft clinking of your keys the only sound between you.

“Not what you expected for today, huh?” you asked as you slid into the driver’s seat.

Logan leaned against the car door, arms crossed. “Not exactly.”

You smiled, starting the engine. “Bet you thought being a mobster’s kid would be more... glamorous.”

“Something like that.” He gave you a sidelong glance. “You like keeping people guessing, don’t you?”

You grinned, shifting the car into drive. “It’s one of my many talents.”

The two of you drove in companionable silence, the hum of the city filling the space between you. Logan rested his elbow on the window frame, glancing at you every so often. You were like a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve—different from the others, yet still unmistakably you.

“Why do you do it?” he asked after a while. “The shelter, the nursing home. You don’t have to.”

You shrugged, your expression thoughtful. "Dunno. Just because I was born into this life doesn’t mean I like what my dad does. I guess sometimes I feel like I’m tryin’ to balance the scales."

Logan leaned back against the seat, his sharp gaze on you, but he didn’t respond right away. You could tell he was chewing on that—probably picking apart your words, trying to figure you out. He always seemed like the kind of man who noticed everything, even if he didn’t say much about it.

You flashed him a teasing grin, trying to lighten the mood. "What about you? Any skeletons in the closet? Or are you just a man of mystery with perfect timing?"

Logan snorted softly, his lips twitching in that almost-smile he had. "I’m no mystery. Just do my job."

"Oh, come on," you pressed, throwing him a playful look. "You gotta give me something. Favorite food? Ever been married? Deep, dark secret?"

He gave you a sidelong glance, amused but guarded. "Steak. No. And not a chance."

You huffed in mock disappointment, drumming your fingers on the steering wheel. "You’re no fun, Logan."

"Never said I was," he muttered, but there was warmth in his tone, like he didn’t mind your teasing at all.

The conversation paused for a moment, the soft hum of the engine filling the space between you. Logan’s eyes lingered on you a little longer than they probably should have—taking in the curve of your smile, the way your fingers tapped a rhythm on the wheel.

And damn, if you didn’t make it hard to stay detached. You were so... alive. Every glance, every smile, every little laugh. You carried yourself like someone who knew how fleeting things could be—and even though Logan knew you couldn’t remember, he remembered every time you’d slipped through his fingers. That thought settled heavy in his chest, like a weight he carried everywhere.

You shot him a grin. "You know, if you keep looking at me like that, I’m gonna think you’re interested."

Logan’s lips twitched. "What makes you think I’m not?"

The boldness of his response caught you off guard for a second, but you recovered quickly, leaning a little closer, eyes glinting with mischief. "Careful, tough guy. You’re supposed to be protecting me, not flirting with me."

"Who says I can’t do both?" His voice was low, rough, and it sent a small shiver down your spine.

You tilted your head, pretending to consider it. "I think my dad might disagree."

Logan’s eyes darkened slightly, though his expression didn’t change. "Your dad’s not here."

There it was—that pull again, the quiet, unspoken gravity between the two of you. It was like standing on the edge of something dangerous and thrilling all at once. You felt it in the way his gaze lingered, in the weight of his words. He wasn’t just playing along.

You cleared your throat, breaking the tension with a teasing smile. "Well, if you’re planning on making a move, Logan, you better make it good. I’ve got high standards, y’know."

Logan let out a low chuckle—quiet, but genuine—and for a moment, you thought you saw something softer in his eyes. Something like... affection.

But just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by that familiar guarded expression.

"Noted," he muttered, shifting his gaze back to the road ahead.

You grinned, satisfied that you’d managed to chip away at his walls, even if only a little.

---

The two of you finished your errands without any trouble, stopping by a grocery store for some essentials and grabbing a late lunch at a small diner tucked away from the main streets. It wasn’t much—just burgers and fries—but sitting across from Logan in the booth, you felt surprisingly content.

He was quiet most of the time, but not in a way that felt awkward. It was... comfortable. Like he didn’t need to fill the silence just for the sake of it. And every now and then, he’d throw out a dry, sarcastic comment that made you laugh harder than you expected.

You leaned back in the booth, sipping your soda and watching him over the rim of your glass. "Y’know, Logan... you’re not half as scary as you look."

Logan raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly. "Disappointed?"

"Not at all," you replied, your smile turning a little softer. "I like surprises."

He held your gaze for a moment, something unreadable flickering behind those sharp blue eyes. And for a second—just a second—you thought maybe, just maybe, there was something familiar about the way he looked at you. Like you were more than just a job to him.

But before you could dwell on it, Logan glanced at his watch and cleared his throat. "We should head back. Your old man’ll be expecting you."

You sighed dramatically, sliding out of the booth. "Guess my fun’s over."

Logan chuckled, tossing a few bills on the table for the check. "For now."

You gave him a playful nudge as you walked past him toward the door. "Don’t sound too excited."

---

By the time you got back to the house, the sun was starting to dip below the horizon, casting the streets in a soft orange glow. Logan followed you inside, his quiet presence grounding you in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

"Thanks for today," you said, tossing your jacket onto a chair.

Logan gave a small nod, leaning against the wall near the door. "No problem."

You hesitated for a moment, then shot him one last grin. "You know, you’re not as bad as I thought."

"Same to you," he replied, that almost-smile creeping back onto his face.

And just like that, the unspoken connection between you simmered beneath the surface, waiting.

Maybe Logan was right. Maybe your dad would be pissed if he knew how much you enjoyed your new bodyguard’s company.

But standing there, watching Logan’s gaze linger on you for just a beat too long, you found you didn’t care all that much.

"Goodnight, Logan," you said softly, turning toward the stairs.

"Goodnight, Y/N," he replied, his voice low and steady.

And as you climbed the stairs, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t the first time you’d said goodnight to him like this.

Not by a long shot.

---

Your dad told you not to leave the house today, which was fine by you, you had laundry to do anyways.

It had become habit to do your own laundry, even if you did have maids around the house. Nancy, one of the older maids, was the one to teach you that, along with cooking and cleaning since your mother has been gone since you were little.

You had a radio set on the washer, the familiar croon of 70s tunes filling the small laundry room as you pulled warm clothes from the dryer into a basket. You’d been at it for the better part of the morning, the simple domestic task giving you a sense of normalcy. The soft hum of the machines, the crackling radio, and the scent of clean laundry— it was all routine.

Routine helped keep your mind off the storm brewing outside your little bubble.

You sighed, swaying your hips a bit to the music as you lifted the basket. The house felt quieter today, with your dad off dealing with ‘business’ as usual. And Logan? He was somewhere nearby, probably lurking in the shadows like the brooding protector he was.

As if on cue, Logan appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed. He was dressed in his usual dark clothing, looking as stoic as ever. You wondered if he ever wore anything other than flannels and a leather jacket.

"You know, I didn’t take you for the laundry-doing type," he remarked, his gravelly voice cutting through the music.

You raised an eyebrow, throwing a playful glance over your shoulder. "What, you think I’m too spoiled to do my own chores?"

Logan's lips twitched, almost forming a smile. "Something like that."

You smirked, grabbing the laundry basket and turning to face him. "I like to surprise people."

"You’re good at it," he replied, his gaze lingering a little longer than usual. There was something behind those eyes, something deeper, but as always, he kept it hidden beneath that calm, impenetrable exterior.

You tilted your head, leaning your hip against the dryer. "You sticking around or just checking on me?"

Logan shrugged, though his eyes never left yours. "Just making sure you're not running off anywhere. Your dad was pretty clear about staying put."

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips softened the gesture. "I’ll be a good girl. Promise."

Logan grunted in response, pushing off the doorframe and walking closer. "You’re a lot of things, Y/N. Not sure ‘good girl’ is one of them."

You let out a laugh, swatting at him with a towel. "Hey, I can behave when I want to. It’s just more fun not to."

He caught your wrist with ease, holding it for a second too long before letting go. There was that familiar tension between you again, the unspoken something that crackled in the air whenever the two of you were close. He probably didn't mean to linger, but you could feel it—that pull.

"Maybe it’s the company," you teased, grabbing your laundry basket. "You bring out the best in me."

Logan didn’t respond immediately, but there was something in his eyes, something that made your breath hitch. He was quiet, but not in the usual way bodyguards were. With Logan, there was a weight to his silence, like he was always holding back, always watching.

You pushed past the lingering tension with a grin, heading toward the door with your laundry. "Come on, broody. Let’s get out of the laundry room before we both go stir-crazy."

As you passed by, you brushed against him—just lightly, but enough to send a small jolt through you. He didn’t move, but his eyes followed your every step, that silent intensity never wavering.

You stopped in the hallway and shot him a look over your shoulder. “You’re making this way too serious, you know. I’m doing laundry, not sneaking out of prison.”

“Old habits die hard,” he replied, crossing his arms with a slight smirk. “Besides, I think your dad’s idea of ‘safe’ is pretty different from yours.”

You rolled your eyes, hugging the laundry basket closer. “Right. Next, he’ll say I need an escort to the mailbox.”

Logan raised a brow, clearly amused. “You wouldn’t be the first.”

That earned him a laugh, and you shook your head, settling the basket on the table in the hall. “Guess you’re stuck with me then, bodyguard.”

“Doesn’t seem so bad,” he said, his voice softening as he glanced at you. His gaze was familiar in a way you couldn’t place, like he’d looked at you this way a hundred times before.

“Yeah?” You took a step closer, crossing your arms with a playful grin. “And here I thought I’d be driving you crazy.”

“You do,” he murmured, almost too quietly. His lips turned up slightly, but he looked away, that unspoken wall going back up.

“Good,” you teased, reaching out to poke him in the chest. “Keeps things interesting.”

Logan caught your hand before you could pull it back, holding it just long enough that you could feel the warmth of his touch, the quiet strength in it. There was something in his eyes that hinted at… more. Like he’d known you far longer than you could’ve ever guessed.

“Is that what you want?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart thumped, but you kept your tone light. “Depends on what you’re offering, doesn’t it?”

His gaze dropped to your hand, still caught in his. He let go, but there was something in his expression that lingered. It was like he was searching for the right words, something he couldn’t quite say. Or maybe didn’t want to.

Instead, he settled back with that guarded look. “Better get used to me being around,” he said, nodding toward the front of the house. “Your dad won’t have it any other way.”

You glanced down the hall and shrugged. “Guess I can live with that. For now.”

Logan’s lips twitched, just barely. “For now,” he echoed, and there was something heavier in those words, something he wasn’t sharing.

You lingered for a moment, the silence stretching between you, before you picked up the basket again. “Well, I’ve got more laundry to fold. But if you feel like helping out…”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Nice try, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes, shooting him a wink. “Fine. I’ll let you off easy this time.”

“Appreciate it,” he said with a smirk, but his eyes softened as he watched you turn to go, like he was holding back something he couldn’t quite name.

As you walked away, the light-heartedness of the moment stayed with you, but so did something else. It was that look Logan had, the one that made you feel seen, like he knew you better than anyone else ever had.

Maybe he did.

Or maybe, in some impossible way, he always had.

---

“No, no, no, cara. Give it to me.” Nancy took the mixing bowl away from you, stirring the batter while muttering something in Italian.

You leaned your hip against the counter, placing your head on Nancy’s shoulder with a pout. "I was doing what you’re doing.”

Nancy shook her head, stirring the batter with a practiced hand, her warm, familiar presence comforting. “No, cara mia, you were doing what you think I’m doing.” She shot you a look, one of those fond, chiding glances she’d perfected over the years. “And it was not the same.”

You laughed, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Fine, but you’re teaching me bad habits. This is how I stay spoiled, you know.”

She chuckled, patting your cheek affectionately. “You think you need me to be spoiled? You do just fine on your own.”

Before you could respond, Logan’s familiar silhouette appeared in the doorway. He leaned against the frame, watching you with a slight smirk that was becoming all too familiar—and endearing.

“Careful, Nancy,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “She’s already hard enough to handle.”

You turned, hands on your hips, feigning offense. “Excuse me, hard to handle?”

Logan shrugged, crossing his arms with a smirk. “You said it, not me.”

Nancy chuckled, eyes sparkling as she looked between you and Logan. “Ah, Y/N, he’s right. You do have a little spirit.”

You scoffed playfully, giving Logan an exaggerated glare before grinning back at Nancy. “What? I’m an angel, and you know it.”

Logan snorted, clearly enjoying himself. “Right. A real saint.” He gave you a knowing look, one that made your stomach flip despite yourself. That unspoken energy simmered between you two, even as you tried to keep it casual.

Nancy just shook her head, muttering something in Italian as she set the bowl down. “Angels don’t cause so much trouble,” she teased, pinching your cheek. “I taught you better.”

You rubbed your cheek with a grin, leaning back against the counter. “I’m blaming Logan. His bad influence must be rubbing off on me.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “That right? Thought you didn’t need any help there.”

“Oh, I don’t,” you said, crossing your arms with a challenging look. “I’m fully capable of trouble on my own.”

Nancy watched the two of you with a satisfied smile, turning back to her baking. “Ah, I see,” she murmured, her voice light. “It’s good to have someone who knows how to keep you in check.”

The glint in her eye wasn’t lost on you, and you rolled your eyes. “You’re making it sound like I’m some kind of wild child.”

“No, no,” she replied with a grin, waving her hand. “Just that I think he knows you better than you think, cara.”

Logan’s gaze softened a little at that, and though he didn’t say anything, his look lingered, as if he were silently agreeing with her.

You cleared your throat, feeling the familiar warmth creeping up your neck. “Well,” you started, trying to brush off the moment, “if Logan’s going to stick around, he might as well help.”

Nancy gave a sly smile, turning to Logan. “What do you say, Logan? A little kitchen work wouldn’t hurt.”

Logan shook his head, holding his hands up in surrender. “You two are doing just fine without me.”

You shot him a grin, taking a step closer. “Oh, come on. Big, tough Logan afraid of a little flour?”

His smirk softened as he looked down at you. “You keep pushing, and I might just teach you a lesson in troublemaking.”

Your stomach fluttered at the way his gaze stayed locked on yours, that familiar pull tugging you closer. “Is that a threat?”

“Call it… a warning,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. His hand brushed against yours, just for a second, but it was enough to send a spark up your arm.

Nancy cleared her throat, clearly amused. “Okay, okay. I don’t need you two making a mess of my kitchen.”

You stepped back, giving Nancy a sheepish smile, and Logan chuckled, the sound low and easy. “She’s right,” he said, nodding toward the door. “Guess I’ll just keep an eye on you from a safe distance.”

Nancy gave him a knowing look, shaking her head with a chuckle. “If only it were that simple.”

---

“Ah, stay still, cara.” Nancy chided you, taking out a roller from your hair.

You gave Nancy a pout, eyes skimming your reflection in the mirror with clear discontent. "I don’t like it." Your voice held more weight than just the hair and makeup, though, and Nancy seemed to pick up on it.

She clicked her tongue, smoothing out a curl before looking at you through the mirror. “Ah, cara mia, tonight is important to your father. Besides,” she added, eyes glinting, “you look beautiful, yes?”

You gave her a half-hearted smile, brushing your hands over the bright yellow fabric of your dress. The dress was elegant and too formal for your taste, the kind of thing you’d never have chosen if it weren’t for your dad’s insistence on making you ‘presentable’ for his associates.

Nancy sighed, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Y/N, it’s one night. Then you’ll be back to your regular clothes, hmm?”

You grinned, rolling your eyes. “Can’t come soon enough.”

Just as you were about to add more, there was a quiet knock at the door. You looked up, already expecting Logan’s familiar silhouette. He leaned against the frame, hands in his pockets, his usual air of calm doing little to hide the intense look in his eyes as he took in the sight of you in the dress.

“Looks like they’ve got you all dolled up,” he remarked, a faint smirk playing on his lips.

You shot him a look, half annoyed, half amused. “Yeah, laugh it up, tough guy. Bet you’re glad it’s not you in this thing.”

Logan chuckled, stepping further into the room. “You could say that.” His eyes met yours, and for a brief second, there was something in his gaze, something you couldn’t quite put into words. But just as quickly, he looked away.

Nancy gave you a knowing smile, patting your shoulder before stepping back. “Logan,” she said, with a gentle warning in her voice, “take care of her tonight, yes?”

Logan’s expression softened, his gaze turning protective as he looked at you. “Always do.”

Nancy winked, then left the room, leaving you alone with him.

You let out a sigh, reaching for the hem of your dress as if you could somehow make it less constricting. “Do I really have to go down there?”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “You think your dad’s throwing this party for fun? Whole point is for you to be seen.”

“Great,” you muttered, moving toward the door. But as you passed him, Logan placed a hand on your shoulder, stopping you.

“You’ll be fine,” he said, his voice lower, more reassuring. “They’re not expecting anything from you. Just show up, smile, let them know you exist.”

You looked up at him, searching his face. He was steady, calm, his expression soft in a way he rarely let others see. You didn’t know why, but having him there made you feel a little more at ease. “Guess I don’t have much choice, do I?”

“Nope,” he replied, his mouth twitching into that almost-smile.

With a resigned sigh, you squared your shoulders. “Alright, let’s get this over with.”

---

The party was everything you’d dreaded: formal, suffocating, and filled with people whose only interest in you was as your father’s daughter. You’d stuck close to Logan most of the night, exchanging quiet remarks whenever the chance arose, his presence the only thing keeping you from losing your mind. But as the night wore on, a few glasses of champagne and the tension of the evening started to wear on you.

You tugged on Logan’s sleeve as you leaned in close. “Think anyone would notice if I snuck out?” you murmured, your breath warm against his ear.

Logan chuckled low, his gaze flickering over you. “Considering your dad’s been watching you like a hawk? Probably.”

You rolled your eyes, letting your hand brush his arm. “Figures. He can’t just let me have one night off.” You shifted closer, feeling his warmth through his jacket, and gave him a mischievous smile. “Bet you didn’t sign up for babysitting duty.”

“Didn’t realize you’d need it,” he replied with a smirk, his voice barely loud enough for you to hear.

You nudged him playfully, letting your hand linger on his arm. “I don’t,” you said, a little more insistently. “You just don’t know what to do with me.”

His eyes met yours, and there was something dark and unspoken in his gaze. “Careful,” he murmured, his voice dropping. “I might take you up on that.”

The hint of challenge in his tone sent a thrill through you, and you leaned closer, your hand settling on his chest as you whispered, “Oh, I’m counting on it.”

You could feel his heartbeat, steady beneath your hand, but his expression gave nothing away. He looked down at you, his jaw tight, but his eyes held that familiar intensity, the kind that had always made you wonder just how long he’d been watching you. It was intoxicating, that pull between you, and tonight, with the champagne loosening your guard, you felt bolder than usual.

