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lidiasloca · 1 month ago

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hello!! I was wondering if you could write an azriel x reader fic where they've been best friends for centuries and one day the bond snapped for her. And she starts to avoid him because she thinks he doesn't love her so she doesn't show up to things they usually do together and whatnot (or however you want to put it!) but meanwhile Azriel is going crazy because he misses her and has been in love with her for years and then he confronts her and the bond snaps for him as well!! sorry if it's too long hahah but thanks

is it chill that you are in my head?

azriel x reader

friends to lovers

It was curious to think that no matter the strength you applied, no hit you made would ever hurt Azriel.

Yet, the Illyrian seemed intensely determined not to let you get to even touch him.

“Where’s your mind?” he asked as he dodged yet another hit. You took, at least, a bit of pride in his breathless voice.

You also took pride in how much you had made him sweat already, but you didn’t let your thoughts linger there too much—your eyes, neither.

“In trying to hit you.”

“Well, isn’t it frustrating you won’t satisfy your mind?”

“You get cocky—I’ll hit you down there,” you threatened, taking in his amused grin.

“There you can get?” he questioned as he circled you.

You held your fists up, following his eyes as he eyed you like a vulture. “You don’t want to find out.”

“I don’t,” he replied, just as you went to hit him.

He dodged it effortlessly.

And even had time, as you retracted your arm, to take it and pull you toward him, unbalancing you until you fell onto his torso.

As he prevented you from the fall he himself had caused, you found yourself close enough to his body to make out the intention written on his face.

A threat for a threat, you realized as you stared at those deep hazel eyes.

His face lacked any sympathy as he spoke, his voice death and sensuality all in the same honeyed spoon. “Don’t make threats you cannot back up, love.”

Your breath caught at the darkness that surrounded you. The darkness that you faced when you had his lips so close to yours, his eyes so focused on you.

Azriel was that: darkness. Both the dark that scared you as a child and the dark that now let you dream of him without guilt in the depths of the night.

“You’re right. No more threats,” you breathed as you drove your knee upward—

His hand was steel against the futile force of your movement. And a mocking grin on his lips was all you could think about due to the roaring in your ears.

Bastard.

The knee you were going to use to teach him a lesson was held in place with his right hand, which now moved down, and down until it found a place on the back of your thigh. He urged you nearer him.

Close enough. Until your surroundings vanished and you could only see his face, his never-faltering smirk when you made it so easy for him to mock you.

This was the Azriel you had only for yourself.

Not polite shyness, or quiet kindness.

But darkness.

All of it—all of him. Darkness.

Everything, but his eyes.

While you liked to have this flirtatious, dangerous Azriel—which you both called friendship—you still found yourself fantasizing about the light in his eyes and how soft they were, how romantic and intimate, and everything that he shouldn’t feel like.

Where all of him was dark, his eyes were golden.

Lightness.

Like a thread that led you through deeper parts of him, of his soul.

Too intimate.

You let out a long exhale. “I’m not in the mood,” you mumbled.

And it broke your heart the way he immediately released you. How gently he let go of you as a flash of… pain painted his eyes.

Then it was gone in a blink. And that smirk found its way to his face again. “I make you exhausted quite fast.”

“Mhmm,” was all you could mutter as you watched him—those eyes.

That thread.

What was that?

He held your stare with a bit of confused amusement. “What do you find so interesting?” he smiled.

You took all your bravery… and a step, and another, until you were back where you started: looking deep into his eyes, close enough to feel his breath on your face.

He didn’t dodge this time. And neither did he smirk as you placed both of your hands on his face to make him meet your eyes.

Those golden eyes.

There was something in them.

That lightness that guided you through the darkness—his darkness.

As a thread.

A gasp broke through you at the realization, at the feeling in your heart—your soul.

You took a step back, your hands sliding away from his face as gently as a wind’s whisper.

He eyed you worriedly, taking a step toward you as you kept walking away.

“What?” he asked, finally that mask off his face.

But you couldn’t bear the sight of his eyes again. The feel of that thread.

M-

“What is it?” he asked, desperation lacing his words.

Ma…

“Y/N?” he pleaded.

Mate.

You winnowed away before he could pronounce another word.