When you finally pulled away, you could feel his gaze following you, but you didn’t let yourself look back. Instead, you mingled through the crowd, smiling politely, pretending to listen to conversations while stealing glances at Logan across the room.

After what felt like hours, your father’s attention finally shifted, and you took the chance to slip away to your bedroom.

As you walked up the stairs, Logan trailed behind you, like always. You were tired of this, of the flirting, how he did it back to you, but how nothing ever happened.

Well tonight you were done with that.

You opened your bedroom door and sat on the bed, quickly slipping off your heels and tossing them carelessly across the room. The muffled sounds of laughter and clinking glasses filtered up from downstairs, where the party raged on. Logan stood in the doorway, as he always did, watching you in that silent, intense way that had been driving you crazy for months.

You looked up at him, your fingers playing with the hem of your short yellow dress, the fabric brushing against your thighs as you shifted on the bed. “You comin’ in, or are you just gonna stand there all night?”

Logan didn’t respond right away, his jaw ticking as his eyes flicked over you, taking in the sight of you sitting there, legs crossed, your dress riding up just enough to tease. He sighed, stepping into the room but staying near the door. “Your old man’s got half the city downstairs, Y/N. This ain’t the time.”

You raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at your lips. “Since when do you care about my dad? He’s not your boss.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, the leather of his jacket creaking. “He pays me to keep you safe, not… this.”

You stood up from the bed, taking a step toward him. “This?” you repeated, voice playful, but you could feel the tension in the air thickening. “And what is ‘this,’ Logan?”

He didn’t answer, just stood there, his eyes dark and unreadable, but you could see the way his body tensed when you got closer, the way his gaze flicked down to your legs before snapping back up to your face.

You reached out, your fingers brushing against the rough material of his flannel, and you could feel the heat of his body through the layers of fabric. He stiffened, his hand catching your wrist, but it wasn’t harsh. Just enough to stop you.

“Y/N, don’t,” he warned, his voice low, rough.

You tilted your head, stepping even closer until your body was almost pressed against his. “Why not?” you asked softly. “You’ve been following me around for months. Always there, always watching. What are you so afraid of?”

“I’m not afraid,” he muttered, but his grip on your wrist tightened just a little, like he was holding himself back. “You’re too young for this. I work for your dad.”

You pulled your wrist free, undeterred, your hand now resting against his chest. “I’m not a kid, Logan. And you don’t work for him—you work for me. You’ve been protecting me, haven’t you?”

His eyes narrowed. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”

“Then what do you mean?” you shot back, moving even closer, your fingers trailing up to his shoulder, over the leather of his jacket. “You’ve been pulling away from me every time I get close, but you keep coming back.”

Logan’s jaw clenched, his hands hovering near your waist, as if he was afraid to touch you. “You’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk,” you said firmly, your voice steady. “And you know that.” You pressed a little harder, your lips just inches from his jaw, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his skin. “You don’t have to keep pretending like you don’t want this.”

His hands shot up to your shoulders, gripping you tightly, but he didn’t push you away this time. His breathing was heavier now, the muscles in his arms tensing as if he was fighting against himself. “You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he growled, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Maybe not,” you admitted, your lips brushing the stubble on his jaw as you spoke. “But I know what I want.”

Logan groaned low in his throat, his fingers tightening on your shoulders, but still, he didn’t push you away. His resistance was crumbling, you could feel it.

“You’re not a kid,” he repeated quietly, almost like he was trying to convince himself.

“No,” you whispered back, your lips ghosting along the side of his neck, your hands moving to his chest, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt. “I’m not.”

In a swift movement, you pushed him back toward the chair in the corner of the room, his legs hitting the edge as you guided him down. He sat heavily, his hands falling from your shoulders to your hips, still trying to hold onto that last bit of control.

You straddled his thigh, your dress riding up as you settled against him, the heat of your body pressed against the denim of his jeans. His hands moved up to your waist, holding you in place, but the look in his eyes told you he was barely holding on.

“Y/N,” he rasped, but his voice was shaky, uncertain.

You didn’t give him time to think. You started moving, rocking your hips against his thigh, slow at first, testing. His grip on your waist tightened, his eyes darkening as he watched you, the tension in his body radiating through his hands.

He wasn’t stopping you.

You bit your lip, your breath hitching as you pressed harder against him, the friction sending a jolt of heat through you. Logan groaned, his hands sliding down to your hips, holding you steady as you moved. His control was slipping, and you could feel it.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, his head falling back against the chair, his eyes squeezed shut.

You leaned forward, your lips brushing his ear. “Still think I’m too young?”

Logan’s jaw clenched, his hands gripping you harder as you rocked against him, the rough fabric of his jeans rubbing against the thin material of your underwear. Every movement sent sparks of pleasure through you, and you could tell from the way his breathing quickened that he was feeling it too.

His hands slid up your sides, fingers digging into your skin as he tried to pull you closer, but you were in control now. You pressed your lips to his neck, kissing the exposed skin, feeling the tension in his body as you kissed down toward his collarbone, your fingers tangling in his shirt.

Logan groaned, his hands gripping you tighter as you moved faster, grinding against his thigh with more urgency. The heat between your legs was almost unbearable now, the pressure building with every movement, every gasp that escaped your lips.

Logan's eyes were shut tight, head thrown back against the chair, his hands gripping your waist like he was the one trying to stay grounded. But you weren’t stopping, not after all the months of back-and-forth, all the moments you’d caught him watching you with that dark, unreadable look. The friction, the heat pooling between your legs, was everything you’d been waiting for, and it was clear from the roughness of his breathing that he wasn’t far behind.

You pressed harder, your hips rolling against his thigh as you gripped his shoulders to steady yourself. The thin fabric of your dress had ridden up, and you knew he could feel just how soaked you were through the denim of his jeans. His hands were at your waist, digging into your skin in a way that bordered on painful but only made you push down harder, rocking your hips with more insistence.

Logan’s voice was rough when he finally spoke, his hands tightening as if he was trying to keep himself from pulling you in closer. “Y/N… you’re playin’ with fire here,” he growled, the words thick, like he was barely holding back.

You ignored him, pressing a little harder, your lips hovering just over the edge of his jaw as you breathed, “Maybe I like the heat.”

His jaw clenched, but his hands slid up, settling just under your ribs, holding you steady as you moved. Each shift of your hips brought another groan out of him, the sound vibrating through his chest and sending a thrill straight through you. You could feel yourself getting closer, your breath coming in shallow gasps as the pressure built, the heat between your legs almost too much to bear.

“Logan,” you whispered, your hands slipping up to tangle in his hair, pulling his face closer. You could see the restraint etched across his face, the way his jaw was clenched tight, like he was struggling to keep himself from giving in. “I need you.”

His hands tensed on your waist, fingers digging in harder, his breathing growing rougher with every word that slipped from your lips. But he didn’t pull away; if anything, he held you tighter, letting you grind against him, the rough denim of his jeans rubbing against you in a way that left you breathless, desperate.

“You know what you’re doin’ to me?” he muttered, his voice barely more than a growl as his eyes met yours, dark and full of something you’d been longing to see for months.

“Maybe,” you replied, a small, breathless smile tugging at your lips as you kept moving, kept pressing closer, feeling the tension between you both thicken until it was almost unbearable. “Maybe I want to see how far you’ll let me go.”

Logan groaned, his grip tightening as his eyes fell shut again, his hands shifting to guide your hips, helping you keep up the steady rhythm that was driving you both closer to the edge. You leaned forward again, your lips brushing against his neck, pressing soft kisses along the exposed skin as you rocked against him, the heat building with every second.

“Y/N,” he rasped, his voice so low it sent a shiver through you. “You’re… you’re so damn—”

You cut him off, pressing your lips to the spot just under his ear, feeling the way his breath hitched as your hips ground down harder. You were close, every nerve ending on fire, and you could feel that he was, too. His hands were everywhere, sliding up your back, pressing you closer, holding you tight like he was afraid to let go.

And then, finally, the pressure broke. You gasped, fingers digging into his shoulders as your hips stilled, your body shuddering against him. Logan’s grip on your waist tightened, his own breath hitching as he held you steady, his hands warm and solid as you rode out the waves of pleasure.

He was quiet for a long moment, his breathing heavy, and you could feel the way his body had tensed beneath you, the strain in his hands as he held himself back. Slowly, you looked up, meeting his gaze, and the intensity in his eyes made your breath catch all over again.

Without a word, Logan shifted, his hands sliding down to hook under your thighs as he stood, lifting you with a strength that sent another thrill through you. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders as he carried you to the bed, the heat in his gaze leaving no room for second thoughts, no hesitation. This was it, and you were ready.

He laid you down, his hands lingering on your thighs, his fingers brushing over your skin as he looked down at you, his expression a mix of hunger and restraint. You reached up, tugging him closer until he was hovering over you, his weight pressing down just enough to make you feel secure, safe.

This was what you’d been waiting for, what you’d both been skirting around for too long. Logan’s hands slid up your sides, his fingers trailing along the fabric of your dress, and you felt your breath hitch as his gaze darkened, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

His thumbs brushed the exposed skin just above the low neckline of your dress, leaving goosebumps in their wake. You watched him, eyes locked on his as he leaned in, his jaw tight, the hunger in his gaze barely restrained. The room felt smaller, warmer, like the air had thickened between you.

And then, finally, his mouth was on yours.

The kiss was desperate, wild, like he was making up for lost time. His lips claimed yours with a roughness that sent a shiver down your spine, his hands moving to cradle your face, pulling you closer as if he couldn’t stand the distance. You gasped against his mouth, your fingers finding their way into his hair, tugging him down harder.

It had been seventy-three years since he’d last kissed you—nearly three quarters of a century of holding back—and the intensity of it showed. It was all-consuming, like he was trying to make up for every second he’d denied himself this.

Logan groaned into your mouth, a deep, almost pained sound, and the desperation in it made your blood race. He kissed you like he was starving, like he needed this, needed you, and you felt your body melt into him. His hands slid down your body, rough and sure, stopping at your hips to pull you flush against him. The heat between your legs was almost unbearable, and the friction of his jeans against your thighs only made it worse.

You broke the kiss for air, your breaths coming fast, but Logan didn’t stop. His mouth found your neck, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the curve of your throat, teeth scraping against your skin just enough to make you gasp. His hands were everywhere, tracing the curve of your waist, the swell of your hips, gripping you with a possessiveness that sent a thrill through you.

“Logan,” you whispered, your voice breathless, needy. You tilted your head back, giving him better access as his lips continued their descent, leaving a path of fire along your skin. Your hands fisted in his flannel, pulling him closer, and he groaned again, the sound vibrating through your body.

“God, Y/N,” he rasped, his voice thick with desire, like he was barely holding on. His hands slipped under your dress, fingers brushing against the sensitive skin of your thighs, and you shivered, your breath catching in your throat. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes heavy-lidded, pupils blown wide with need. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he muttered, but the words were laced with something softer, something that made your heart skip.

You didn’t reply, just pulled him down for another kiss, this one just as desperate as the first. Your hands roamed over his chest, slipping beneath the open flannel to feel the heat of his skin, the hard muscles that tensed under your touch. Logan shivered, his breath catching as your fingers brushed against his bare chest, and you felt a rush of satisfaction at the way he reacted to you.

His jacket slipped from his shoulders, landing somewhere on the floor, but neither of you paid it any mind. Your hands were already pushing the flannel off him, revealing more of his skin, and Logan helped you, shrugging it off with a growl of impatience. The white beater he wore beneath clung to his chest, and you could see the way his muscles flexed beneath it, the way the fabric stretched taut over his shoulders.

He leaned back down, capturing your lips in another searing kiss, and you moaned into his mouth, your nails digging into his shoulders. Logan’s hands were back under your dress, sliding up, leaving trails of heat in their wake. His touch was rough, calloused, but so incredibly gentle in a way that made your heart ache. You arched into him, your body pressing closer, desperate for more, for everything he was willing to give.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your mouth, his hands sliding higher until his thumbs brushed the edge of your panties. He paused, breathing heavily, his eyes searching yours, looking for any sign of hesitation. But there was none. You were all in, had been from the moment you’d first seen him.

You reached down, grabbing his wrists and guiding his hands further up, silently urging him on. Logan’s breath hitched, and his eyes darkened even more, a low growl rumbling in his chest. His fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, and you could feel your heart pounding as he tugged, the thin fabric slipping down your legs.

"Fuck, Y/N," he growled, his voice thick with need as his calloused hands slid back up your thighs, pushing your dress higher. "You're so damn wet already."

You gasped as his fingers brushed against your center, your hips jerking up instinctively. "Logan, please," you whimpered, reaching for him.

He leaned down to kiss you hard, his tongue pushing into your mouth as his fingers began exploring you properly. The roughness of his hands contrasted with how gently he touched you, like he was afraid of breaking you. You moaned into his mouth as he slid one thick finger inside, your hands gripping his shoulders.

"That's it, darlin'," he murmured against your lips. "Let me hear you."

Your dress was bunched around your waist now as Logan worked another finger into you, stretching you carefully. Your earlier orgasm had left you sensitive, making every touch feel electric. His thumb found your clit and began rubbing slow circles that had you writhing beneath him.

"Logan," you gasped, your nails digging into his skin through his beater. "I need—ah!—I need more."

He growled low in his throat, curling his fingers inside you. "Tell me what you need, Y/N. Say it."

Your face flushed but you met his eyes. "I need you inside me. Please, Logan. I've wanted this for so long."

Something dark and possessive flashed in his eyes. He withdrew his fingers, making you whimper at the loss, and reached down to undo his belt. The metal clinked as he pulled it free, the sound sending a thrill through you.

You sat up enough to pull your dress over your head, leaving you in just your bra. Logan's eyes raked over you hungrily as he pushed his jeans down his hips. The obvious bulge in his boxers made your mouth go dry.

"Come here," he growled, pulling you into another searing kiss as his hands found the clasp of your bra. It took him only seconds to undo it, and then you were bare before him, your nipples hardening in the cool air.

Logan's mouth moved to your neck, sucking hard enough to leave marks as his hands cupped your breasts. You moaned as he rolled your nipples between his fingers, your back arching into his touch.

"Fuck, you're perfect," he muttered against your skin, his voice rough. He shifted to take one nipple into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak as you gasped and squirmed beneath him.

Your hands found the hem of his beater, tugging insistently until he pulled back long enough to yank it off. The sight of his bare chest, all hard muscle and dark hair, made heat pool between your legs. There were old scars scattered across his skin - remnants of wounds time hadn't quite erased.

You reached for his boxers but he caught your wrists, pinning them above your head with one large hand. "Not yet," he growled, his free hand sliding down between your legs again. "Want to make sure you're ready for me."

His fingers found your clit again and you cried out, oversensitive and desperate. "Logan, please," you begged, trying to buck your hips up against his hand. "I'm ready, I swear. I need you now."

He studied your face for a long moment, his eyes dark with desire, before releasing your wrists. "Take them off," he ordered, nodding to his boxers.

Your hands shook slightly as you pushed the fabric down his hips, freeing his cock. He was huge, thick and hard, already leaking at the tip. You wrapped your hand around him, stroking slowly, and Logan's breath hitched.

"Careful, darlin'," he warned, his voice strained. "Been wanting this too long to end it early."

He pushed you back onto the bed, settling between your spread thighs. The head of his cock brushed against your entrance and you both groaned. Logan braced himself on his forearms above you, his eyes locked on yours.

"You sure about this?" he asked, his voice rough but gentle. "Once I start, I don't know if I'll be able to stop."

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. "I'm sure. Please, Logan. I want you."

He kissed you hard as he began pushing inside, swallowing your gasps as he stretched you open. The burn was intense but perfect, your body gradually adjusting to his size. Logan moved slowly, giving you time to adapt, but you could feel the tension in his muscles as he held himself back.

"Fuck," he groaned when he was finally fully seated inside you. "So tight, darlin'. Feel so good around me."

You clutched at his shoulders, panting. "Move," you urged. "Please, I need—"

Logan pulled back and thrust forward again, setting a steady rhythm that had you seeing stars. Each stroke hit something deep inside you that made pleasure spark through your whole body. His hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he fucked into you with increasing force.

"That's it," he growled, watching your face contort with pleasure. "Take it, Y/N. Take all of me."

Your nails raked down his back as the pressure built inside you again. Logan's thrusts grew harder, faster, driving you both toward the edge. The headboard banged against the wall with each movement but neither of you cared about the noise.

"Logan," you gasped, feeling yourself getting close. "I'm gonna—ah!"

"Come for me," he ordered, his voice rough. One hand slid between your bodies to rub your clit. "Want to feel you come on my cock."

The added stimulation pushed you over the edge. You came with a cry, your body clenching around him as waves of pleasure crashed over you. Logan growled, his rhythm faltering as your walls pulsed around him.

"Fuck, Y/N," he groaned, his thrusts growing erratic. "Where do you want—"

"Inside," you gasped, still riding the aftershocks. "Please, Logan. Wanna feel you."

He cursed, his hips snapping forward a few more times before he buried himself deep with a growl, spilling inside you. You could feel him pulsing, filling you up as he collapsed onto his forearms above you.

For several long moments, the only sound was your heavy breathing. Logan's forehead rested against yours, his eyes closed as he caught his breath. You ran your hands up and down his back, feeling the sweat-slick skin under your palms.

Finally, he pulled out carefully and rolled onto his side, pulling you with him. You winced slightly at the soreness between your legs, but it was a good kind of ache. Logan's arms wrapped around you, holding you close against his chest.

---

Logan let out a low groan as he woke, the bed beneath him feeling far too comfortable, unfamiliar in a way that immediately set him on edge. It took a second for his mind to catch up, piecing together where he was and, more importantly, who he was with.

He didn’t need to look over to feel the warmth beside him, or the way your hair fanned out across the pillow. It hit him all at once—the heat of your skin against his, the way you’d leaned into him last night, confident, unrestrained. He opened his eyes, gaze finding you lying beside him, face soft and peaceful in sleep, an arm draped over his chest as if you’d claimed him in the night.

Logan sighed, glancing at the ceiling, but couldn’t help looking down at you again, still asleep and blissfully unaware of the storm in his head. He’d known it was a bad idea from the start, coming upstairs with you last night, letting his guard down. But damn, when you’d gotten close, pushing him toward that chair with that look in your eyes—he’d been gone the second you’d touched him.

He was even further gone when he had finally kissed you—it was one of his biggest regrets the last time he had seen you back in 1943—he never held you the way he wanted to. Too afraid that maybe he was the problem, the reason you kept on dying over and over.

And because of that, he hadn’t been this close to you since 1900.

It was strange, being here like this—letting his guard down after all those lives, all those memories of watching you fade out of his reach. A part of him had always tried to keep a distance, to save himself from the heartbreak he knew was coming. But last night… last night, he’d been weak.

He brushed a thumb over your arm without thinking, lost in thought. It was impossible not to wonder, with you lying beside him like this, what it would be like if this time were different. If, just once, he could hold onto you, let himself believe you’d stay.

But he knew better.

His hand lingered on your skin a moment too long, and he felt you stir, your lashes fluttering as you slowly opened your eyes. A soft smile touched your lips when you saw him, and he felt his resolve crack just a little more.

“Mornin’,” he murmured, his voice rougher than he’d meant.

“Mmm,” you hummed, still sleepy, your fingers tracing a lazy pattern over his chest. “Didn’t think you’d still be here.” You said it lightly, but there was a hint of something else there—relief, maybe. “Guess I finally wore you out.”

Logan huffed, his lips tugging into a smirk. “Guess so.”

You shifted to look at him, your eyes bright with that familiar mischief. “So, what’s your excuse this time?”

He raised a brow. “Excuse?”

“Yeah. For pulling away,” you said, your tone casual but pointed. “You’ve always got one.”

Logan’s jaw clenched slightly, and he broke eye contact, looking away. “It’s complicated, Y/N.”

You reached up, cupping his face and guiding his gaze back to you. “That’s what you always say. Doesn’t mean it has to be.”

He was silent for a moment, searching your face. He could feel the weight of his past with you, all those memories stacking up like a dam holding back a flood. But he couldn’t let you in on that. Couldn’t make you carry the burden of knowing you’d lived—and died—so many times before. It was his cross to bear, not yours.

“Maybe I just don’t want you getting hurt,” he finally said, his voice quieter, a touch raw.

You let out a short, incredulous laugh. “Please, Logan. You think I don’t know what I’m doing?”

Logan just shook his head, but he couldn’t help the small, amused smile that crept onto his face. “You’re a handful, you know that?”

“I’ve heard that once or twice,” you teased, running your hand along his chest. “Lucky for you, I don’t scare easy.”

That hint of defiance in your voice tugged at something deep inside him, and he caught your hand, holding it in his as he looked into your eyes. “You say that now. But I’ve got a way of… complicating things.”

Your gaze softened, but there was still a spark there, unyielding. “Good thing I like complicated.”

Logan’s eyes darkened, and for a second, he felt that familiar pull, the urge to tell you everything—to let you in on the truth of why he was here, why he couldn’t stay away. But he stopped himself, the weight of all those lost lifetimes bearing down on him again. He couldn’t do that to you, not this time.

“Then I guess I’m stuck with you,” he said, trying to keep his tone light, even though his grip on your hand tightened ever so slightly.

“Guess so,” you replied with a grin, shifting closer. You tilted your head, eyes narrowing as you studied him. “Logan?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you ever gonna stop acting like you’re some kind of curse?” Your voice was soft but firm, like you were daring him to argue.

Logan went silent, his gaze flickering away from yours. You’d hit closer to the truth than you knew.

“Don’t know if I can,” he admitted after a pause. “It’s… complicated.” He shrugged, hoping you’d leave it at that.

But, of course, you didn’t. “Then I guess I’ll just have to keep proving you wrong,” you murmured, pressing a light kiss to his jaw, a warm reassurance that only made him feel the pull of his past even stronger.

He didn’t answer, just closed his eyes, letting himself savor this one small, stolen moment with you. Just this once, he’d allow himself that. Because deep down, he knew he’d always lose you in the end.

And this time, he was determined to make it last as long as he could. Maybe, just maybe, even put that ring to use.

---

You were back at the dog shelter, this time staying a little bit longer since one of the workers, Amelia, was out sick.

Lorraine handed you a few leashes, “mind taking some of ‘em out for a walk?”

You happily grabbed the roped leashes, “of course.” Then you glanced over at Logan, who had been eyeing the dogs with a mix of amusement and reservation. “You up for walkin’ some too?”

He raised an eyebrow at you, then at the leashes in your hand, but there was a hint of a smirk playing at his lips. “Didn’t take you for a dog wrangler, Y/N.”

You laughed, clipping one of the leashes onto a small brown mutt who was practically bouncing with excitement. “Come on, Logan. What’re you afraid of? They don’t bite—well, not all of them, anyway.”

Logan chuckled, reluctantly stepping forward. “Right. Long as they don’t try to drag me down the street.”

You handed him a leash attached to a shaggy, medium-sized dog with big brown eyes, looking up at him expectantly. “Here. This one’s named Ringo. He’s a sweetheart.”

Logan eyed the dog suspiciously before giving the leash a little tug, testing the waters. “Ringo, huh?” He knelt down and patted the dog’s head, a faint smile crossing his face as the dog leaned into his touch. “Guess you’re alright.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the sight. “See? He likes you already.” As you finished leashing up a few more of the dogs, you handed the leashes to Logan. “Think you can handle these guys too?”

Logan took the leashes without complaint, looking down at the little group of dogs at his feet. “Guess I don’t have much choice.”

“Good answer,” you teased, giving him a wink before heading toward the door. You led the way outside, the two of you walking side-by-side with the dogs trotting happily along. It was a warm day, and the sun was shining down, casting a soft glow over everything.

Logan glanced over at you as you moved down the sidewalk together, the dogs tugging excitedly at their leashes. You had a carefree smile on your face, and he found himself watching you more than the path ahead, the memory of a few nights ago still vivid in his mind. The thought of it sent a thrill through him—yet at the same time, a pang of dread.

“You always this happy walking dogs, or is it just ‘cause I’m here?” he teased, a little smirk tugging at his lips.

You shot him a playful look. “Guess you’ll never know.” You nudged him lightly with your shoulder, eyes bright with mischief. “But if you keep coming with me, you might find out.”

He let out a small laugh, his gaze softening as he looked away. Even after all these years, you could still surprise him—like the way you’d drag him to places like this or the way you talked about the little things with such enthusiasm. It was one of those qualities he remembered about you from lifetimes ago, and it hadn’t changed. It made him feel like maybe, somehow, this was different.

As you walked a little further, one of the dogs—a scruffy little terrier—yipped and tugged at Logan’s leash, trying to chase after a pigeon. He grunted, holding the leash tightly and muttering, “Settle down, mutt. You’re not goin’ anywhere.”

You laughed, glancing over with an amused smile. “Ringo’s got more energy than you’d think, huh?”

Logan shook his head, but he couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah, well, maybe I should be takin’ notes from him.” He looked at you then, and his expression softened. “You’ve really got a thing for these dogs, don’t ya?”

Your smile faded into something more thoughtful as you looked down at the furry pack in front of you. “I dunno. I guess they’re just… easy to be around. They don’t care about who my father is or what I do—they just want someone to be with them, you know?”

Logan nodded, watching the way you interacted with the dogs, your fingers lightly brushing over their heads, your voice soft as you spoke to them. You’d always had that kindness about you, that gentleness that made him want to believe in something better, something… safe.

“You’re good with ‘em,” he said quietly, almost to himself.

You looked up at him, a smile in your eyes. “You know, you’re not so bad with them either, Logan.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Nah, I think I’ll leave the dog-wranglin’ to you.”

For a while, you walked in comfortable silence, the bustling city around you fading into the background as you wandered through the neighborhood with the dogs. Finally, you reached a small park, and you stopped to let the dogs sniff around.

As they explored, you took a seat on a nearby bench, patting the spot beside you. Logan hesitated for a second before joining you, stretching his legs out in front of him.

You looked over at him, your expression soft. “Thanks for coming today. I know this probably isn’t your ideal way to spend an afternoon.”

Logan shrugged, trying to act casual, but he couldn’t hide the warmth in his gaze. “Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t wanna be,” he said, his voice low.

The sincerity in his words made your heart skip a beat, and you looked away, feeling a little bashful. You fiddled with one of the leashes, clearing your throat. “You know… the more time we spend together, the more I wonder how long you’re planning to stick around.”

He hesitated, his jaw tightening as he considered his answer. He wanted to tell you the truth—that he’d been watching you, waiting for you, for so many lifetimes. But he couldn’t. Instead, he reached out, his hand covering yours where it rested on the bench.

“As long as you’ll have me,” he said quietly.

The words hung between you, and for a moment, it was like the whole world had faded away. You looked up at him, your eyes searching his, trying to read the depths of his expression.

A soft smile touched your lips, and you squeezed his hand. “Then you’re gonna be around for a long time, Logan.”

He felt a strange, hopeful ache in his chest at your words, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he allowed himself to believe that maybe, this time, things could be different.

The dogs barked, breaking the spell, and you both laughed, pulling away as you got up to wrangle them again. But even as you continued on your walk, he stayed close by your side, his hand occasionally brushing yours as you walked—almost as if he was reminding himself that you were real, that you were here with him.

---

Late one night, you lay beside Logan in the dim light filtering through the window, the city’s night sounds a steady hum in the distance. Your head rested on his chest, your fingers tracing lazy circles over the skin above his heart, feeling the steady beat beneath your touch.

Logan shifted slightly, his hand coming up to rest gently on your back. For a long time, he just lay there, watching you in silence, his thumb brushing along your spine. You could tell he was relaxed, but there was something else—a quiet intensity in the way his gaze lingered on you, a heaviness in the air that made your heart race.

“What’re you thinkin’ about?” you murmured, letting your fingers trail up to his collarbone. You glanced up at him, catching the faintest hint of a smile as he met your eyes.

“Just… wonderin’ how I got roped into all this,” he said, the corner of his mouth lifting. But the glint in his eyes gave him away, and you saw something softer there.

“Yeah? Doesn’t seem like you mind too much.” You smirked, giving his chest a light pat. “I’d almost say you’re gettin’ attached.”

He snorted, pulling you a little closer, his arm tightening around you. “Could say the same for you,” he replied, his voice low, almost teasing. “You’re insatiable, y’know that?”

You laughed, and the sound was soft in the quiet room. “You’re the one who keeps showin’ up, Logan. If you wanted me to behave, you’d stay away.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Maybe I don’t want you to behave.”

Your fingers stilled on his chest, and you looked up at him with a mischievous glint in your eye. “So you like me like this, then? A little reckless… a little spoiled?” you teased.

He chuckled, his eyes softening as he looked at you. “Yeah,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “Think I do.”

You felt a warmth spread through you at his words, and you settled back against his chest, letting your hand rest over his heart. For a while, neither of you said anything, the silence comfortable, his warmth grounding you. It was a rare kind of peace—one that you’d come to cherish whenever you were with him.

But then, curiosity got the better of you, and you lifted your head, giving him a thoughtful look. “Logan,” you began, your voice hesitant. “How long are you gonna stick around? I mean… I know my dad thinks you’re just here for protection, but… it feels like more than that.”

Logan’s gaze darkened, a flash of something unreadable passing over his face. He glanced away, his jaw tensing as he seemed to search for the right words. “As long as you want me here, I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

The weight of his words hung between you, and you felt your heart skip a beat. “Then don’t,” you whispered, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “I don’t want you to.”

He didn’t say anything in response, but his hand slipped up to cup the back of your head, pulling you down into a slow, lingering kiss. There was something different about it this time, a quiet desperation that made your pulse quicken, like he was trying to hold on to this moment, to keep it from slipping away.

When you finally pulled back, you searched his eyes, wondering what was going through his mind. “You’re not gonna let me go, are you?”

A small smile tugged at his lips, though his gaze was still shadowed. “Not a chance, darlin’.”

You felt a surge of affection for him then, this man who’d somehow become both your protector and your closest confidant. He was rough around the edges, guarded and distant with everyone else—but with you, he was different. You brought out a softness in him, a warmth that felt as though it had been buried for a long, long time.

Without thinking, you reached up and brushed a lock of hair from his forehead, your fingertips lingering against his skin. “You know, for a guy who’s supposed to be my bodyguard, you’re doing a terrible job at keeping things professional,” you teased, though there was no bite in your words.

Logan let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You’re the one makin’ things complicated, Y/N.”

“Maybe.” You smirked, your fingers still tracing over his chest. “But you don’t seem to mind.”

He looked at you then, something fierce in his eyes, and for a moment, you saw a glimpse of the man he’d been—a man who’d loved and lost, who’d carried scars from lifetimes past. You wondered if he would ever tell you his story, if he would ever let you in on the secrets he guarded so closely.

But for now, you were content with the silence, with the feel of his heartbeat beneath your hand, with the quiet reassurance that he wasn’t going anywhere.

As the night wore on, you lay there together, wrapped up in each other, the world outside fading away. And for the first time in a long time, you felt like you were exactly where you were meant to be.

---

Your father had asked you to come to his office in the spacious house. At first it was nothing but muffled voices from outside the door, until Logan heard your father speak again, for a longer period of time, causing your own voice to rise.

While Logan couldn’t make out the words you were saying even with his enhanced hearing, he could tell you weren’t happy. Your voice carried that sharp edge you only got when something really struck a nerve, and judging by the way you didn’t hold back, it had to be serious.

Logan lingered just outside the heavy, mahogany door of your father’s office, his fists clenched as he heard your voice rising behind it. It was clear you were upset, and whatever was being discussed inside, you didn’t like it. He’d seen you frustrated, angry even, but never like this—there was a desperation in your tone that sent a chill through him.

Moments later, the door flew open, and you stormed out, cheeks flushed with anger, eyes flashing as you spotted him. You barely paused, brushing past him, but Logan caught your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice low. “What happened?”

You turned to face him, anger and hurt swirling in your eyes. “He’s… he’s marrying me off, Logan. To that family. After everything he promised me—he said he’d never force me into something like this.”

Logan’s expression hardened. “What are you talkin’ about? He can’t just… marry you off like some kind of deal.”

Your hands were shaking as you brushed a stray lock of hair behind your ear, struggling to keep your composure. “Apparently, he can. There’s been this feud with the Romano family for years, and he says this is the only way to keep the peace. To protect me. Protect us.”

Logan’s jaw clenched. He felt a familiar anger rising in him, a deep, protective instinct he’d been fighting to keep under wraps. “So, he’s just gonna throw you into a marriage you don’t want? You don’t even know this guy, do you?”

You shook your head, looking away. “I met him once. He was… polite enough. But that’s not the point, Logan. I don’t want to marry him—or anyone like this. My father always said he’d let me choose, that he wouldn’t… sell me off.” The bitterness in your tone stung, your gaze distant as if replaying the conversation.

Logan searched your face, feeling an ache he couldn’t put into words. “And he knows how you feel about this?”

You swallowed, nodding. “I told him, but he says I don’t understand the bigger picture, that this is what’s best for everyone.” You gave a hollow laugh, looking down. “For everyone but me.”

He felt a pang of guilt, knowing he was just a bodyguard, technically part of the arrangement meant to keep you safe from any threats. But you were more than just a job to him, and the thought of you being forced into something like this made his blood boil. He let out a rough breath, stepping closer. “Y/N, you don’t have to go along with this. Not if you don’t want to.”

Your gaze softened as you looked up at him. “And what am I supposed to do, Logan? Run off in the middle of the night?” You gave a small, bitter smile. “I don’t even know where I’d go.”

He didn’t hesitate, his voice dropping low. “Then we go together. If you don’t wanna go through with this, we’ll figure somethin’ else out.”

Your breath hitched at his words, and for a moment, the anger and hurt seemed to fade, replaced by something warmer, more uncertain. “You’d really… leave everything?”

He shrugged, almost nonchalant, but there was a fierce determination in his eyes. “I got no reason to stay here if you’re not here, too.”

You hesitated, torn between the depth of his offer and the weight of the decision you knew would follow. Finally, you gave a small nod, as if grounding yourself in the moment. “I don’t know what’s gonna happen, Logan, but… I just need to know you’re here. That I’m not going through this alone.”

He reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering. “I’m not goin’ anywhere, Y/N. You got my word on that.”

There was a silence between you, thick and charged, each of you processing the weight of everything unsaid. His gaze stayed locked on yours, and for a moment, the anger and fear in your eyes softened, replaced by something closer to relief. And then, almost impulsively, you took his hand, squeezing it tight.

“Thank you, Logan. I… I needed to hear that,” you said softly, glancing away before meeting his gaze again, vulnerability written all over your face. “Just… don’t let go, okay?”

He gave your hand a reassuring squeeze, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not a chance, darlin’.”

---

Nancy was doing your hair once again for the dinner with the Romano family. You had tried everything over the past few weeks, trying to convince your father that this didn’t have to happen. That he promised you he would never do this.

But no matter what you did, he was firm in his stance, "you're getting married to Clyde, and that's final."

You sat still, staring at your reflection in the mirror as Nancy pinned up the last of your curls. Your face looked composed, serene even, but beneath it, there was a storm brewing—a knot of anger and dread you couldn’t shake. Every time you thought about that dinner tonight, your stomach twisted. Clyde Romano. A stranger. And yet, your father had decided this was your future, and nothing you said seemed to change his mind.

Nancy, sensing the tension, placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. "It’ll be alright, Y/N. You’ll be surrounded by family."

Family. Right. But none of them seemed to understand how trapped you felt. You forced a tight-lipped smile, nodding. "Thanks, Nancy."

As she stepped back, there was a light knock at the door. You turned to see Logan standing there, looking slightly uncomfortable in his formal attire but as steadfast as ever. His gaze softened as he took in your appearance, though he quickly masked it.

"Didn’t mean to interrupt," he said, glancing between you and Nancy. "Just wanted to make sure you’re ready."

Nancy finished adjusting your hair and excused herself, leaving you alone with Logan. You looked at him, searching his face, hoping for some kind of lifeline.

"Logan," you murmured, voice barely above a whisper. "I feel like I’m being dragged somewhere I can’t escape from."

He stepped closer, his expression darkening as he listened. “You’re not alone in this, Y/N. You know I’m with you, whatever you decide.” His hand reached out, brushing against your arm, his touch grounding you.

You drew in a shaky breath, steadying yourself. “What if I decide to just… disappear?” you asked, half-joking but mostly serious.

Logan’s eyes met yours, and you saw the unspoken resolve there. “Then I’ll be right behind you. Doesn’t matter where.”

For a moment, you let yourself believe it—that you could simply run, with Logan at your side. But reality crashed back in, and you dropped your gaze.

"I wish it were that simple," you whispered, clenching your fists. "But if I leave, it could tear everything apart."

Logan’s hand settled over yours, his grip firm and reassuring. "Then we make it through tonight. And tomorrow, we figure out the rest. You’re not facing this alone, darlin’. Not as long as I’m here."

You looked up at him, finding strength in his gaze. He’d been your rock through all of this, his presence steady and unwavering. And tonight, that was what you needed most.

“Alright,” you murmured, giving him a small, grateful smile. “Let’s go face this… together.”

He nodded, his grip on your hand a silent promise. Whatever came next, you knew he’d be there, just as he always had been. And with that thought, you found the courage to head downstairs to face your family—and the Romanos—one more time.