…

You knew hiding was not the solution. You knew you would have to face him eventually—he was one of your closest friends after all, yet…

“I cannot do it. I cannot see him.”

Another of your closest friends was there to make you think logically.

“Y/N,” Nesta said, taking a seat on the couch in your bedroom. “You’ve been hiding here for almost a month. You can’t hide from him forever. He’s your—”

“Don’t say it,” you cut in, despite how stupidly childish it made you sound.

Nesta exhaled as if indeed, you were acting stupidly childish. “Mate? You cannot hear the word mate?”

There was a tinge of mocking in her tone that made you meet her eyes with fury in yours. “It’s very easy to look at me and judge me when you don’t know what this feels like.”

“What? Having an Illyrian as my mate?” she asked with a soft smile on her lips, and you knew your friend well—you knew it wasn’t mocking anymore.

Nesta, as if to prove you right, walked toward where you sat on the bed and made herself a place next to you, moving her hand to caress yours like a mother would.

She didn’t say anything, though, so you replied, emotion running your words slowly—unsteady. “You don’t know what it’s like to know your mate… doesn’t want you back.”

“You don’t know if Azriel doesn’t want you back.”

“Yes, I do. I know Azriel.”

“Well, I know him as well. And I know—actually—all the house, and probably all Velaris, knows he likes you. A lot.”

You shook your head.

Nesta went on, “He flirts with you all the time, Y/N. In all honesty, it was about damned time that bond snapped for one of you. It was clear you had something.”

“Exactly: something,” you rectified. “That something, Nesta, is flirting. Flir-ting. Nothing more, nothing else. That’s all he wants from me. Taunting and touching and provoking and friendship. But not love. And most certainly, not a damn mating bond.” You took a staggered breath, not able to meet her eyes anymore. “Not with me.”

Nesta watched you silently, then said, “You don’t know that.”

You shook your head, wiping a tear that slid down your face. “You don’t know either.”

“That’s true,” she replied, handing you a tissue with her free hand as the other drew circles on your wrist. “We won’t know until you ask him.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “So, I just ask him if he wants the mating bond with me? That simple? Thanks, Nesta.”

Her eyes narrowed at you in warning to watch your tone, yet her faint smirk provoked one to bloom on your face. “Yes. It’s that simple.”

“And when he says no?”

She shook her head. “What if he says no,” she corrected you.

Your smile grew just a bit. “What if he says no?” you echoed.

“Then I’ll beat his ass on the training ground. And have Cassian beat him afterward.”

You chuckled lightly, imagining the scene.

But the question appeared in your mind, and you took the courage to ask her.

“And what if he says yes?”

By the warm look in her eyes, you knew she had understood. “It’s a long way to go. But one finally learns to let herself be loved, Y/N.”

And by one, you knew who she meant.

You were grateful that afterward, Nesta and you had a more lighthearted conversation. And when it turned dark outside, Nesta gave you a hug and left your bedroom.

You knew you had to also leave your bedroom at some point and face what awaited outside that comfort.

But love seemed to find you just where you thought you were safe.

“Can I come in?”

It certainly wasn’t Nesta’s voice.

Your hand trembled as you went for the knob and opened the door.

“Can I come in?” Azriel repeated, and you realized long seconds had passed of just you staring, unmoving.

“Yes,” you whispered, letting him through and closing the door.

You had prayed he stayed like that—backward to you, staring outside your window. Anything but have his eyes meet yours.

But he turned to you.

He was even more beautiful than ever, even if you couldn’t help but notice the dark circles around his eyes, his pale lips, or his eyes… almost lifeless.

Like the light had deserted him.

Like the bond had abandoned him… because he didn’t want it.

“It’s been weeks,” he eventually said, and his voice carried enough emotion you had to lean on the door, afraid to crumble to the ground. “I haven’t seen you in weeks.”

“I’ve been busy.”

He took a step closer to you, making you meet his eyes again. “With what?” he demanded.

You weren’t fast enough to make up a lie before he said, “You’ve been avoiding me.” It wasn’t quite a question. “You are mad at me.”

“I’m not.”

“You are,” he muttered, taking another step.

“I’m not, Azriel.”

He stopped his following step at the sound of his name. He looked like he had been slapped, and his face morphed into something unreadable.

“I’m sorry," he murmured.

“What?” you asked, walking towards him when he looked down.

You had to see his face, you had to understand him.

“Whatever I have done. I’m sorry. Forgive me and… be my friend again.”

You stopped in your tracks, not having quite reached him. Friends.

His words both broke and healed your heart. The desperation in them, the vulnerability.

You stared at the selfless male who cherished your friendship in front of you. Maybe you could take that and give up dreaming. Maybe you could convince yourself that friendship was better than nothing, even if it killed you.

“I miss you,” he said, and you decided that was the final blow.

A sob broke through you, raw and desperate, and his expression shifted instantly. He closed the distanced and his hands found your face, those scarred palms trembling as they cupped your cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice breaking. “Don’t cry, please. I’m sorry.”

Friends.

Mates.

“What are you even sorry for?” you mumbled, shaking your head faintly.

“The last time I saw you - when you got… mad at me, we were doing what we always do. Well, what I always do. That stupid flirting, that… you know. And I know that bothered you. And I’m sorry. I never knew it made you uncomfortable before and… I’m sorry,” he said again.

You quietly stared at him, at the sadness and guilt in his eyes. “It’s not that it bothers me...” you said because it never had, but maybe now—maybe now it hurt your feelings - but that was because of you. It was not his fault.

Yet you couldn’t speak your thoughts before he went on. “It does. I saw it in your eyes… like you were disgusted.” His voice cracked. “And it broke my heart, because… I don’t want it either.”

There it was.

The truth you’d been bracing yourself for.

Friends.

That’s all he wanted you to be—a friend.

He took a deep breath, his hands falling away from your face as he stepped back, as if retreating from his own vulnerability. “It’s all a lie, Y/N.”

Your breath hitched.

“I thought that’s what you wanted—the only thing you wanted from me—and I tried to convince myself that I could settle with that. That it would be enough. But…” His gaze locked on yours, piercing and raw. “I can’t.”

“What?” you breathed, your voice barely audible.

“I love you, Y/N.”

The world stopped turning.

“I love you,” he repeated. “And I don’t want to keep pretending I’m okay with only being your friend. I don’t want to keep pretending. I just… I just want you to know that I’ve loved you for so long, I can’t remember what life was before you.”

You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think.

Mate.

“You love me?” you whispered.

He nodded as a tear ran down his face.

Another sob tore from you and his hands were on your face again in an instant, pulling you close. “I love you, too,” you murmured, the words spilling out.

And at last, the color returned to his eyes again, hazel-golden shining in the dark room.

And that was it; the light that you needed, the strength that guided you—that encouraged you to tell him.

“I am… I am your mate.”

A beat later you realized you weren’t the one who had spoken.

-Charcaters by Sarah J Maas

azriel masterlist

a/n: thanks for requesting, i hope the fic is of your liking, though i took some liberties in the writing. thanks for your request, love!!

#azriel x reader #azriel angst #azriel #azriel x female!reader #azriel x you #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x y/n #acotar fic #azriel fanfic #azriel fic #az imagine #azriel imagine #azriel fluff #azriel spymaster

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e-nonsense · 1 year ago

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Request for batfam x estranged daughter who looks like Batdad's mom Martha💔 she's more independent and has been raised by her mother's family who she is extremely close with, but when it comes to Bruce’s side of her fam she gets awkward and shy cuz she never really interacted with them and doesn't know how to approach them which leads to misunderstandings and angsty setbacks in bonding time. But for whatever reason, she gets along great with Damian and Stephanie as if they've been friends for years. Which causes everyone else to feel left out and a bit jealous when they see the trio hanging out having a good time.

𝗚𝗛𝗢𝗦𝗧 𝗢𝗙 𝗔 𝗟𝗢𝗡𝗚 𝗚𝗢𝗡𝗘 𝗪𝗢𝗠𝗔𝗡

pairing. Batfamily x batsis!reader, slight Dick Grayson x reader

summary. Reader looks startling alike to Bruce’s deceased mother, Martha Wayne.

warnings. swearing, platonic jealousy, mentions of death, horrible parenting (its Bruce), reader is like crazy rich, reader is also 22 and dick is 26. NOT PROOFREAD

authors notes. hope this is what you envisioned. no part 2 so don’t ask

wc. 1.4k

It was Alfred who made the mistake first. Accidently calling you Martha first. He couldn’t help it, you just look so much like her.