---

The dinner was at an Italian restaurant, one your father owned as cover for his business. Your dad sat at the head of the table while Clyde’s father sat at the other end. In front of you was your uncle Ermanno, who was also your dad’s consigliere, while Clyde sat next to you.

Logan, along with the other bodyguards, stood watch at the entrance of the private dining room, their silent gazes sweeping the place. He wore his usual hard expression, though his eyes softened just a touch when they found you across the room. He’d been watching you all night—catching every little shift, each moment you looked down or forced a smile, every subtle tightening of your hand on the tablecloth.

Clyde Romano leaned in a little closer, his arm casually brushing against yours as he tried to make small talk. "So, Y/N, I hear you’ve been helping out at a shelter?"

You nodded, barely meeting his eyes. “Yeah, I volunteer with the dogs mostly. It’s…nice to get away from all this sometimes.” You forced a smile, trying to keep things polite. You could feel your father’s gaze on you, watching for any misstep.

Clyde smiled back, but it felt too rehearsed. “Well, once we’re married, you won’t have to worry about shelters or anything like that. You’ll have enough responsibilities as a Romano.”

You felt your stomach twist at his words. Logan’s gaze sharpened from across the room as he picked up on the slight shift in your expression. You shot him a quick look, your eyes pleading for any kind of rescue. Logan’s jaw tightened, and for a brief moment, he almost looked like he’d step in. But he stayed put, his hands clenched behind his back.

Instead, he looked for the smallest opening. Just as Clyde’s attention was pulled away by his father, Logan slipped into view, leaning down beside you. “You alright?” he murmured, low enough that only you could hear.

“Not even close,” you whispered back, your eyes fixed on your glass. “He’s already talking about our future like… like it’s set in stone.”

Logan’s eyes flickered with something fierce. “We’ll get through this, Y/N. Tonight’s just another show. Nothing more.” His fingers brushed the back of your chair, the barely-there touch sending a wave of calm through you.

But Clyde’s voice cut back in before Logan could say anything more. “Y/N, we were thinking of heading to Italy for the honeymoon. It’ll be a good chance to meet the rest of the family there.”

Your heart sank further. Italy. An entire ocean away, away from everything you knew, from everyone who mattered to you. “Italy,” you echoed, your voice strained but steady.

“Yeah. The Romano estates are beautiful—beaches, vineyards… a real paradise.” He seemed oblivious to your hesitation, already dreaming up plans you’d had no say in. Your father looked pleased, nodding his approval from his end of the table.

Logan straightened, but the look he gave you was unmistakable: You don’t have to do this.

You swallowed, shifting in your seat as Clyde rambled on. When his focus shifted to his own father again, you leaned back just enough to whisper to Logan, “I’m not sure I can keep pretending.”

Logan’s expression softened, and for a second, he let a hint of his guard down. “You don’t have to, darlin’.” His voice was low, almost tender, meant for you alone. “Say the word, and we walk outta here. Right now.”

The thought made your heart skip, but your gaze drifted toward your father, seated across the table with a look of satisfaction. Leaving wasn’t just about you; it would mean defying him, challenging the life he’d molded for you. The thought felt like a mountain on your shoulders.

“I can’t just walk away,” you said quietly. “He’s… he’d never forgive me.”

Logan’s hand brushed yours under the table, a quiet show of support. “Maybe he’s the one who should be asking for forgiveness,” he murmured, his thumb tracing a light circle over your knuckles. The warmth of his touch settled something in you, steadying your breath.

You gave a tiny nod, squeezing his hand for just a second before pulling away. Logan straightened, stepping back to his post but still keeping his gaze on you. Clyde was oblivious, caught up in a conversation with his father about future business plans, each word feeling like a nail in the coffin.

Dinner dragged on, a blur of forced laughter and stiff conversation. Every time you felt yourself sinking, you looked toward Logan. He was there, solid and watchful, like a silent promise of something real in a room full of facades.

Eventually, the families began to wind down, talk shifting to more casual chatter. Clyde, emboldened by the night’s success, reached over and took your hand, his grip possessive. “Soon, you’ll be part of the family, Y/N. You’ll see. You’ll come to love it.”

Your mind screamed at the thought, every fiber of you wanting to pull away. But you held still, not daring to make a scene. Logan’s gaze narrowed, his jaw set as he took in the sight of Clyde’s hand around yours.

Finally, as the night came to an end and the families started to stand, Clyde leaned in with a smug smile. “Ready to go? I thought we’d take a walk, just the two of us.”

Before you could answer, Logan was there, stepping in with a casual yet firm presence. “Mr. Romano,” he said, addressing Clyde but looking right at you, “your father asked to speak with you in private before you head out.”

Clyde frowned but nodded, reluctantly releasing your hand. “I’ll be back soon, Y/N.” He disappeared toward the far end of the room, leaving you alone with Logan.

You let out a slow breath, the tension finally loosening from your shoulders. “Thank you,” you whispered, looking up at him, gratitude spilling from every word.

Logan gave a slight nod. “Couldn’t let him drag you out there without a say.” His voice was rough, but his eyes softened as he held your gaze. “You’re not alone in this, Y/N. Whatever happens… you got me.”

The weight of the night lifted just a little, and for a moment, you almost believed you had a choice in all of this.

---

“A week?” you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper as you stood in your father’s office. The weight of the word seemed to pull you under, even as you fought to keep your voice steady.

Your father’s expression was impassive, arms crossed as he looked at you. “Yes, Y/N. The Romano family wants to move quickly. They think it’s best, and I agree. It’s time you take on this responsibility for the family.”

Your jaw clenched. You remembered the promises he made, back when you were younger, that he’d never force you into something like this. “I just… I don’t understand. You always said—”

“People change, Y/N,” he interrupted, his tone firm. “This is what’s best for you and for us. For the family.”

You shook your head, feeling a rush of helplessness. “And what about what I want? I’ve been trying to tell you for weeks that I don’t want this, and you’re not listening.”

He exhaled sharply, the kind of sigh that signaled his patience was running thin. “This isn’t about what you want. I didn’t raise you to be selfish.”

“Selfish?” The word stung, and you couldn’t help the surge of anger that rose within you. “I’m asking for my life. How is that selfish?”

He frowned, unyielding. “Enough, Y/N. This is happening. We’re done discussing it.”

Your breath hitched, but you forced yourself to stay composed. The walls of the office seemed to close in on you, the reality of it settling heavy and cold. You had a week—seven days—to either submit to this life he’d chosen for you or… what? You didn’t even know.

Without another word, you turned and left, fighting the urge to slam the door behind you. The hall felt stifling as you walked out, your thoughts churning.

When you reached your room, Logan was there, waiting. The moment he saw your face, he stiffened. “What happened?” His voice was a low rumble, the concern clear.

“A week,” you whispered, barely able to meet his gaze. “I have a week before he marries me off to Clyde.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, and you could see the flash of anger in his eyes. He stepped closer, his hand moving to rest on your shoulder. “So that’s it, then? He’s just… throwing you to that bastard?”

You nodded, the words catching in your throat. “I don’t know what to do, Logan. I tried everything, but he won’t listen. He’s set on it.”

Logan’s hand slipped down, finding yours and giving it a reassuring squeeze, his rough fingers warm and grounding. You tightened your grip, the frustration and helplessness boiling inside you finally having somewhere to go.

“I’m supposed to just go along with it,” you muttered, bitterness seeping into your words. “Act like I’m thrilled to be Clyde’s obedient little wife. Like my life’s just… his to take.”

Logan’s gaze darkened. “It’s not. You know that. And anyone who tries to take it without your say? They got me to deal with.” His voice was low and dangerous, a promise just for you.

You looked up, searching his face, a flicker of hope stirring. “But what can we do, Logan? He’s not going to listen to me. And if I push back too hard… I don’t know what he’ll do.”

“Then let me get you out of here,” Logan said, leaning in closer. His voice softened, gentler now. “We can leave, right now if you want. Just say the word.”

Your heart twisted painfully, the temptation so fierce you almost said yes then and there. But reality clawed its way back, the weight of your father’s expectations and the tight grip he kept on every part of your life. Leaving would mean giving up everything—and, deep down, you weren’t sure you could risk it.

“What about my dad?” you whispered, feeling the weight of it pressing down again. “He’s… he’d see it as betrayal, Logan. And what if he goes after you?”

A flicker of something familiar crossed Logan’s face, a shadow from a life you couldn’t remember but that he clearly did. “Y/N, don’t worry about me,” he murmured. “Been through worse.” He squeezed your hand a little tighter, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a gesture so tender it nearly undid you. “And if he’s got a problem, then he can take it up with me.”

You let out a shaky breath, feeling the anger and fear give way just a bit. “You say that now, but you haven’t seen how he gets when people cross him. He’d never forgive me, Logan. He’d never forgive us.”

Logan’s hand moved to cup your face, his touch steadying you as his eyes met yours. “Then we don’t need his forgiveness. We get you out, and I keep you safe. Whatever comes after, we face it together.”

The fierce certainty in his voice sent a warmth flooding through you, your resolve hardening under his gaze. “But Clyde, the Romano’s… they won’t just let it go.”

A smirk tugged at Logan’s mouth, the edge of defiance clear. “Then they’ll learn what happens when they mess with you. Ain’t nobody’s right to take away your freedom, Y/N. Not your old man, not Clyde, not anyone.”

A beat of silence stretched between you, his hand still warm against your cheek. Your fingers tightened around his, and for a second, all the anger and dread faded, leaving just you and him in the quiet of the room.

“What about… us?” The words slipped out before you could stop them, and for a second, you held your breath, waiting for his reaction.

Logan’s eyes softened, his gaze never leaving yours. “What about us, darlin’?” He brushed a thumb along your cheek, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “You think I’d just leave you here to face this on your own?”

His words sent a rush of warmth through you, and before you knew it, you were leaning into him, his presence steady and unshakable. He let out a low sigh, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you closer, his other hand tracing gentle circles over your back.

“You’re all I’ve got in this,” you whispered, feeling the tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “I can’t lose you, too.”

“You won’t,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, his hold tightening just enough to reassure you. “Not now, not ever.”

You stayed like that for a long moment, wrapped up in his embrace, the weight of everything slipping away in his arms. But eventually, reality crept back in, and you pulled back, catching the flicker of resolve in his gaze.

“If we do this…” You paused, steadying yourself. “If we leave, we need a plan.”

Logan gave a small nod, his hand still resting on yours. “We’ll figure it out. Tonight, we’re just gettin’ you through this.”

It was a promise, simple and unbreakable, and for the first time in weeks, you felt a flicker of hope stirring deep inside you.

---

The rehearsal dinner was held in a private room at the church a few days later; a grand, echoing place with gilded walls and tall stained-glass windows that cast colored light over everything. Clyde, his parents, and your family were all gathered, discussing wedding arrangements like it was a done deal, each word chipping away at any illusion of control you had left.

Logan and the other bodyguards stood at a respectful distance, keeping watch. He tried to keep his gaze neutral, but his eyes lingered on you longer than necessary, catching every forced smile and stiff nod you gave.

As the minister went through the motions, you and Clyde practiced exchanging vows. You held his hands, repeating words that felt like a foreign language—lifeless, meaningless. Your eyes drifted toward Logan, and he gave you the barest nod, grounding you with that single, unspoken promise.

After the vows, Clyde leaned in close, his voice low and smug. “I think you’ll come to love our life together, Y/N. Just give it time.”

You forced a polite smile, biting back the words you wanted to say. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Logan clench his fists, his face darkening.

Finally, as the rehearsal ended and people began drifting off, you made your way to a quiet corner, needing a moment alone. Logan slipped over to you, his movements subtle as he came to stand beside you.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice softer now that it was just the two of you.

You shook your head, feeling that familiar knot of dread twist tighter. “Logan, I don’t think I can go through with this. But I don’t know if I can run, either. I’m…  I’m stuck.”

He took a deep breath, his gaze intense as he looked down at you. “What if I told you that you didn’t have to decide tonight?” he asked quietly. “That we could just… take it one day at a time. You don’t have to have all the answers right now.”

The tension in your shoulders eased a bit, and you met his eyes, finding strength in the certainty there. He wasn’t pushing you, wasn’t forcing anything on you. He was just… here, with you, in whatever way you needed.

“Okay,” you whispered, nodding slowly. “One day at a time.”

Logan gave a small, reassuring smile. “That’s all we need, darlin’.” His hand brushed your shoulder, lingering just a second longer than necessary before he stepped back.

---

The day of the wedding had arrived, and you were dolled up, your makeup and hair were perfect, and your wedding dress was heavy, constricting, and large.

Once the makeup artists and hair stylists left, you had fled to the bathroom in the bridal suite and were currently hunched over the toilet. You hadn’t thrown up—yet—but you could feel the nausea and anxiousness rising.

You braced yourself against the counter, taking deep breaths as you tried to calm the twisting feeling in your stomach. The dress felt like a vice, heavy and restrictive, pressing on every nerve, suffocating in a way that went beyond fabric and lace. You squeezed your eyes shut, hoping the queasiness would pass.

A knock at the door pulled you from the spinning in your head.

“Y/N?” Nancy’s soft, steady voice filtered through, full of that motherly concern you’d come to rely on all your life.

You took a steadying breath, swallowing hard before calling out, “Come in, Nancy.”

The door creaked open, and Nancy stepped inside, closing it quietly behind her. Her gaze immediately softened as she took in the look on your face, her expression a mix of sympathy and something else—resolve, maybe.

“Oh, cara mia,” she murmured, reaching out to place a hand on your shoulder. “You don’t look well. This whole business—it’s too much, isn’t it?”

You managed a shaky nod. “I… I don’t know if I can do this, Nancy. Every time I think about it, I just…” You trailed off, not sure how to put into words the suffocating dread that had settled over you.

She gave you a small, encouraging squeeze. “You know,” she said quietly, “there are other paths besides the one your father chose for you. And you don’t have to walk it alone.”

Your heart skipped at her words. “You… you’d help me? Even if I…?”

Nancy nodded, a spark of fierce protectiveness in her eyes. “Logan’s already got your things in his car,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “If you’re ready to go, he’s waiting.”

You blinked back tears before grabbing one of her hands, “y- you want me to go?”

“SÌ. Your father is a bastardo, breaking that promise him and your mother made.” She squeezed your hand, “Logan’s a good man. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. He won’t let you down.”

You swallowed hard, Nancy’s words settling like a quiet fire in your chest. She was right. Your father had broken his promise, and you didn’t owe him your life just because he controlled every other part of it.

With a shaky exhale, you gave her a nod. “Alright… I’ll go.”

Nancy’s face softened, relief mingling with pride. “Good girl. Now, take this.” She pressed a small envelope into your hand. “Cash. Just in case.”

You looked down at it, blinking back tears. “Thank you, Nancy. For everything.”

She pulled you into a hug, her hand stroking your back gently. “Go, cara mia. Go live your life.” She pulled back, eyes glinting with fierce determination. “And don’t look back.”

You nodded, holding onto that resolve as you slipped out of the bathroom and made your way down the hall, heart pounding. Every step felt heavier, weighed down by fear and the voice in the back of your mind that told you this was dangerous, reckless. But when you stepped outside and saw Logan waiting by his car, the weight lifted.

He looked up, his gaze intense but soft, like he’d been waiting for this moment just as long as you had. “You ready?”

You hesitated, just for a moment, before giving him a small nod. “Yeah. Let’s get out of here.”

Logan opened the passenger door for you, helping you in, his hand lingering on yours for a second longer than necessary. He closed the door, then climbed into the driver’s seat, starting the engine with a low rumble that matched the pulse pounding in your ears.

As he pulled out of the church’s parking lot, the weight of the decision hit you again. You were leaving everything behind—the security, the expectations, the people who’d shaped your entire life. But with each passing second, the fear melted away, replaced by a strange, liberating sense of excitement.

Logan glanced over, noticing the small smile tugging at your lips. “You don’t look so panicked now.”

You shook your head, unable to hide your grin. “I’m not. Not with you here.”

He gave a soft chuckle, that familiar warmth in his gaze. “Good. Because we’ve got a long drive ahead of us.”

You settled back, feeling more at ease than you’d felt in months. There was silence for a moment, comfortable and charged, before you turned to him, voice barely a whisper.

“Where are we going?”

Logan smirked. “Anywhere but here.”

You laughed softly, relaxing into your seat. The road stretched ahead, open and endless, and for the first time in a long while, the future felt like something you could shape.

logan is 141 years old and reader is around 23-25 years old

what!? is that a happy ending? who would've thought... next up, is origins!

[rubber-glovs]

I would like to speak up about the hermitcraft situation regarding Iskall.

If anything is wrong, please consult me via dms, I will have it fixed, thank you <3

My heart goes out to the victims of Iskalls manipulation and emotional abuse. I'm so sorry for what has happened to you. Reach out to the other victims or stay anonymous, it is completely your choice.

As to the hermitcraft fans, please do not force any of the hermits for information and do not go to the victims for proof or information. You are not owed it. They are just as stressed as we are. Do not stress them further.

We do not know the full story. Do not assume or speculate about what might've happened. Be grateful for the information we have been given, we are lucky to get this information.

Please do not assume anything about the other hermits in relation to this. Whether it's if they knew or if they have done something similar. This was from ONE HERMIT, ONE PERSON. That is all we know.

Do not make assumptions on why Stress left. We know there are no implications she is involved in the complaints and that False stated she left on her own accord

Hermitcraft is not ending, hermitcraft is not ruined and hermitcraft's community is not unsafe. This was ONE HERMIT, ONE PERSON. There is a difference between the whole server and one hermit.

Believe the victims. It may be hard for you, I can understand that. But with the overwhelming amount of evidence, you simply can not say he hasn't done something wrong. They have been put through a lot by him. It is hard to speak up about something like this, especially with Iskall and his superiority as a popular myct. Listen and hear their voices.

My thoughts and views:

Information and resources:

I feel disgusting and disappointed in Iskall's behaviour. He was trusted, he was loved and he was deemed as a wonderful youtuber. He took this power and his status to his advantage by emotionally abusing and manipulating fans and mods, people who looked up to him.

I also feel betrayed in a way. I never expected something like this to happen in the hermitcraft community but it did. It upsets me. All the people who were hurt had to stay quiet for so long in fear that they wouldn't be listened to. The hermits who are stressed out right now, deleting and removing Iskall from their accounts right now.

I feel terrible for those who were close to Iskall, online or offline. Having someone who you care about so much and seeing him as a close friend/family member and now figuring out what he's done must be hard for them.

I'm sorry for those who loved Iskall's content. I was drawn to him, too, but never got around to watching his videos.

I'm happy the hermits have handled this situation very professionally, allowing the victims to speak up on their own account and not saying much to keep their privacy.

Hermitcraft has become a massive part of my life in the past years. It hurts for me to see something like this. It goes to show that not everything you see online is real. People are different from how they act online.

Stay safe, thank you for reading <3

[just-osgood]

Why you so cute

[eisthenameofme]

"you are not immune to propaganda/cult indoctrination" is largely useful and the sort of shit it's used to point out as not making you immune (being "smart" or a certain degree of educated, etc) is worth pointing out and it never feels like the appropriate place to mention it, but a lot of people seem to be conflating "the things people think make them immune to this kind of thing doesn't because it doesn't work that way" along with "the same conditions that make people more vulnerable to indoctrination/conspiritorial thinking/etc can happen to anyone" with "everyone in the world is equally vulnerable to every kind of indoctrination under the same conditions" and i just don't think that's objectively true.

It may be true that someone started out holding one belief and flipped to hold the apparently opposite belief, but does that actually mean everyone who holds that belief is equally liable to change their mind? Why did they hold that belief in the first place? Is it consistent with their values and what they care about more broadly, and do they specically go out of their way to combat the potential for misinformation and propaganda? Are they prone to making their decisions based on what the people around or closest to them think instead of thinking for themselves? To what extent do they base their values and decsions on kneejerk emotional reactions? (these aren't the only factors obviously, just examples of other potential contributing factors) It is not a given that everyone will answer these questions in the same way, and this is part of why different people respond differently in similar situations. Also not everyone will respond positively to techniques that often work to draw people in (eg lovebombing is a common tactic that works on a lot of people, but may be actively offputting or ring alarm bells for others; different people have different tolerances for attempts at social control and some might nope out the moment they see it attempted regardless of any other factors).

"You Yes Even You" can be an important tactic to get people who wouldn't otherwise to legitimately consider why these tactics work on people and what might work on them and keep in mind that the people it Does happen to usually aren't aware of it and it's not always their fault the way it's often presented, but that is not objectively the same thing as "anyone can fall down any pipeline not matter what forever"

like maybe no one is literally "immune to propaganda" but if a type of propoganda is something that necessarily hinges on X mechanism and a person is notorious for both intellectually and instinctively being violently opposed to X. then yeah I think the propoganda that hinges on X is probably going to be a Very Difficult to Impossible sell, even potentially under coercion, especially if that person has already demonstrated that they are willing to put themeslves at risk/resist that kind of coercion about it. unless your argument is that there is scp level literal mind control happening.

[berryz-writes]

I'll try harder

11) Ends up in the infirmary a lot, Madam Pomfrey thinks he's a "troubled yet entertaining student"

Theo x reader

"Where is my boyfriend?" I asked Draco, my annoyance increasing with his obvious distractions so he didn't have to answer my question.

He gave me a once over, his cool gaze unaffected by my anger "Your boyfriend is currently busy. I'm sure you'll see him tomorrow...or in a few days depending on the situation"

I was going to pull my hair out if I didn't get a direct answer soon "Draco Malfoy if you don't tell me right now I will drag Pansy here and tell her you like her"

His blank expression didn't change except the flicker of annoyance in his grey eyes "And where did you receive that false information from?"

I smiled at him "Just because it's false doesn't mean people aren't going to believe it. Did you know all it takes is one little whisper for a rumour to be spread across the whole of Hogwarts?"

Draco smirked, crossing his arms "Blackmailing me, y/l/n? Looks like Nott does benefit you in some way."

"Tell me"

"He's in the hospital wing and before you run away to mother him, if I hear a single word about me liking that awful witch-"

"Your threats don't matter to me right now, Malfoy. But thanks anyway" I rushed off to where he had said Theo was, trying to rid my thoughts of everything that I imagined had happened to him. He was fine walking off the quidditch pitch and there were no serious injuries while he played so why was he there?

I knocked on the door, making sure it was loud enough for someone to hear. If the door didn't open I would barge in myself. Before I could do just that Madam Pomfrey opened the door giving me a sympathetic smile "Here to see Theodore?"

I nodded my head trying to see behind her to no avail. All I could see were a few drawn curtains and another few beds unoccupied.

"Go on in then, he's the third one." I rushed past her muttering a quick thank you. She was probably fed up of having me to see me at her door every other day.

I approached the third bed and pushed the curtains to the side. I didn't know what I expected but it wasn't Theo sat up reading a book with his head wrapped in white gauze. Otherwise he looked completely fine.

"Hey" I left a small kiss on his cheek and sat on the edge of his bed, waiting for him to answer the questions I was too afraid to ask.

He let out a sigh and placed his book near his pillow, shifting further to the left so I had more space on the bed.

"Who told you I was here?"

I furrowed my eyebrows in annoyance and confusion "That's not important. What's important is what are you doing here? Don't tell me you got into another fight"

He gave me a slight smile, his expression showing discomfort.

"Theo. Why? Why are you always fighting?"

"For the record I won the fight, sweetheart."

I scoffed "Well clearly not if you've got that on your head and your opponent isn't even in the hospital wing right now"

He grinned as if he found something funny "He's having a meeting with Snape that's why."

He wasn't getting the point. He just didn't seem to care that what he was doing was wrong and it affected others as well.

"What happened? I want the truth"

His smile dropped, becoming suddenly serious to when I asked for the truth.

"Well, the guy who asked you out the other day and you rejected him. He was talking shit about you so I decided to fuck him up a bit. You know, so he'd know that he didn't have the right to talk about you like that...no one does"

I sighed. The fact that he was fighting because of something said about me was nice of him but I didn't want him hurt because of that.

"Theo he said something about me. Not you. I don't want you hurt every time someone says a single thing against me"

He sat up suddenly, anger evident on his face "And why the fuck not? If he's going to talk about my girlfriend like that do you think I'm just gonna stand there and not do shit all?"

"But Theo your hurt because of it! I don't want that for you"

He slumped back down and didn't bother looking at me "I don't fucking care about being hurt. If I hear a single word against you-"

"Just ignore it!" I was getting annoyed now. Why was he so desperate to be hurt because of something I didn't even care that much about?

"Ignore it? Your fucking crazy if you think I'll ignore something like that"

I stood up ready to do something. Ready to shout at him, to push him off the bed, to do anything but sit there and tell him time and time again that I didn't want him hurt because of something so irrelevant. Tears welled up in my eyes, I tried blinking them away but instead a few fell down making their way down my cheeks.

"Well your good at ignoring one thing! Our fucking date that your missing because of your detention. Is that what you wanted?" I wiped the remaining tears from my face, anger coursing through my veins. Theo finally deigned to look at me after having raised my voice, something I rarely did.

His eyes widened in shock "I didn't realise. Fuck. I'm sorry Y/n, I didn't even realise and- I didn't mean for you to cry. I'm so fucking sorry"

"It's a little late for that isn't it. What does it matter when you've missed the second date this month because of some stupid fighting you can't control"

He leant toward me, reaching for my hand the warmth of his hand seeping into me. "I am so sorry. I am so fucking sorry, sweetheart. What do you want me to do? I swear I won't fight again...unless the person deserves it"

I sat back down, the anger vanishing from me, Theo's comforting hand grounding me.

"Lay down with me. Please." He asked quietly, eyes full of sorrow.

I turned so I could lay down next to him his arm coming around my waist to pull me closer to him. He dropped a kiss to the top of my head "I really am sorry Y/n. I don't want you to be upset over something I've done"

I shook my head "I'm not upset. I just don't want my boyfriend to be in the hospital wing for half the year"

"I'll try harder" He whispered.

"Just try harder on the fighting aspect. Otherwise your perfect"

I smiled at him and the one he gave back made my heart melt. I loved him.

[foldingfittedsheets]

So I went to Geek Girl Con this year and the best panel we attended was one where Librarians recommend your next spicy romance read and since they provided a list I figured I'd share the list because why the hell not? I don’t know how long they will leave the link up sorry All synopsis will be what I remembered from the panel without any research into the title so buckle up! I feel like it's pretty obvious which ones I was more interested in based on what I remember.

Triple Sec - Spice Level 2 Queer/Fiction

This is a poly plot wherein a cynical bartender gets swept up in a new romance with a lady in an open marriage and then sparks start between all three.

Band Sinister - Spice Level 4 Queer/Period

A period romance between two guys, the local playboy and our leading lad who meets the local playboy when his sister gets into an accident on the guy’s property. He finds a lovely community very different than the rake's reputation suggested and gets drawn into a romance against his better judgement.

Here We Go Again - Spice Level 2 Queer/Fiction

A wlw romance between two girls with a history who need to go on a roadtrip together and reconnect on the drive. Childhood friends I think?

Payback's a Witch - Spice Level 2 Queer/Fantasy

A wlw romance between Emmy and Talia (I'm cheating I've read this one before and liked it). Emmy left her hometown and magic behind after an embarrassing rejection from the most powerful magical family's scion. She comes back into town and finds her best friend and the stunning Talia have both now been wronged by the same guy. They convince Emmy to join a pact to get back at him together and Emmy and Talia grow closer through the power of revenge.

Act Your Age Eve Brown - Spice Level 2 Het/Fiction

A chaotic autistic female lead runs into a by the book boy after one of them gets hit by the others car and she ends up staying with him. They form a very sweet bond and the representation was lauded as being very precious.

Merry Inkmas - Spice Level 4 Het/Fiction

A cool alternative barista gets fired in front of her crush for giving a homeless man a free coffee and her crush hires her on the spot to work for him instead. They start up a relationship that he warns has an expiration date which suits her fine- or does it? Hijinks ensue.

D'Vaughn and Kris Plan a Wedding - Spice Level 4 Queer/Fiction

A wlw romance under false pretenses, they agree to get married for a reality TV show. There's an influencer and a shy one can’t remember who’s who, the shy one decided national television is a good way to come out to her family. As the competition continues real feelings start to rear their head between the two.

The Prospects - Spice Level 4 Queer/Fiction

Uhhhh baseball boys? The boys play baseball... mlm romance. Baseball.

Something Wild and Wonderful - Spice Level 3 Queer/Fiction

Two guys are both hiking a grueling trail from Mexico to Canada. After running into each other repeatedly they strike up a connection and eventually a relationship. One of the guys is still spiritual despite rejection from the church and it's healing for the other guy.

Prince and Assassin - Spice Level 4 Queer/Fantasy

An assassin is sent on a mission to take out a prince. While waiting for his orders to pull the dagger the two men grow closer and the assassin realizes he may not be able to kill off the prince as he learns more about him- but his sister's life is forfeit if he fails. Dramaaaaa

After Hours on Milagro Street - Spice Level 5 Het/Fiction

I cheated and had to refresh my memory as I fully forgot the plot. A bar is entrusted to new management in the form of a tattooed tough lady. A child of the family who's always run it takes issue with her management and sparks fly as they learn to compromise.

The Pairing - Spice Level Queer/Fiction

A couple breaks up before taking an amazing food tour across Europe and neither goes. With their tickets to the tour about to expire both decide to say screw it and go anyway, presuming that they couldn't possibly run into each other. They do. They they proceed to try to out slut each other while eating delicious food to prove how over each other they are. They aren't.

Hunt the Stars - Spice Level 3 Het/Sci fi

Human/alien pairing I think? As a bounty hunting crew takes a dangerous job and in the midst of peril find undeniable chemistry despite some fraught history between the two species.

A Holly Jolly Ever After - Spice Level 5 Het/Fiction

A previous child actor has found herself in a loveless marriage. She finally breaks free of her husband and takes a huge hit to her public image. She takes a job on a Hallmark style Christmas movie with another previous child star boyband. He has always had a crush on her and while paired as romantic leads on the film she admits to him she's never had an orgasm. We can see where this is going.

Morning Glory Milking Farm - Spice Level 5 Het/Fantasy

Stay with me. Minotaur. Milking. Farms. But it's not milk, guys. So a down on her luck girl takes a great paying job on a farm which I think is like phone sex? and makes a connection with one of the beefy boys get it. Genuinely tactful conversations around consent despite the goofy premise. Monster fuckers will enjoy.

Hate to Want You - Spice Level 5 Het/Fiction

Romeo and Juliet style warring families who hate each other because of grocery stores, I think. A boy and girl get together once a year and hate fuck each other about it but things get hard when she moves back into town for real and they keep bumping into each other.

Consort of Fire - Spice Level 5 Queer/Fantasy

A princess and knight go to take down a dragon but wind up falling for him instead? I feel like that's enough said. Poly dynamic and dragons, that's all it took for me to put in a hold.

Dating Dr. Dil - Spice Level 3 Het/Fiction

Fake dating a hot doctor to get her family off her back. 'Nough said.

Satisfaction Guaranteed - Spice Level 2 Queer/Fiction

A lady inherits a sex toy shop and drops her job to try to save it. The store manager doesn't think much of her and they both have to work together to get the shop back on its feet.

Role Playing - Spice Level 3 Het/Fiction

A forties lady joins a message board for gaming and strikes up a conversation with someone she assumes is a teenager. The guy thinks he's talking to a grandma. They meet and realize they're in the same age bracket and have a lot in common.

[wordsinhaled]

it was really only a matter of time until edwardian payneland happened and what if i channeled maurice about it. just a little

-

Charles is the son of the groundskeeper at St. Hilarion's School for Boys while Edwin is a pupil there. And he can't help but notice Edwin—how he’s nearly always alone, or else being harangued by the cruel older boys who call themselves his peers.

Charles privately thinks they hardly seem equal to him in poise or grace or manner. They are boisterous, brash, crass, violent, all overlaid with a veneer of false propriety, but Charles can see the cracks in it. He knows that sort by how they are inside, and they cannot be like Edwin at all. No, Edwin Paine's got a sad, drawn sort of look about him that Charles can't help recognizing. This lonely boy who feels somehow kindred in a way he can't put a finger on, but is pulled to him all the same, though by rights he'd do better to keep his distance.

Edwin often sits by the lake by himself, to read, or to do his assignments in the shade of the trees. Picturesque as a painting, he is. One day Charles dares to approach him, though he knows the risk in it—prepared to be rebuffed, rebuked for his untoward attention to someone he is meant to ignore; but the boy does not turn him away.

And so they become friends. Tentative, and then less and less so.

Together they explore the school's sprawling grounds, all of whose surprising hiding-places Charles Rowland knows by heart, having wandered them himself for years and made them his own refuge. The woods become theirs; the shore by the lake theirs; the shade of the trees theirs. The attic, where no one comes to look for them in the dead of night, also theirs.

And then one day Charles notices a group of boys surrounding Edwin. The usual cadre, and they're posturing, their voices loud in the autumn air. They’ve ripped Edwin's penny magazine from his grip and are tearing pages out of it, scattering them to be plucked up by the wind. Charles can do nothing else but step in. He shouts at them to back off, puts himself between them and Edwin, and gets himself thrashed for his trouble—but they, at least, finally leave Edwin alone.

Edwin, for his part, cannot believe Charles would be so reckless for his sake. Charles has not yet mentioned to him that he is used to this sort of treatment, and sees worse at home. They sit together in the boathouse by the lake, cross-legged, close enough for Edwin to dab carefully at Charles’ split lip and bleeding knuckles.

“You should not have done that for me,” he chides, though it carries no heat. “What will happen now?” He thinks word is sure to get back to the school, and there will be a scandal. Those boys, who so vocally despise Edwin, will hardly be quiet in their outrage, their humiliation. Charles’ father might be relieved of his post, and then Charles’ family will have to leave St. Hilarion’s. That is how these things go.

And what was it all for? For Edwin? How could it have been worth it?

“Doesn’t matter, does it?" Charles is saying, when Edwin surfaces from his troubled thoughts. "Couldn’t let them treat you like that. They had you five to one. And that, just ‘cause you’re different. I know how it is.” Charles’ eyelashes are very long, and the light turns his eyes a warm, deep amber as he talks fiercely, insistently, in defense of Edwin.

It’s terribly forward, Edwin thinks. And, despite every misgiving, he welcomes it. No one has ever fought for Edwin before. No one has ever spoken about him with such conviction.

Then Charles seems to lapse into pensiveness. “You didn’t have to…” he says softly. "All this." He gestures, with the free hand Edwin isn’t busy wrapping up, at the little bottle of antiseptic, the scissors, the roll of bandages and the cloths, all spread out on the floorboards between them.

“Of course I did,” Edwin says.

Really, he had not given it much consideration. He had had only the presence of mind to memorize the sight of Charles kneeling in the dew-damp grass, angry gaze still spitting fire at the backs of Edwin’s retreating bullies. He’d had blood in his bared teeth, and the briefest flash of desire had seared through Edwin—to kiss him. Merely in thanks, perhaps, but still, to kiss him.

He would know the warmth of Charles’ mouth. Fleeting, forbidden, it would sear itself into his mind for ever.

Of course, he had done no such thing; for he could not. Instead, he’d done the only thing he could do—bent low towards Charles, and squeezed his shoulder once, as if to say, Wait here for me. I will come back to you.

And as he'd turned on his heel and gone off in the direction of the infirmary, leaving Charles there with dusk encroaching, Edwin had hoped Charles understood his gesture for the indelible promise it was.

[mawvax]

tf:one observations and rambling (spoilers!) - cave scenes

just going through the movie again for references and noticing random things

1. D-16; top of his sector

D-16's badge having 6 notches (assuming it showcases excellence, hard work/rank) and Orion only having 1 (troublemaker.) -- which is why D-16 stomps on it out of frustration; it's the symbol of his devotion to Sentinel Prime.

2. D-16's first reaction to everything: >:[

there's a certain point - namely when they reach the cave - where D-16 is clearly at the end of his rope. His first reaction to every single event is anger; which is not wrong!

It's just in sharp contrast to Orion who doesn't hold the same devotion he did, therefore isn't taking events quite as personal as D-16.

Sees dead Megatronus > Angry at whoever did this (assuming Quints at this point)

Alpha Trion declares that Sentinel is a false Prime - Angry and defensive (that's his idol and cybertron's savior)

World View falling apart > Angry at Orion for leading him off protocol that led to these events. Angry at Sentinel who should be executed and paraded for his betrayal.

Even his first instinct is to Fight when the Quints arrive. He's ready to stand up and not take things lying down anymore. He's ready to take charge of things - to set them right.

Unfortunately, to D-16 - that means disregarding what anyone else says too, including Orion who led him previously.

3. Orion

D-16 in the midst of all the unfolding events, finds blame in Orion for leading him to these life-shattering painful truths being unfolded before them.

Which is contradictory to the praise he was giving Orion for leading them to the surface previously when it was seemingly beneficial at the time; it's realistic - but still sad.

As D-16 lets out at Orion how he truly feels - being dragged around by Orion; Orion's first reaction is to reflect. "am i truly at fault?" - and later on after Airachnid attacks the High Guard, he clearly believes what D-16 said as well. That this was all his fault. (Even though it really is Sentinels'. And a friendship is not a one way street.)