Of course he apologised right after and then nearly had a heart attack when you smiled reassuringly, “its fine Alfred.”

A kind heart to match the face of a woman long gone. The elderly man just nodded in response, deciding too keep his mouth shut from then on.

Then it was Bruce. He completely froze the day he met you, froze and stared like a creep. “Holy shit—“ He was immediately cut off by your mother’s glare at him swearing in front of you. “Sorry.”

That day went on with you being shy and awkward around him and Dick —his newly adopted son— who didn’t seem to have any interest in you at all.

“Bruce Wayne,” the man kneels in the get to eye level with a twelve year old you.

“Uh—“ you found yourself string at your mother nervously, only deciding to utter your name after she nods.

Bruce tries to smile —could you see the way his smile didn’t reach his eyes?— at you, “pretty name.”

That was the first time he had seen you, and the last — unless you count the little run ins you’ve had over the years— until ten years later. You were twenty-two, and looked even more like his deceased mother than before.

Bruce found himself watching as you gave Damian tips on the perfect brush stroke to get a texture that would look more like a cloud on canvas.

You nod and smile —one of those encouraging smiles his mother (Martha) used to give him when he got something right— “that’s it. Just try to get lighter towards the end, gives it that fluffy feeling.”

When you had decided to contact Bruce yourself ten years later it had caught him off guard but he agreed. He watched as Damian took to you immediately, the ten year old boy milking you for that motherly affection he never got from his own mother.

The validation when you pat his head and smile at him proudly at his minor achievements, something was child's play to him and yet you were so proud because of it.

The warmth you gave when you smiled in encouragement, or when you’d chuckle softly at his annoyance about one of his brothers. His brothers, not yours as well. You didn’t Bruce’s other wards as siblings, they hadn’t tried to reach out to you so you decided not to bother them with trying as well.

You were nice not stupid.

Stephanie walked into the art room you and Damian had filled with art pieces. You chuckled when the younger girl groaned and draped her arms around you, whining about some inconvenience she had been victim to earlier in the day.

You patted her head and chuckled when Damian scowled at the blonde girl, “get off her you mongrel.”

“Damian,” you say sternly and the young boy huffs before going back to painting clouds. You dragged both yourself and Stephanie towards the couch in the corner of the art filled room and listened as she whined about her day. How Bruce had scolded her about a mistake she made on the field, a minor mistake that even who would make from time to time.

You saw the tears of frustration brimming in the girls eyes and you sigh. “It’s alright Steph,” you hum softly as the girl presses her face into your shoulder.

If Damian hears the blondes sniffles he ignores it, leaving the comforting to you.

None of you speak of Stephanie’s breakdown after it happened. Opting to ignore it afterwards and move on.

Dinner later is chattier than usual, both Damian and Stephanie sitting on either side of you, giving the other member of the family zero chance to gain your attention.

Across from you sat Dick Grayson, who tried to gain your attention but continuously failed so decided to annoy his other brothers. You’re attention is finally somewhere else when Jason growls in annoyance at something Bruce had said.

“It’s for kids Bruce,” Jason seems to be seething. “Children who don’t have the luxury of getting a meal everyday.”

“I can’t trust that the money will actually go into that cause Jason,” Bruce simply sighs. You frown at that, for the first time you speak up.

“Sorry to intrude, but what are you arguing about?” Your voice isn’t timid or soft, it’s stern and had an authority quality that has Jason looking at you in shock before replying.

“Charity thing I’m tryna do,” he begins to explain. “Wanted some money to buy an empty warehouse and build a place that serves food on a daily basis to homeless people.”

You hum in response, “it’s a good idea.”

Jason beams at the praise, “thank you.” And you smile in response, “how much do you need?”

The question catches everyone off guard, “sorry?”

“How much, it’s a good idea and I’d like to help.” You ask and Jason nods.

“Well i wanted it in a good area in Gotham, might help relocate people and stuff.” You nod taking in his words. “$300,000. I need that much.”

Jason shrugs nervously as you think it through, “done.” You smile slightly, “call me if you need anymore though. I’d be happy to help.”