When Orion learns about Sentinel's betrayal he's shocked; but his mind immediately goes: How do we stop him? How do we help the people suffering under Sentinel? How do we show others the monster he truly is?

Both D-16 and Orion want justice but prioritize different things. It's about revenge and the righteous killing of a false prophet for D-16. For Optimistic Orion, Sentinel should be exposed, to face his crimes and be judged fairly. The less bloodshed, the better a new age for Cybertron can begin.

Let it not begin in a bloody execution fueled by hatred. Let them not be like Sentinel who took the future of Cybertron forcefully into his own hands through blood. Who brutally ripped Megatronus's cog out from his corpse.

("Don't be like Sentinel.")

4. You're still the most important person in my life

Even right after the argument when they get their cogs, the first thing they do is look at each other.

God. They are heartbreaking.

5. This shot.

Right after they return from seeing Sentinel collude with the Quintessons.

The line of shadow drawn between D-16 and the rest as he is faced away... A visual way to represent the fracture forming in between them...

I love this movie so much.

Gonna end my ramble here for now - and this is just from the cave - there's SO MANY things to just go on and on about this film.

peekaboo

[pyschosoda]

Caught Staring

feat - Osferth, Finan, Uhtred, Sihtric

In which Uhtred and his pretty boys are caught staring at the woman their heart desires

a/n: my first post finally!!! I decided to start small in order to get the feel of writing for these characters! likes and reblogs are appreciated!!

“I can feel you staring at me…”

You watch the timid monk stiffen and look away from your peripheral. You often noticed Osferth’s eyes were drawn towards you when in the same room. You didn’t mind, of course; it was quite cute, so you never felt the need to call him out on it, but the poor boy looked as if he was about to explode if you didn’t speak up soon. 

“Ah…apologies… I don’t mean to stare." His eyes involuntarily straying back towards you for a moment before he forced his gaze to the wooden floorboards beneath his feet. 

 

“Have I got something on my face?” You tear your gaze from the arrow you had been crafting, now trailing over the anxious-looking monk. “Or perhaps my hair is askew?” A smile curls its way onto your lips as you watch Osferth shake his head at your teasing, his eyes flickering up to your face before dropping back down as if he couldn’t decide if he wanted to meet your gaze. 

 

"N…n-no, my lady, you-“

 

"I’m teasing you, Osferth,” you cut him off, not wanting him to embarrass himself further, his own lips curling into a smile as his eyes finally decided that he did want to meet your gaze. 

 

“Oh…” His voice is barely above a whisper. “Right…”

 

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence as your attention is drawn back to what you were doing before. 

 

and again, Osferth is staring. 

 

He watches as your hands craft arrow after arrow as if it were nothing more than muscle memory. 

 

From the corner of your eye, you notice Osferth fidgeting again, unsure if he should leave or try to start another conversation with you. 

 

“Come, sit,” you break the silence, making the decision for him as you offer him the seat across from you. “I’ll show you how to make an arrow.”

“I can feel you staring at me.”

 

Your voice cuts through the loud ale house, but Finan seemed to hear you just fine from where he was standing, slumped against the wall next to where you sat. 

 

“What? Now I’m not allowed to look at ya?" He scoffs, bringing the mug to his lips. 

 

“First ya take my seat, and now ya won’t even let me look at ya?" He jests, shaking his head as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. 

 

Your eyes roll at his words, unable to hide the smile Finan seemed to always bring to your lips. 

 

“I’m going to get us some more ale,” you state with a laugh, plucking the mug from his hands as you stand up and make your way to the barmaid behind the counter. 

 

Of course, once you left, Finan reclaimed his stolen seat. You opened your mouth to protest, but before you’re able to get a word out, he’s pulling you into his lap, the ale in the mugs sloshing around, coating your hands in the sticky liquid. 

 

“Finan!” you scold. “I’m covered in ale now, you bastard!”

 

He shushes you as he takes one of the filled mugs from your hands. “I’ll help you clean it off later; just sit still and let me enjoy a nice cup of ale with a pretty girl on my lap.”

“I can feel you staring at me,”

 

A grin stretches it’s way onto Uhtred’s face as he tore another piece of chicken from the bone, his eyes flickering down to the meat as he slips it into his mouth before his gaze moves back to yours. 

 

“Am I not allowed to look at my woman anymore?” He said in his usual smug tone that only added to his charm. 

 

“There’s a difference between looking and staring,” you say with false annoyance lacing between your words. 

 

This, of course, only makes him more smug, causing laughter to bubble up past his lips as he continues to enjoy his meal. 

 

“I can’t help that you look so beautiful tonight." Uhtred shrugs, looking back down at his plate as he finishes his food. 

 

“I look the same as I always do,” you argue, standing up to put away the plates.

 

As you walk by, Uhtred catches your waist with his hand. He leans back in his chair, his thumb gently moving back and forth, tracing the skin beneath your clothes. 

 

“That doesn’t make you any less beautiful to me." His voice was softer than before; the smugness was gone as he gazed up at you. 

 

“Sit, I would like to enjoy this moment with you a little longer." He releases your waist at the request, and you obliged, of course. Who are you to deny Lord Uhtred such a simple request? A request that ended up leading you right into his bed. 

“I can feel you staring at me.”

 

You pull your hands from the cold water of the river, giving Sihtric your full attention. It was hard to believe he was the warrior that people said he was because every time you got a look at him, he looked more like a puppy than a man to you, much like he did now, staring at you with wide eyes, shifting in the place he stood as he worked up the courage to speak more than his usual two words to you. 

 

“I wasn’t staring." His voice was light, almost light enough to be carried away in the wind, but you heard him. You always did. 

 

“No?” you hummed, turning your attention back to the wet dress in your hand. “Just happened to be strolling by the river, looking in my direction then?” 

 

There was a pause; for a moment, the only sound you heard was the sound of the river as you used it to wash your clothes. 

 

“You shouldn’t be out here alone." Sihtric spoke up, changing the subject. It seemed he’d rather focus on you in this moment. 

 

“I’m not alone,” you replied, squeezing the water from the dress you were cleaning. “You’re here.” You look back at him from over your shoulder, smiling at the sight of him moving his gaze down to his feet. 

 

“Will you come and make yourself useful, or are you just going to stand there and stare at me?” Your invitation seems to break the barrier between you two, the leaves crunching beneath his feet getting louder as he gets closer. 

 

“I was not staring,” he mumbles, taking one of the dirty pieces of clothing from her basket and dipping it into the river. 

- dividers by @dollywons and @thecutestgrotto -

a/n: again, this is my first post!! feedback in the comments would be appreciated! ^-^

[novaursa]

hi!! could i request a targaryen! reader x jacaerys velaryon.

reader is daemon and laena velaryon daughter, she’s the epitome of daemon when he was in his prime (crazy daemon) but got her mothers looks. she’s betrothed to jace not baela. the scene when the dragonseeds meet jace and ulf blatantly disrespects jace, she enters the room and steps in. she looks down on him like someone below her to remind him his place, both jace and her do. especially threatens that her dragon (maybe oc dragon of balerion or cannibal) has a particular diet of eating his own kind, she’ll turn a blind eye when her dragon starts eating silverwing, leaving ulf back being a dragonseed in the slums where he belongs. then the dinner scene too!, not to forget hugh too, even though he doesn’t do anything just a mere threat. not addam though loves her uncle 🫶🫶

you can choose however you want it story to be structure you have full autonomy🫶🫶

Wayward Daughter

- Summary: When Ulf disrespects Jacaerys, you remind him of his place.

- Paring: cousin!reader/Jacaerys Velaryon

- Note: The reader is Daemon's and Laena's oldest daughter, she is bonded with Cannibal.

- Rating: Mature 16+ (just to be safe)

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The wind howls as you stand with Jacaerys atop the rocky outcrop of Dragonstone, your gaze drawn toward the towering peaks of Dragonmont where the dragons circle high above. The skies are turbulent today, a reflection of the tension that hangs in the air. Jacaerys stands beside you, his posture straight, though there’s a flicker of unease in his dark eyes. You feel it, too. The Dragonseeds—those commoners and bastards who claim Targaryen blood and now seek the right to mount dragons—have arrived. And with them, comes trouble.

The Cannibal stirs behind you, a deep rumble vibrating through his massive chest, his black scales blending with the stormy sky. The others might flinch in his presence, but you’ve known him all your life. He’s wild and uncontrollable to anyone else, but you’ve forged a bond with him like no other. His dark and dangerous energy is a mirror of your own, a reflection of what it means to be Daemon Targaryen’s eldest daughter. Where Jacaerys holds the warmth of his mother’s love, the steadfastness of duty, you are a flame lit by a different fire—wild, unpredictable, fierce.

Ahead, the Dragonseeds approach, two of them standing out from the rest: Ulf the White and Hugh Hammer. Ulf’s silver hair shines under the fading light, but it is his swagger that grates on you. There’s something in the way he carries himself, a man too confident for someone who spent most of his life in the slums of King’s Landing, now reaching for power he has never earned. Hugh, on the other hand, stands a little to the side, his dark eyes flicking between you, Jace, and Ulf, as if he knows trouble is brewing.

"Your Grace," Ulf greets Jacaerys with a smirk that barely conceals his contempt. He steps closer to Jacaerys, reaching out as if to touch him, to invade his space. "Such fine hair you have, my prince," Ulf says, his voice dripping with false admiration as his fingers graze the edges of Jacaerys’s dark locks.

The brazenness of his gesture sparks a fury within you. Jace’s jaw clenches, but he remains still, trying to hold his composure. You, however, are not one to allow such disrespect to go unanswered.

Without a word, you step between them, placing your body protectively in front of Jacaerys. The look in your eyes is one of warning, as sharp as the point of a sword. Ulf’s smirk falters when he meets your gaze. He may think himself bold, but he hasn’t yet faced the fury of a Targaryen woman with the blood of Old Valyria running hot in her veins.

“If you ever touch him like that again, Ulf, I will feed Silverwing to Cannibal piece by piece,” you say, your voice low and venomous, yet steady as steel. “And when there’s nothing left but bone, you will be sent crawling back to the slums of King’s Landing where you belong.”

The threat hangs in the air like the scent of wildfire. Ulf blinks, his smirk wiped away, replaced by something like fear as he glances at the looming shadow of Cannibal behind you. You don’t move, holding his gaze until he looks away, defeated. He shifts uncomfortably, taking a step back, the bravado drained from his face.

You spare a glance at Hugh Hammer, his hands open in a gesture of appeasement. Unlike Ulf, Hugh is no fool. His eyes meet yours, and he inclines his head in a small nod, acknowledging your warning without the need for words. He knows Ulf was out of line, and he has no desire to provoke you or Jacaerys further.

“I meant no harm,” Ulf mumbles, his arrogance melting under the weight of your stare. He steps back again, his hands raised as if to show he’s harmless. “Just a jest.”

“There is no jest in disrespect,” you snap, still holding your ground. “Jacaerys is your prince, and you will show him the respect he deserves, or you’ll answer to me.”

Jace’s hand brushes yours lightly, a silent gesture of gratitude. His eyes flick to you with a look that says more than words ever could. Though he could stand up for himself—and does, more often than not—there is something deeply satisfying about the way you step into the fray for him. He is your betrothed, your equal, but in this moment, you are the one with fire in your blood, unafraid to burn those who dare disrespect what is yours.

“Enough,” Jacaerys says at last, his voice firm as he steps forward, reclaiming his space. He doesn’t need to say more; the point has been made. Ulf and Hugh both bow their heads, though it is Hugh who seems more genuine in his respect.

As the Dragonseeds shuffle away, Jacaerys turns to you, his expression softening. “You didn’t have to do that,” he murmurs, though there’s a hint of amusement in his tone.

You shrug, a smirk pulling at your lips. “Maybe not,” you admit. “But I wanted to.”

He chuckles, the anomasity of the moment easing. “I’m beginning to think I should fear you more than I fear Cannibal.”

“Good,” you say, your smile widening. “You’re learning.”

The two of you stand in the fading light of Dragonstone, the storm clouds swirling above. 

And anyone who dares to come between you will face your wrath.

The hall of Dragonstone is filled with the low hum of conversation as you enter, your eyes scanning the room where the Dragonseeds have gathered. The flickering light of the hearth casts shadows across the ancient walls, the scent of roasted meats and spiced wine lingering in the air. At the head of the table, Jacaerys sits beside you, his gaze steady, though you can sense the tension in his posture. This dinner is meant to solidify alliances, but with men like Ulf the White at the table, it feels more like a test of wills.

You take your seat beside Jace, your attention briefly drawn to Addam of Hull, who sits across from you. His eyes are sharp, observant, but there’s an easy manner about him that sets him apart from the others. Addam is different. He carries himself with a quiet dignity, a reflection of his true lineage—though unspoken, you know well enough that he’s Corlys Velaryon’s son, a secret that sits heavy in the air between you, though neither of you have ever addressed it.

Ulf sits a few chairs down, his posture languid, as if he believes himself the lord of this table. His pale eyes flick toward you, and you can see the resentment simmering beneath the surface. It’s no secret that Ulf has never forgiven you for the way you put him in his place earlier. Good. You have no intention of letting him forget it.

The conversation is polite, if a bit strained. Rhaenyra, seated further down, makes an effort to engage the Dragonseeds, offering words of gratitude and hope for the future. But your focus shifts when Ulf, with that insufferable grin of his, leans back in his chair, his goblet of wine raised as if he’s already claimed a victory.

"Seems the prince and his lovely bride-to-be have more fire in them than I thought," Ulf says, his voice carrying just enough weight to draw attention. His eyes flick to you, lingering just a little too long, the implication behind his words hanging in the air. "Targaryens always were a fiery bunch."

You feel Jace stiffen beside you, but you remain calm, a slow smile tugging at the corners of your lips. You relish moments like this—when men like Ulf think they have the upper hand, only for you to remind them who they’re truly dealing with.

“Oh, Ulf,” you say, your tone light, almost playful, “it’s not just fire we have in our blood. It’s power, something you seem to misunderstand.” You pause, letting the words sink in, then take a sip of your wine. “But perhaps that’s why Silverwing tolerates you. She must sense the need for something stronger in your bloodline.”

The remark lands as intended, and you see the flicker of irritation flash in Ulf’s eyes. His hand tightens around the goblet, but he doesn’t respond right away, perhaps knowing better than to provoke you any further in front of the gathered company. Instead, he shoots a sidelong glance at Hugh, who remains silent but clearly uncomfortable with the rising tension.

“Careful, Y/N,” Ulf says, trying to keep his voice steady, though you can hear the edge to it. “Not everyone at this table shares your sense of humor.”

“Good,” you reply, raising your goblet in mock toast. “I wouldn’t want to be misunderstood. And let me make myself perfectly clear, Ulf, if you think for one moment you can match me in wit, let alone in power, you’ll find yourself sorely disappointed.”

There’s a low murmur from those seated nearby, eyes flicking between you and Ulf. But before the tension can escalate, Addam speaks up from across the table, his voice calm, cutting through the growing unease.

“Ulf,” he says, his tone firm but not unkind, “let’s not forget why we’re here. This war requires unity, not division.” He glances at you briefly, a knowing look in his eyes. There’s no fear or contempt in his gaze, only understanding. Addam is smart enough to recognize what’s at stake, and perhaps that’s why you find it easy to respect him, unlike Ulf.

You give Addam a small nod, acknowledging his attempt to smooth things over. There’s something about him that you can’t help but admire—his steady demeanor, his quiet strength. It’s no wonder Corlys holds him in such regard, bastard or not.

“Of course,” you say, your voice softening as you turn your attention to Addam. “We’re all here for the same cause, after all. It’s not every day one has the chance to fight for a true queen.” You smile at him, the warmth in your tone genuine. Unlike Ulf, Addam has earned his place here.

Addam returns the smile, though his eyes remain sharp, ever watchful. “A true queen indeed,” he replies, lifting his goblet in a respectful toast. “To Rhaenyra.”

The tension at the table eases somewhat, the air growing lighter as the others follow Addam’s lead and raise their goblets in agreement. But even as you join in the toast, your eyes linger on Ulf, watching him closely, waiting for any sign that he might try to push you further. He says nothing, his gaze fixed on the table in front of him, though you can still feel the undercurrent of his resentment.

The rest of the dinner passes without incident, the conversation flowing more easily now, but you keep your focus sharp. Ulf may be cowed for now, but men like him don’t forget slights easily. You’ll be ready when he tries again.

As the meal winds down, you lean closer to Jacaerys, your hand resting lightly on his arm. “We��re surrounded by would-be dragons, but not all of them are worthy,” you murmur quietly, your gaze shifting toward Ulf, who is still sulking in his seat.

Jace follows your gaze, his lips curving into a small, wry smile. “I trust you to remind them of that,” he says, his voice low, only for your ears.

You smile in return, feeling the weight of the moment lift slightly. If the Dragonseeds—or anyone else—wants to challenge you, they’ll find themselves facing not just one dragon, but two.

[purinfelix]

Joao with actress reader 👀

just an act ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ - joao felix

pairing: actress reader x joao felix (established relationship) summary: in which your boyfriend's possessive tendencies are put to the test warnings: none! w/c: 1.1k

a/n: take a shot everytime i apologise for being ia challenge !! also this is a teensy bit rushed and i'm not entirely happy with it but, i hope it's alright !! tysm anon for the req (and for waiting for so long for me to answer it 😭)

“Joao, you’re sure you’re okay with it?”

“How many times are you going to ask me that?” your boyfriend huffed, “I’m fine! Really!”

“You literally skipped out on training to follow me to work,” you reminded him, with a slightly teasing tone.

“So?”

You let out a sigh for what felt like the hundredth time in the past hour and tried your best to maintain your composure. Around you, the atmosphere of an active film set roared with its flurry of light, noise, and movement. Neither your hair nor makeup were close to being done, and you were still standing wrapped in the plush white robe the costuming staff had given you before you changed into your outfit for your scene. Somewhere to your right you watched the director and his entourage of nervous interns scrounge around the perfect the set’s lighting, and push all of the cameras and mics in their right places. Behind you, your costar sat on his chair, waiting impatiently, ready for the scene the two of you were shooting today.

And yet, the only thing you found your attention being drawn to was the boy that stood in front of you, with floppy hair and pleading eyes and a pout that was just too hard to deny.

“So, are you sure you’re alright with this? With me kissing another man?” you repeated, slowly, growing more aware of how little time you had until the cameras were set to start rolling.

When you had come home a couple of weeks ago with the news - that the new movie you were starring in would involve a kissing scene between you and your costar - you were nervous, to say the least. You knew Joao was the type to value your career just as much as you did, and would never do anything to stop you from achieving your dreams. However, you were equally aware that he had possessive tendencies, as much as he pretended not to. Of course, he had acted casual about the news at first, telling you that as long as you were comfortable with it, he was too.

But now that the time to shoot the scene had actually come, it seemed like he was having second thoughts - evidenced by the fact he had insisted on following you to work and had spent the past hour or so hovering around as you got ready, expression equal parts nervous and stern. Despite this, you knew he’d rather die than admit how he really felt, even if you prodded him a thousand times just to say what was clearly on his mind.

“Yep! Totally fine!” he chirped out in a falsely cheery tone. The way his eyes flickered anxiously between you, and your costar waiting in the distance, seemed to suggest otherwise.

You could only rub his arm reassuringly though, offering a look that you hoped conveyed your gratefulness at the fact he trusted you enough to not get in your way, but also cared enough to be so watchful. Still, the staff around you waited for no one, and soon enough you were ushered back into your makeup chair, from which you watched your boyfriend linger behind the cameras, chewing on his bottom lip nervously.

“Joao, baby.”

You were starting to feel like a broken record at this point.

The scene had gone well, and you had only had to reshoot it a couple of times because of either you or your costar forgetting or stumbling over your lines. But the two of you had done your best to maintain an air of professionalism surrounding the intimate scene - your boyfriend however hadn’t been so well.

“I’m fine.” His tone, and the fact that his back was facing you as the two of you lay in bed together, told you otherwise.

The kiss - or kisses as Joao had corrected you - had only lasted seconds, nothing more than quick pecks in fleeting moments. You hadn’t thought much of them before, during, and now after them but it was clear he didn’t share the same sentiment.

“You said you were okay with it,” you sighed softly, trying your best to push the understanding tone in your voice.

“I am.”

“It doesn’t really seem like it.” Whilst it seemed like the bare minimum for him to let you go ahead with something your job required of you, you couldn’t help but feel grateful for him putting aside his feelings for you - or at least trying to. A part of you found it slightly adorable as well, that he was trying so hard to hide his slight jealousy - evidenced by his moody demeanour the entire afternoon after you got back from shooting.

“What makes you think that?” You couldn’t tell if he was genuinely clueless or whether he was just messing with you. Struggling against your mattress, you pushed yourself up and leaned over to him, resting your chin on his shoulder - from where you could see his side profile, and furrowed brows.

“Hmm, I wonder,” you hum, fingers moving to gently interlace his fingers with yours as a silent way of saying I know something’s wrong.

“It’s just,” he began, and you felt a weight lift off of your shoulders at finally breaking through to him, “that costar of yours, Andy or whatever his name is, seemed a little bit too into it.”

You had to stop yourself from giggling, given how sincere his words were, but you couldn’t help but find his jealousy a little bit adorable.

“Joao, his name is Andrew,” you corrected him, “and he has a girlfriend.”

“What?”

“Yeah, and she’s lovely,” you chuckled softly, relief washing over you as you watched your boyfriend break into a small smile for what felt like the first time all day. You could physically feel the tension in his shoulders melt away as he let out a sigh of relief he must’ve been holding ever since you had come home with the news.

“Thank God,” he finally mumbled, turning back around to face you as he pulled you in close. You felt his grip tightly around your waist as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, sighing deeply.

“Plus, it’s not like he would pose much competition anyways,” you added, laughing softly as you wrapped your arms around him. He only hummed in response, not saying much more. You pecked the top of his forehead, relishing the fact that you had finally managed to heal his mood. After all, whilst acting was your job, you knew that at times like this - away from any cameras and in the comfort of your boyfriend’s arms - none of it was an act.

[newdeobis]

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ[22:48]

fem reader x juyeon

warnings: smut, he begs, idk wtf is this

"shit-" Juyeon throws his head back, shutting his eyes before voicing his thoughts out loud again, hands gripping your hips tigher, dragging his words with every thrust "tightest pussy I've ever felt. warmest too, shit baby-" he stares at you through the mirror when you moan his name in response, a smirk growing on his lips, tilting his brow in false mock "yeah, baby? you like it when I fuck you like this?"

you can only moan in response, barely breathing the words in between your mewls. It only excites Juyeon further — gritting his teeth, slowing his hips down only to fuck you deeper and harder until you're a mess "Say it louder, baby." he whispers, kissing your neck while running his fingers through your hair, slowly making a messy ponytail and using his grip to tilt your head and give him more skin to lick. His other hand making its way down, fingers grazing your clit as you can feel his smile on your neck "hm? come on, beautiful."

You're shaking, legs nearly giving out when Juyeon pinches your clit, teeth grazing your shoulder. The warmth you feel creeping up your body and the way your fingers grip the sheets tighter is enough to let you know you're almost there.

"I love it" you choke out, gagging when he picks up the pace, drawing small circles around your clit, "cock so big, so good, Juyeon." you stare back at him in the mirror, barely keeping your eyes open with the force of his thrusts "shit, you're gonna make me cum"

Juyeon hum, nodding "Mhm" he opens his mouth in a silent moan when your walls clench around him again "come for me?" he almost begs, brows drawn together and voice broken. He cries out "please? please come around me, beautiful"

You shake your head, trying to make it last longer. But the way the hand on your hair slowly descend to your neck, long fingers loosely wrapping around it while moaning your name, looking so sexy when he says a small "please?" again makes your body react to his every wish, crying out loud with how hard your orgasm hits you as you can feel Juyeon peppering kisses on your skin.

"that's it, baby" the boy says breathless, getting sloppier with every thrust as he can feel his own orgasm creeping up his spine, body trying to get close to yours and squeezing you against the mattress, not caring when your legs give out and using his own to spread yours wider, going even deeper.

"so good, so so so good, baby. Could fuck you like this all day, pussy so messy, so wet" Juyeon nods his head, nearly losing his mind when you moan his name. "keep saying my name, baby" he begs, his own thighs shaking when you call his name again. Eyes rolling back as he cums, fantasizing about it being raw as he brings your hips up to meet his, trying to fuck you deeper, trying to make you feel him inside even after he pulls out.

"fuck-" he smiles to himself while admiring your body, the hand on your hip making its way down to play with the wet mess on your inner thighs, wishing it was his cum on your skin, pulling out only to replace his cock with his fingers inside you. Kissing your shoulder to calm you down when you hiss from overstimulation

"shh, baby, I got you" he coos, biting back a smirk when you try to push your hips down to feel more of him as he pulls his fingers out, bringing them to his mouth "just want to taste you"

You look over your shoulder, pussy clenching around nothing when he moans around his fingers, eyes full of lust staring at the mess between your thighs before looking up at you "let me clean you up?" Juyeon asks, already knowing your answer but begging you anyways, lowering his body while staring at you, spreading your thighs once again so he could lick his way up your body, fingers squeezing your ass "please, baby?" teeth grazing your skin of inner thighs before licking it "promise I'll make a mess of you again..." another kiss, this time even closer than before, your hand instinctively moving back to grab his hair when you feel him breathing against your pussy, sounding so pussy drunk as he stares at it that you have to bite back a moan "just wanna taste you again, please."

[murdrdocs]

logan x stripper!reader demons are infesting my mind rn… maybe he was corralled into the club by Wade and … idek where this was going but i really need to hashtag fuck that old man!

anon i had sm thoughts abt this last night. none of them are organized. this is gonna be a massive brain dump but stick w me here.

logan was in fact corralled into the club by wade under false pretenses. he was told that "the son of a bitch hangs out here" and logan didn't know exactly who they were looking for, but he'll do anything if it means he doesn't have to see blind al going through withdrawals again. so he tags along, only asking need to know questions. but as soon as they're in there and wade describes the guy logan quickly realizes that their perp is the fucking hamburglar.

"my future wife works here, maybe yours does too." wade drops the act, hands on logan's shoulders for all of a second before logan shakes him off.

"c'mon, don't be shy. go sink your metallic claws into some pretty girl …” wade takes a moment before adding, “or guy!” and then wade stuffs logan's hand full of cash and saunters off somewhere else before logan can even say anything else.

logan knows he could just go home, blind al isn't so bad if she can listen to people speeding through answers on jeopardy!, but then he turns around and sees you—strutting up to the pole on one of the stages, wearing nothing except a skimpy yellow and blue two piece set. he's just drawn to the familiar colors, that's all. that's the reason why he makes his way over and takes a seat, albeit near the back.

this isn't logan's scene at all. he's not the pay-for-company type. he should leave before it's too late, before he's noticed.

he was going to leave, but then logan watches you approach the tip rail, your eyes watching some guy below you. logan stares as you dance for the guy, and just as the guy slips a few bills into the waistband of your tiny shorts, your eyes lift and you see him—logan, sitting in the back of the section, probably poorly lit, but you must like what you see because you linger.

the patron thinks you're lingering for him. logan can practically smell the excitement leaking out of his pores, but above it all he can smell you. a scent so particular and enticing that he wants to smell it as often as he can. he wants to smell it right on him. and he eventually gets what he wants when your set finishes and logan can smell that same scent, stronger than before, making it's way towards him.

god, he really should leave before he's in too deep, but his morality kicks in. he couldn't just sit here and free load, watching you work your ass off without slipping you at least a little something. so he takes a few of the bills wade gave him, pretty much half, and just places it in your hand when you stop in front of him.

you grin over at him and tilt your head, taking in the way he stuffs the rest of the cash into his pocket as he stands.

"leaving already?"

and maybe you're good at your job, or logan is more of a pushover than he thought he was, because he somehow ends up in a vip room with you, watching you dance for him.

he's not afraid to admit you're pretty. he understands why people would pay for this. but he also understands that this is your job. that he's literally paying for you to ask him to help you take your top off. he's paying for human contact, so he's reluctant to relax.

until you coax him into it, your voice as gentle as your hands cupping his face. everything you say sounds so earnest, like you're speaking from the heart and not a script you pull out depending on the customer.

once logan relaxes, he's fucking gone. yeah, that's the most relaxed he has felt in a while, and yeah he wants to see more of you, but he won't go back. mostly because he's broke and he has absolutely no idea where wade got that money from.

luckily wade loves to play matchmaker, setting up two of his friends (logan should've known that this would all come full circle) on a semi-blind date.

logan would've been more upset about it if he didn't get to fuck you (for free!) over and over again that same night.

[dragon-ascent]

Hello, how are you ? Since you have open request I’d like to ask something : How do you think our favorite dragon Zhongli will react to his wife being accused of lying because they have corrected an historian on a false fact about Morax ?

Since English isn’t my first language I’m afraid this is not clear, I’m sorry.

Ooh, I like it, here's what I've come up with <3

-----

The tension is palpable and certainly not what you were hoping to land yourself in when you accepted Zhongli's request to be his plus-one aboard the Pearl Galley.

"Forgive me, Mr. Changying, but that's where I'll have to correct you," you tell the stocky man before you. The food and drinks on the table are long-untouched. "Rex Lapis didn't take on such a grand ten-headed and eight-armed form to exterminate those sea creatures. In fact, he personally went door to door to trap them in little Geo contraptions, even having a bit of trouble with the.... particularly wrigglier ones."

Changying's eyes practically roll into the back of his head. "Do you truly believe that rubbish just because that is what's commonly peddled? That the Geo archon, who could raise the mountains and calm the tides without breaking a sweat, found the task of getting rid of tiny sea creatures tedious and challenging?"

Sighing, you say, "Even the gods are subject to being less-than-perfect in their methods. And besides, the damn things were inside people's houses - brute strength would not have been handy at all. Rex Lapis needed to be careful and meticulous so that none of his people were harmed. Hence the Geo cages."

Despite how neatly you'd presented your counterpoint, Changying merely scoffs as he adjusts his glasses. He jabs a finger at you accusingly. "You're lying, just like everyone else," he growls, "and you clearly have no respect for our late archon! Do you even like him?"

Your breath nearly hitches in your throat as you gaze up at him in shock. "Ex...excuse me?"

The man pulls no punches as he continues his rant against you. "How can you so blindly believe what the masses think? Maybe if you were a real Rex Lapis follower like me, you would learn some critical thinking skills and draw more accurate conclusions!"

"I'm afraid I am on the side of my partner here, Mr. Changying," cuts in Zhongli, placing an arm on your shoulder. Relief floods your veins as you let out the breath you'd been holding. "They are correct in explaining that Rex Lapis had to go the simplistic route when dealing with Liyue's sea creature infestation."

Changying's eyes grow wide. "Forgive me, Mr. Zhongli," he murmurs, and you're not ignorant to the way his tone mellows out and becomes more respectful as he continues to speak. "I didn't know you were also in agreement of that story. But let me explain why he likely-"

"It is alright for you to have your own interpretations of events, especially for a being with an expansive history that is always being debated over," says Zhongli calmly, poised as always, "but when these interpretations are unrealistic and you still try to present them as fact...while belittling other people, no less...the line must be drawn somewhere, yes?"

Changying blanches, stammering, "Er, but don't you think Rex Lapis would appreciate deviating thought processes more, especially when..."

Zhongli's eyes narrow ever so slightly, his visage still calm as a pond. "Perhaps so, but what he would not appreciate is his people trying to one-up others in an attempt to prove they are his most loyal followers." Your husband glances at you. "I know my partner well, and they love Rex Lapis dearly. Not only do you accuse them of lying, you also undermine the love they hold for the deity."

His hand brushes against yours and he interlaces his fingers with you, giving a gentle, reassuring squeeze. You smile softly.

Changying scrambles for words, useless excuses and explanations that hardly justify him being on his high horse.

Zhongli, unamused, fires his parting shot. "Far be it for an ordinary man like myself to tell you what to do, but here is some advice: gather reliable citations for your claims, provide succinct evidence, and be respectful of those with opposing views, and perhaps then Rex Lapis would consider you a favorite of his."

With that, Zhongli escorts you away from the scene, knowing full well you will always be his favorite by far - the approving smile he gives you conveys that perfectly.

[wreckedandpolemic]

won’t fuck unless he famous - matty healy

(mdni) in which you're a serial starfucker, and you finally have a chance at the man who tops your wishlist. part of summer75 2024. 3254 words.

warnings: semi-public sex, oral (f receiving), titwank, slightly problematic power dynamic

The energy surrounding you is electric as the final note squeals out of the amplifiers, drawn out as the crowd around you cheers wildly. Fireworks pop and fizz against the inky sky, heralding the end of the evening’s entertainment for so many. Yours, though, is just beginning. As you watch the band leave the stage, your eyes are glued to the frontman with a singular goal in mind: getting under him.

Look. You aren’t famous, by any stretch of the word. Notorious is more like it, a careful balance of easy charm and knowing the right people buying you access nearly anywhere you want. Matty Healy, though, is your white whale, having eluded your grip at every turn, a blank spot in your ever-growing red ledger. You’ve wanted him ever since you first laid eyes on him at 16, screaming along to The 1975 in your bedroom, bars you’d snuck into, the front rows of sold-out arenas.

And you can pinpoint the moment it switched from an idealistic, childish fantasy to a question not of I wish, of if, but of when.

The first time you’d flirted and conned your way backstage at a festival, you were barely legal and making the most of your gap year. It hadn’t led to much, a passing fling with some singer whose album and dick were equally forgettable. The lasting impression of that night was the split-second of eye contact you’d made with Matty as you came — you and the guy hadn’t really tried to hide, just slipped around a corner and backed against a wall. You’ve replayed the memory so many times it’s worn smooth, and you don’t know whether you recall his eyes dilating for a fraction of a second before he stumbled away, or if it was a trick of your mind, imprinted and false.

Either way, he’ll be seeing a lot more than just your o-face if you get your way tonight. Squaring your shoulders and pasting on a blithe smile, fluttering your lashes and describing a nondescript (read: nonexistent) friend who’s crew until the security guard relents and lets you back. By now, you’re an expert in acting like you belong, able not to react when you brush shoulders with celebrities. You know just when to stroke an ego, play up your awe without coming off obsessive, and it’s gotten you under men far more famous than your next target.

The grass is worn through under your feet as you wander up to a bar, carefully scanning for his presence as you scoop up your rum and coke and saunter away. A girl you know is their crew catches your eye, one you’ve met before, the last time you failed to catch Matty’s attention. You wave, and she brightens, dashing up to you like you’re old friends. “Sorry!” she hisses in your ear when she flings her arms around you. “I could not shake that guy.” You laugh, tipping your head back like she said something hilarious, and cast your best disgusted glare at the guy, who thankfully takes the hint. “How’d you get back here, anyway?”

You grin. “Well, you know what they say about lying, right?”

“What, it’s the most fun a girl can have without taking her clothes off?”

You lean in. “But it’s better if you do.”

She chuckles, eyes alight with mischief. “Hey, you scratch my back, I scratch yours. You want me to introduce you?” Raising an eyebrow, she nods in answer to the question you haven’t even asked. Your eyes practically bug out of your head, unable to hide your shock.

You’d figured that actually getting to him was going to be the hardest part, but clearly it pays to have friends in high places. Steeling yourself, you let your mask of implacable calm fall over your face and follow the girl (whose name you still don’t remember!) as she strolls up to Matty like it’s the most casual thing in the world. He greets her with a smile and a friendly side hug, then lets his gaze flicker over you. He maintains a skilled poker face; if you weren’t so well-versed in what interest looks like on the faces of men like him, you’d miss it entirely, the brief flare of his nostrils, his tongue flickering out to wet his lips, his hand unconsciously raking through his hair.

You let the moment hang for a second, charged as his lips quirk into a half-smile, then introduce yourself. Matty doesn’t remember you, but he recognises you, immediately catching onto exactly what you want. Good. You like it better this way, when you don’t have to play cat and mouse, act coy while they pretend not to want you. As the conversation rolls on around you, Matty starts literally, actually eye-fucking you, gaze lidded as he imagines all the filthy things he’d like to do to you. When there’s a lull, you seize the moment, dipping into your pocket for your out. “Spliff, anyone?”

The others, predictably, decline, so you and Matty wander off until you’re mostly secluded, lights and music fading into the background as you edge towards the tour buses. “I know who you are,” Matty says as you lift the spliff to your lips.

“Then you know what I want,” you say, smirking. The flame from his lighter illuminates him for a second, shadows pooling under his features as he’s cast in an ethereal, golden glow. You inhale deeply, letting the burn in your lungs pull you away from his distracting beauty. You pass Matty the spliff, smoke curling free from your mouth, his gaze glued to your lips. He’s calculating, formulating a response that will give him back his footing. You interrupt before that can happen. “So, why don’t you tell me what you want? You wanna hear how incredible you were tonight? How incredible you’ve been every time I’ve seen you?”

At that, he seems genuinely surprised. “You’ve seen us before?”