Jason stares at you like you’re some kind of saint, “where are you going to even get that kind of money?” He asks nervously, surely this was too good to be true. You barely knew him, why would you give up that much money so easily.

You chuckle in response, “my dad’s rich.” You pause before adding, “the man my Ma married I mean.”

“So is my Ma,” you shrug. “I inherited it all when they retired.” Jason blinks a few times, as if trying to determine if you’re actually real.

“So would you say you’re richer than Bruce?” Tim asks and you glance over at him before shrugging. “Maybe? I dunno.”

Bruce watches from the head of the table, “she is.”

You raise a brow at that, “stalking my bank account or something?”

Bruce chuckles and shakes his head, “no. But I know your father and he’s been years ahead of me for a long time.” You snort in response, “sounds like him alright.”

The rest of dinner passes and you go back to talking to Damian and Stephanie. Jason watches you three from his seat beside Dick. “Why does she only talk to them?”

Dick pauses to look at Jason and puts his fork back down onto the plate, before glancing over at you who seemed to be nodding along to whatever Damian was saying.

“Dunno,” he shrugged. “To be fair we haven’t tried to exactly reach out to her as much either.”

Jason hummed in response, “demon brats a bit attached to her though.. don’t you think?”

“Guess so, pretty sure he looks up to her.” Dick says to Jason before moving his fork towards his mouth. “Like a motherly figure or something.”

Jason snorts and Tim looks over at them, “funny. He’s got two of his siblings substituting as parental figures.”

Tim chokes on his food before laughing, “now that you’ve said it.”

Dick rolls his eyes and chuckles, “leave the kid alone. He got a shitty deal of parents.” Jason snickers but he doesn’t deny it.

Dinner finishes quickly after that, and they watch as you let Damian drag you away, Stephanie following closely behind. “You must meet batcow.” Damian says before leaning in closer to you, to whisper in your ear, “Don’t tell father but there are ducks in my room.”

You wink at him and nod, “our secret then.”

The rest of the night passes and Damian is asleep by the end of it. You find yourself back at the front door, slipping your coat on deciding to go home. “Leaving?”

You turn around quickly to see Dick Grayson, an amused look on his face and a small smile playing on his lips. “I am too,” he shrugs approaching you and reaching for his jacket. “I’ll walk you,” he offers and when you nod he grins outstretching his hand.

Nervously you take his hand in yours and let him pull you along towards the front door, “I know a great view.. I could take you?”

You smile and shrug, leaving the decision to him, “guess we’re going then. I’ll warn you though it high up and its Gotham so don’t expect it to be too pretty.”

You chuckle and he keens at the sound, he finds himself wanting to hear it again, and again, and again.

“I won’t get my hopes up then,” you smile up at him.

He grins and leads you out of the manor and onto the streets of Gotham, that coincidently happened to quite peaceful that night. He silently thanked Bruce for fucking up again, he wouldn’t get this chance if he hadn’t.

#batsis x batfam #dick grayson x reader #bruce wayne x daughter!reader #Platonic batfam #I’m writing again #yay #batsis reader #batsis

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tteotlma · 1 month ago

Text

Trust in the Tension

--buried impulses flare into a fierce, unspoken surrender that no barrier can contain

"Nurse"!Logan x Patient!Reader (11.5kwc)

tw; 18+ MDNI; nsfw, power imbalance; caretaker/patient dynamic; dubcon (dubious consent); explicit sexual content; oral sex; choking; hair-pulling; biting; rough physicality; coarse language; mention of mental health struggles; tears/overwhelm.

a/n: PLS BE AWARE THIS IS A PIECE OF FICTION. (I AM DEEPLY AnD GRAVELY AWARE OF THE SEVERITY OF THIS SITUATION IRL BUT again THIS IS FICTION JUST HAVE FUN or skip.) i also didn't intend for this to be so long... but its been a month since my last fic

not edited entirely; pls like & reblog

Your vision pulsed to the sound of your heartbeat as you took in the scene around you.

You hadn’t asked to be here.

The facility was nice— too nice. Plush furniture, warm neutral tones, windows big enough to let in the light but so obviously locked for safety. Despite the place feeling more like a high-end retreat, than a mental health facility that didn’t stop the feel of the walls caving in.

Still in an unknowing state of shock you sat stiffly in the common room, arms crossed, back rigid, posture so straight it was almost defiant. It wasn’t lost on you that you were the only one not participating in whatever exercise the group facilitator had planned.

You clenched your jaw as you stared straight ahead at the painting of random splatters on the far wall, the rest of the people fading away in the background. The painting, an aggressive array of white, red, and black splatters meticulously painted to convey some sort of emotion provided you a great sense of comfort. You couldn’t put your finger on what that feeling was but you could feel it— deep in the pit of your stomach. You felt the facilitator's eyes on you, but you ignored it trying to wrap your head around how you got here in the first place.

It wasn’t voluntary, that's for sure. No, you were here because your parents begged, pleaded, and finally pulled out the we’re worried about you, sweetheart card. They’d finally worn you down, leaving you too exhausted to fight.

Not that exhaustion was new to you.

Professional Burnout was the sanitized phrase they’d slapped onto your file. As if snapping at a coworker who spent months undermining you somehow made you unstable. As if the outburst wasn’t deserved.

One crack, you thought bitterly, and suddenly I’m the problem.

The sound of heavy footsteps interrupted your brooding. You glanced up just in time to see a man step into the room, a clipboard in hand and a toothpick hanging lazily from his mouth. He was tall and rugged, with broad shoulders that stretched his uniform and thick sideburns that framed his jaw. He looked like he belonged anywhere but here—on a construction site, maybe, or some smoky dive bar.

His eyes caught yours, sharp and assessing. You didn’t look away, narrowing your gaze in return.

He stood there for a moment, the toothpick rolling between his teeth, sizing you up like he’d already figured you out. You hated it.

“Logan,” he said, finally breaking the silence. His voice was deep and gravelly, with a rough edge that matched his rugged appearance. He tapped the clipboard against his thigh, tilting his head slightly. “You got a name, or are we just gonna keep starin’ at each other?”

“Why do you care?” you shot back, folding your arms tighter across your chest.

His lips quirked, just barely. “Keeps things polite. But hey, if you’d rather I call you ‘sunshine,’ that works too.”

You glared at him. “It’s [Y/N].”

“[Y/N],” he repeated, his tone deliberate, like he was committing it to memory. “Alright then, [Y/N]. Here’s the deal. I’m the orderly assigned to keep an eye on you, make sure you don’t go stir-crazy or claw anyone’s eyes out.”

You scoffed. “Charming.”

“Thanks,” he said, completely unfazed. “Let’s try something new—how about you actually join the group? Sitting there like a statue ain’t doin’ you any favors.”

“I’m fine right here,” you replied flatly, eyes drifting back to the splatter painting.

“Fine,” he echoed, his tone dripping with skepticism. “You keep tellin’ yourself that.”

He stepped closer, his boots heavy against the tiled floor. The closer he got, the more imposing he seemed, like he took up all the air in the room. “But here’s the thing, sweetheart. You can act all tough and keep everyone at arm’s length, but it doesn’t make the time go by any faster.”

You finally looked up at him, bristling at the way he loomed over you, like he was daring you to challenge him. “What’s your point?”

“My point,” he said, leaning in just enough to lower his voice, “is that I’ve seen plenty of people like you. Wound so tight you’re about to snap. Keep it up, and you’ll be stuck here a hell of a lot longer than you need to be.”

Your hands curled into fists, nails digging into your palms. “Maybe I like my space.”

His grin was infuriatingly small, almost imperceptible. “Sure you do. Let me know how that works out for you.”

And just like that, he turned and walked off, leaving you fuming. You weren’t sure if you wanted to yell at him or sink deeper into the chair just to spite him. Either way, you had the distinct feeling that Logan wasn’t going to make this easy for you.

—

Later that day you found yourself sitting in another goddamn plush leather seat. You sat stiffly in the chair, arms crossed and jaw tight as Logan settled into the seat across from you. He had the same clipboard as earlier, only now he looked far more official—still rugged and casual in demeanor, but with a sharpness in his gaze that said he wasn’t here to play around.

“Alright (Y/N),” he started, clicking his pen. “This is just a standard intake. I know you did it before coming here, I just gotta get some background myself, so we know how to help you.”