The answer comes before you think it through, impassive facade slipping the longer you spend in his presence. “Yeah. This must be, what, the tenth or eleventh time, now?” Matty’s eyes light up, and you thank God for his ego, that his decisions are already being made by his dick and not his rational brain.

“Thought you were just lookin’ for another name in your little black book. But this is personal, isn’t it?” he breathes, voice thick with smoke. “You want me, don’t you, darling?” He leans close, takes a deep pull and slots his lips over yours.

You breathe in greedily, letting the high overtake you, head going hazy with some intoxicating combination of the weed and his hand sliding into your hair. “Yes.”

Matty groans against your lips, the spliff burning forgotten in his other hand. “S’fucking hot. Girl like you, spendin’ all her time looking for a famous fuck, and the whole time you’re just hoping I’ll look your way, right?”

Heat creeps up your spine, warming your cheeks as arousal starts pooling in your belly. You nod, swallowing thickly “Been tryin’ forever. Think about you every fuckin’ night,” you confess, gasping for it as his lips hover cruelly out of reach.

He grins wickedly, backing away to stamp out the spliff. “Why don’t you tell me what you think about, and I’ll decide if you deserve me, yeah? Needy little groupie.” Your thighs clench involuntarily, desire burning in your blood as you search his expression for anything but sincerity.

“Think about waitin’ on my knees for you when you come off stage, lettin’ you take out all your stress on my throat and swallowing like a good girl.” Matty inhales sharply, pupils blowing wide despite his straight face. “Wished you could fuck me backstage, shove your fingers in my mouth to keep me quiet while you just take what you need from me. Knew you’d change my life,” you add, feeding into his ego a little as his smirk grows wider.

Gripping your hips, Matty pulls you in, eyes liquid with desire as your breathing grows laboured. You stumble, crashing into him as his lips meet yours, his kiss commanding. Arousal drips between your legs and you moan into his mouth, knees buckling when he pulls away to mouth at your jaw. “C’mon, darling. Come let me change your life.” His expression is pure arrogance, a man who knows he’s got you exactly where he wants you, wet and needy and made of pure desperation.

You trail after him as he suddenly turns on his heel and strides away, tugging you by the hand and pulling you in for hot, breathless kisses every few steps. Matty knocks the wind from your lungs, pressing you against the outside of their tour bus, kissing and biting possessively at your neck. “Please,” you whimper, writhing under his touch and widening your legs pathetically.

“I don’t think so,” Matty scoffs. “Already bein’ so greedy, baby, gettin’ the dick you’ve been gaggin’ for for so long. M’gonna take my time with you, okay?” You nod frantically, his clothed cock pressing insistently against your core as you soak your panties. Your head is swimming, dizzy and still a little high and disbelieving that Matty fucking Healy has a hand creeping up your thigh. You don’t say a word, not risking anything that could break the spell surrounding you in this breathless moment. “Get your tits out f’me, yeah?”

Thoughtlessly, you obey, tugging your shirt down off your shoulders so your tits spill free, hissing softly at the cold air kissing over your bare skin. Matty groans appreciatively, taking a greedy handful and squeezing hard, a low moan falling from your lips. “You like ‘em?” you murmur, arching up into his touch. “Could fuck ‘em, if you want. S’long as you cum on my face.” His jaw goes slightly slack, suddenly picturing your face painted white and growing impossibly harder against your thigh.

In an instant, your dress is shoved up around your waist and Matty’s tugging your panties down, motioning for you to step out of them when they hit the floor. He tucks them into his pocket with a wicked smirk. “For safekeeping,” he says, kissing his way down your chest until his lips wrap around your nipple. A bolt of arousal strikes in your core at the scrape of his teeth against your sensitive skin, pain flashing under your skin for a second before he soothes you with his tongue. “Such pretty tits, darling. Gonna let me fuck them after I eat you, yeah?”

“Anything you want,” you whine, sliding your hand into his hair to push him back down as he starts to pull away. “Mark me,” you plead. “Please. I need to know this wasn’t a dream when I wake up tomorrow.” You feel Matty smirk against your skin, throwing your head back to allow him access to your neck. He bites a trail of bruises down your neck, collar, over your tits, patches of sore, red skin blooming gloriously under his touch. When Matty drops to his knees, you feel shockingly exposed without his body covering yours, your dress pulled down below your tits and up above your waist so your dripping cunt is bared to the cool night air. Matty’s nails dig into your thighs, pulling your legs further apart so he can slot himself neatly between them.

Your stomach clenches in anticipation. “So fuckin’ wet, baby. D’you get this soaked for everyone before they even touch you, or are you just a little slut for me?” he murmurs, licking a broad, flat stripe across your cunt.  Vision practically whiting out, your answer dies on your tongue, a helpless whine of his name spilling free instead. “C’mon, baby, answer me. Can’t be so dumb already, I’ve hardly touched you,” Matty scoffs, the condescension dripping hot and sticky down your spine.

“Only f’you,” you gasp out. “Fuckin’ dreamed about this, I– oh, fuck,” you moan, his tongue working over your clit in quick, tight circles. You grind down against his mouth, pressure mounting in your belly. You’re on a hair trigger, you can tell, the barest touches already pulling you close. It’s near-Pavlovian, the realisation of all your fantasies exhilarating. Cunt clenching as he tongue-fucks you languidly, you bury one hand in his hair as the other scrambles for purchase against cool metal.

“Close already, aren’t you? So fuckin’ desperate,” Matty croons, fingers coming up to toy with your swollen clit. You buck your hips against his hand, whimpering and pleading incoherently. He laps greedily at you, moaning softly and tugging at your hips so he can drive his tongue ever deeper. He moans into your cunt, the sound vibrating deliciously through you as you tighten your hand in his curls.

Your eyes fall closed, head thudding against metal when you tip it back with a groan. Ecstasy winds tight in your belly, tugging insistently at you as Matty speeds his motions at your clit, every nerve in your body aflame. “Shit, Matty,” you gasp, tense with the effort of holding back. His nails bite into your thighs, the pain at once sweet and grounding, a blissful anchor amongst the night’s unreality. “Feels s’fucking good, Matty.”

Without warning, he pulls away, and you whine pathetically. The sight of him on his knees with his lips and chin dripping with your arousal is almost too much, your legs going weak as you stare unashamedly, cataloguing every second with careful precision. You’re going to fantasise about this night every day for the rest of your fucking life. “Play with your tits for me, okay, angel?”

The epithet makes you hot all over, shivering under his gaze as you obey mindlessly, grasping and pinching at your tits and letting pleasure run over you. You’re helpless against the tide, head thrashing back and forth as Matty makes out with your hole, moaning into your cunt and circling your clit ever faster. Cunt throbbing, you rock your hips, unconscious of anything but Matty’s hands on you, his fingers against your clit, his curls brushing your stomach, his tongue in your cunt. It’s sloppy, soaked with spit and desire, your entire body unspooling under his touch.

“Matty, m’so close, fuck,” you gasp, your words coming out slurred through sick desire. Your heart is hammering, prey caught in a trap you couldn’t escape from if you wanted to, Matty devouring you as you’re pinned, immobile against the pure ecstasy roaring in your ears. “Oh, my fucking God,” you cry, teetering precariously on the edge.

“You gonna cum, darling? Gonna fuckin’ soak me? Go ahead, angel, cum f’me,” Matty murmurs, wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking hard. Your knees buckle, your orgasm crashing over you so hard you practically fall out of your body, pure pleasure wiping your mind clean. You can feel it in every inch of your body, your every nerve alive with it, hot and sweet and seemingly neverending. Moaning helplessly, you start to sway on your feet, head swimming in ecstasy that’s making you dizzy and dumb. Matty’s hands are steadying at your waist, electricity jumping from everywhere his skin touches yours.

His lips and chin are fucking soaked, glistening with your arousal, visceral evidence of what you’ve just done. You lick into his mouth greedily when he kisses you, something illicit thrilling in your veins as your bare tits press against the leather of his jacket, the zipper cool against your heated skin. The contrast of him still being fully-clothed while you’re exposed makes you shiver from something entirely separate from cold. Matty steps back, eyes glued to your tits as a smirk stretches across his slick lips. “My eyes are up here,” you scoff.

“Yeah, and your tits are down here.” You can’t find it in yourself to feel shame at the rush of arousal that sweeps over you at his words.

You grab one of your tits, kneading it gratuitously and thumbing over your nipple. “Still wanna fuck ‘em?” His eyes blow wide, shooting you a look that says what kind of question is that? and fumbling to let you into the tour bus. You scramble breathlessly after him, letting him push you down onto a bed and desperately shoving his jacket off his shoulders. He tugs his shirt off, and you drink in the sight of him shirtless from up close, sweat glistening on his toned chest.

There’s a visible wet spot on his boxers when he strips out of his jeans, you notice with a bolt of pride-tinged arousal, your mouth watering as his cock springs free, thudding stickily against his belly. “Shit, got me so fuckin’ hard, angel. Gonna let me fuck those pretty tits, let me cum all over your face?” Matty kneels over you, slowly stroking his dripping cock as he watches your chest heave.

“Please,” you breathe, gazing up at him as he leans down to spit on your tits, the slick, messy slide sending a pulse of heat between your legs. His lips part around a guttural moan as he slides between your tits, thrusting shallowly and groaning out soft praises. You drop your jaw, sticking out your tongue to lick over his head, the salt taste of him intoxicating.

Precum and spit smear across your chest, rhythmic moans filling the tiny, cramped space as Matty fucks your tits. “Doin’ so good, baby. Like a little fuckin’ sex toy f’me, such a good girl. Y’look so pretty, baby,” he coos, your entire body flushing under his affections. You kitten-lick over his head every time he thrusts, his answering moans heating your core, arousal dripping from your cunt. “Such a little cumslut, angel.”

“Mhmm,” you moan, arching your back and pinching a nipple, dizzy with desire. “M’your cumslut, Matty.” His pace speeds, sloppy as he drools precum over your chest and against your tongue. You lap it up eagerly, drunk on him. Pure lust is written across Matty’s face, jaw slack as he watches himself disappear between your tits, awed.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Matty gasps, his cheeks hot and lips wet with drool. “M’getting close, angel. Where do you want me?”

“On my face,” you breathe, the words coming without you even having to think. “In my mouth, please.” With what looks like a monumental effort, he climbs off you, fisting his cock gracelessly. Eagerly, you watch him fuck his fist, jaw hanging open expectantly. With a low moan of your name, Matty spills across your face, ropes of cum splashing hot against your cheeks and on your waiting tongue.

Closing your eyes, you swallow deliberately, moaning at the taste of him and smiling beatifically. “Good girl,” he grins, panting slightly and watching you fondly. “You need anything? Want me to get you cleaned up?” God, you don’t know if you can take him being all sweet with you on top of it all. You’re going to do something embarrassing like beg for his number if you don’t change the mood, and quickly.

“What, you only good for one round, or somethin’? Getting too old to show your groupies a proper fuck?” you taunt.

The glint in Matty’s eye turns dangerous, and you gulp. “Greedy girl’s not satisfied with my cum all over her face, s’that it? You want more?” You murmur out an affirmative, anticipation tense in your belly. “My little cockslut,” he smirks, climbing over you and caging you in with his arms around your head. “Don’t worry, baby. M’gonna give you what you need.”

[verysium]

PLEASE DO BLUE LOCK ICKS IM BEGGING🙏😭🌹

😏 coming right up anon. gonna channel my inner critic and not hold back on any of these.

RIN

brother complex. not much else to say except that he needs to get a life. not everything is about metaphorically crushing your older brother's dreams and brooding in the dark hate of retribution.

competitive but only because he is a desperate whore for external validation. ignores everyone but craves the attention of a sole person named sae itoshi. was defeated by isagi once and has never let go of it since. has a one-track mind that is impossible to derail. stubborn when he wants to be.

probably a virgin and will continue to be one until his late 30s.

has not known a single day of peace ever since sae ditched him for the popular girlies. as a result, he has developed a very concerning case of social awkwardness. his idea of a conversation involves a brick wall and thirty minutes of you staring at his resting bitch face. constantly looks like that one grumpy cat meme. judges you for your poor decisions but then gets aggressively defensive when you point out his own mistakes.

reeks of so much teen angst that even metallica can't save him. the problem is that he has nothing to back up his emo persona. his insults lack creativity and, unfortunately for him, phrases like "lukewarm" and "half-baked" and "hell" do not make his words carry more weight. uses the f-word but in the most embarrassing context that it makes you facepalm and internally cringe.

SAE

zero social awareness. this boy's head is empty. the lights are not on up there. there are no picture frames or furniture. the curtains are drawn, and there is not a sliver of clouds or sunshine. cannot read body language and does not know what a filter is.

the source of all of rin's stress. he is the original trauma projector, creator of generational cycles. not even subtle about it. "turns out i was wrong. i thought japan was incapable of ever giving birth to decent forwards." sir....with the way you worded that, you knew exactly what you were doing when you gave rin false hope.

swears but it's even worse than his brother. literally called his elders a "fatso and bob cut duo" and "insect turd." i mean....there is a line between what is considered a legitimate burn and what is a first grader making up insults in his coloring book.

has a horrible haircut and no fashion taste. i already talked about this previously, but it was so bad it deserved a second mention.

a freak but tries to justify it rationally. like what do you mean you can tell a person's athletic ability from their buttock size? just admit you have a kinky fetish already.

somewhat of a coward but i'm gonna give him some leniency due to his tragic child genius backstory. tbh he's just an eighteen-year-old boy who needs a goddamn break.

KAISER

alexa please play clown music. this man sets himself for failure and then wallows in self-pity when he actually fails. like what did you expect? you knew what was going to happen the moment you challenged isagi like that. it was most definitely your fault you got violently humbled.

has a borderline god complex (currently calls himself an emperor but has not evolved into a deity yet.) unfortunately, he does not stand on business. cue the dramatic meltdowns when he realizes there is an actual gap between his ability and his reputation. if you're going to lie, at least make it believable.

insecure and mentally unstable. he probably cuts and re-dyes his hair every single time shit happens. no wonder his locks get shorter every time.

lazy when it comes to anything that is not football and expects others to do it for him. demands princess treatment wherever he goes. unfortunately, not all of us have servants with no self-respect like ness.

"it is not enough that i should succeed, others should fail" type of person.

does not wear shoes and even if he does, it's sandals. put them grippers away.

NAGI

a literal sloth who has so much potential but uses none of it. has no intrinsic motivation of his own, so if he's going to do anything, it has to be you behind the wheel, making sure he gets put to work.

does not have a close relationship with his parents, and so he has no sense of community, holidays, or traditions. no fun at all if you want him to do things like christmas shopping or birthday celebrations.

rots in bed all day and then has to nerve to ask you to carry him around. your back better be strong because his 190 cm body is not going to be light.

not loyal (need i say more.)

REO

second male lead syndrome. also known as that one popular guy who's always picked last.

acts like a victim but then when you realistically tell him to how to change his situation he refuses to do so. you cannot ask for advice and then take none of it to heart. no wonder you're still not over your ex.

"i can fix him" mentality. no, you can't. you are a seventeen-year-old child, not a licensed therapist and nagi isn't even all that.

NESS

touch-starved to the point he will stay in a toxic and abusive relationship in order to gain some scrap of affection. just because you were the black sheep of your family does not mean you can lose all sense of personal dignity.

probably stalks all the people he hates. has a burn book like regina george from mean girls. cuts out and glues little pictures of kaiser all over his bedroom. doodles hearts all over it with glittery gel pen. isagi's face and name are scratched out of every team photo.

delusional and prone to mood swings. medicated but at this point, he is beyond saving.

ISAGI

a home wrecker. has ruined more relationships than he can count on ten fingers yet still manages to smile like he's some angelic saint.

solves jigsaw puzzles for a living (not very cool if you ask me.)

has some unresolved anger management issues. probably repressed all his negative feelings when he was younger, so it all comes out when he's on the field. unfortunately, his twilight-sparkle-friendship-is-magic agenda is not going to work if he keeps cussing out his teammates like that. but then again, he is the main character, so i guess his plot armor makes up for his pitfalls.

says that he's a good guy but then holds personal vendettas against rivals he doesn't like. boy was so ready to throw hands when #kaisagi was trending on the internet. but when you actually think about, he's similar to kaiser in more ways than he'd like to admit.

BAROU

has the worst case of high and mighty "holier-than-thou" attitude. isagi put his ego in check, but it still peeks out from time to time.

he was the ugliest baby when he was born. i am not going to hold back on the child barou slander because it is true. no, he was not a cute and lovable bundle of joy. he looked like a demonic gremlin.

he needs to take more risks in life and try cross-dressing. simply imagining him in a maid uniform will not suffice. it needs to be made into a reality.

with how nit-picky he is, i doubt people can realistically stay within a 1-meter radius around him. unless you are a clean freak yourself, his constant complaints will start to get annoying after a time. even if he does have good intentions, he needs to let people have a little breathing room sometimes. a messy room is not going to kill you.

BACHIRA

this boy's brain is smooth. no folds. no gray matter. no intelligence either. his pencil and eraser have been left untouched since day one. if he wasn't crazily good at football, he would be unemployed and homeless in the future. not even a mcdonald's wants him.

one of those people who will do the literal opposite of whatever you say. you want him to stop talking? well, now he's never going to shut up. you tell him not to step on a pile of dog shit? well, now he's going to walk right into it. you want him to quit running around and act normal? well, now it's his life's mission to make you as annoyed as possible. please pray for your hair follicles because at the end of the day, you're not going to have many left with how much he makes you want to tear your hair out.

has the cerebral capacity of a toddler. if he thinks monsters are real, he's going to think anything is real. super gullible when it comes to any form of scam, ploy, or trickery. the only way he would not be fooled is if he's also played the same prank before.

SHIDOU

a brazen pervert. says the most out-of-pocket things and refuses to apologize for them. sometimes it comes out a little too sleazy for your liking.

"to me a goal is fertilization! a shot is the seed and the goal is the egg!! and the birth of that joy i call an explosion!! my genes are gonna knock you up!" let us give ourselves a moment of silence to digest this quote. only shidou ryusei would come up with a sperm and egg metaphor to describe football. (i guess protection means nothing to him.)

has no empathy. if you dislike him or cannot keep up with him, you're a literal nobody in his books. no sportsmanship. no compassion. no self-awareness.

you cannot say "balls" to him in a serious tone without him misinterpreting it as something dirty. that alone should tell you enough. stay the hell away from him.

where do men get the audacity? right here. from this little bastard. he invented the term "shameless slut." boy was getting off during the u-20 arc and on live TV too. no wonder sae said he was disgusting.

and finally, he comes from a long line of cockroaches. he's even got the antennae to prove it.

i think this might have been a little excessive, but i have no regrets about it. you're welcome anon ♡