“Help me,” you muttered under your breath, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Logan raised a brow but didn’t take the bait. “First question: How are you feeling?”

You scoffed, leaning back in the chair. “Fantastic. Couldn’t be better.”

“Uh-huh,” he replied dryly, jotting something down on the clipboard. “We’ll circle back to that. What about your usual stress levels? On a scale of one to ten?”

“Zero.”

He glanced up, his expression unreadable. “And what do you usually do to blow off steam?”

The question caught you off guard. You hesitated, then shrugged. “I don’t know. Work. Run. Avoid people.”

Logan hummed thoughtfully, tapping his pen against the clipboard. “Not exactly workin’ out for you, is it?”

Your glare could’ve cut glass. “What’s your point?”

“No point,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was fighting a smirk. “Just gettin’ to know you.”

He finished scribbling and set the clipboard aside, leaning forward slightly. “Last question. You think you belong here?”

You faltered, his sudden intensity throwing you off balance. “What does it matter what I think? I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice low and steady. “But if you’re gonna be here, might as well make it worth somethin’. Otherwise, you’re just wastin’ your own damn time.”

The weight of his words hung in the air as he stood, gathering his clipboard and pen. “That’s it for now. I’ll see you around, sunshine.”

As he walked out, you couldn’t help but feel like Logan saw more of you in that brief exchange than most people ever did—and it unnerved you.

—

You felt the weight of Logan’s questions long after the session ended. Sure they were simple questions but it’s not like it wasn’t anything he couldn’t look up himself if he tried. The way his eyes had fixed on you, intense and unyielding, had unsettled you more than you cared to admit. You tried to shake it off, but it lingered like a bad taste, gnawing at the back of your mind.

When you walked back to the common room, the group session was finally finishing up. Everyone slowly filtered out, but you stayed behind. You didn’t want to be around people—didn’t want anyone to see how much you were clenching your fists or how your jaw was tight enough to bruise.

Sitting back down in your (un)claimed seat, you crossed your arms over your chest and leaned back to stare at the painting on the far wall. Your mind kept drifting back to Logan’s words, his calm, almost knowing demeanor. You hated how easily he had gotten under your skin.

It wasn’t just the questions. It was the way he looked at you, like he understood everything without you saying a word. You didn’t want to think about that, either.

You stood abruptly, deciding a walk through the facility might clear your head. But when you stepped into the hallway, you saw Logan leaning against the doorframe to the lounge, a smirk barely hidden behind his usual indifference.

“Lost?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.

You didn’t answer, trying to walk past him. You didn’t need another interaction, especially with him. But he moved just enough to block your path.

“You think you’re just gonna keep brushing me off, huh?” he said, voice low and amused.

“You really love to push buttons, don’t you?” You didn’t bother hiding the irritation in your voice.

His grin widened, but he didn’t press you further. Instead, his gaze softened, almost unreadable. “I don’t push buttons. I just call it like I see it.”

You glared at him, biting back a retort. But when he finally stepped aside, giving you space to walk past him, you couldn’t help but feel a weird mix of relief and frustration.

—

The next time you saw Logan, it was in another session. Group therapy again. You’d kept your distance as much as possible, staying silent while the others participated. You weren’t interested in talking about your feelings—not to strangers and definitely not to Logan.

As the facilitator guided the group through an exercise, you sat stiffly, arms seemingly permanent crossed. You tried to block out everything and everyone, focusing on the wall in front of you.

You were here, just like your parents had wanted. That should be enough.

Logan had been observing you quietly, and when the session ended, he was the first one to walk over.

“You gonna keep that scowl on your face all day, or are you gonna get over yourself?” His voice was sharp, but there was an edge of concern underneath, like he was watching you closely.

You didn’t want to feel anything anymore, didn’t want to stay caught up in the mess of emotions or the frustration building inside you. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t believe you, and you could see it in his eyes. “You sure about that?”

Before you could snap back, the door to the group room swung open, and the others filed out. Logan stepped closer, his presence so commanding that you felt the air grow heavier around you.

“Why don’t we step outside for a second?” he suggested, his voice low and steady, like he was trying to coax you into something you didn’t want.

You glared up at him. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

But something in his eyes—some unspoken understanding—made you pause. Against your better judgment, you followed him out into the hallway.

Once the two of you were out of earshot from the others, Logan stopped and turned to face you. The air between you was thick, charged with something you couldn’t name.

“You’re acting like a kid,” he said bluntly, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yeah? Well, maybe I’m just tired of pretending I’m fine when I’m not,” you shot back, your voice sharp and biting. The frustration you’d been holding in for days boiled to the surface, your words barely contained.

Logan’s gaze softened, but there was no judgment in his eyes. He was too used to dealing with people like you. “Yeah, I figured. You’ve got a lot of tension in you, huh?” His eyes trailed the length of your body.

You didn’t respond, the anger started to bubble up again, your hands clenched at your side but something about his steady presence seemed to disarm you. Maybe it was the way he didn’t back off, didn’t try to force anything.

He only took a step closer, and for the first time, you didn’t flinch. His hand moved to your shoulder, the touch firm but gentle.

“I’m not here to push you, [Y/N],” he said, his voice low. “But you gotta know—holding all that in? It’s gonna eat you up.”

You sucked in a breath, trying to control the wave of frustration that threatened to overwhelm you. “I don’t need advice,” you muttered, feeling vulnerable in a way you hated.

“I don’t need advice,” you repeated, except the words coming out sharp, and defensive this time. You hated the way your chest felt tight, the vulnerability creeping in from where Logan’s hand rested on your shoulder.

The warmth from his touch spread across your skin, and for a moment, it felt like it was sinking into your bones, grounding you in a way that made your stomach twist. You didn’t need anyone grounding you. You didn’t need him to make you feel this way.

Logan’s eyes softened just a fraction, but his expression remained steady, like he was waiting for you to crack. “You sure about that?” he asked again quietly, his tone almost too calm.

You felt it then, the tension pooling inside you, the anger at yourself for even considering his words. You were independent. You didn’t need anyone to fix you. You hadn’t needed anyone before to figure things out. And you especially, didn’t need some wannabe shrink to start telling you how to manage your life.

Without thinking, you grabbed his hand and removed it from your shoulder. You did it quickly, as if his touch burned you, trying to ignore the way his heat lingered on your skin. You told yourself it was about reclaiming your space, but deep down, you couldn’t deny the way you resented the way his warmth had made you feel—like you weren’t enough on your own, like you needed him, and it made you bitter.

You didn’t meet his eyes as you moved away. The weight of his gaze felt like too much, like he could see right through you. “I’m fine,” you muttered for what seemed like the umpteenth time, turning away before he could say anything more, before you could let him see how much you were feeling.

Each step you took away from him was deliberate, quick. You weren’t going to let him break you down, weren’t going to let him see how much you wanted the relief he might even be able to offer. You didn’t need him. You’d never needed anyone, not like that.

The hallway stretched out in front of you, a quiet reminder that you could handle this—you could handle this.

—

The next few days passed in a haze. Every session, every group exercise felt like you were just going through the motions, barely containing the storm brewing inside you. You could still feel Logan’s hand on your shoulder, the way it had made you feel both furious and small, and it gnawed at you. You told yourself you were fine, but the anger lingered, thick like smoke in your lungs.

You were sitting in the group room again, the usual chatter around you fading into white noise. Your focus was elsewhere—just trying to survive the hour without having to say a word. You were about to tune out completely when you heard it.

“She’s just another fucking drama queen.”

The voice came from across the room, a low murmur between two of the other patients. You didn’t need to hear more. You already knew they were talking about you. The words were sharp, cutting through the air with a venom that dug deep into you.

You snapped your gaze in their direction, fury immediately surging through you. The mocking tone, the casual dismissal—it was too familiar, too reminiscent of the shit you’d put up with at your last job. You could feel the rage flooding your chest, hot and suffocating. It was a sensation you knew too well, one that had always pushed you to the edge before.

And now, it was back.

The room started to shrink around you. The noise of their laughter, the snickers, the sideways glances—all of it evaporated as your anger took over. Your fists clenched so tightly your nails dug into your palms.

You didn’t care anymore. You needed to make it stop. You needed to hit something. You tried grounding yourself, but it was too late. Your body had already taken over. Your legs were pushing you forward, jumping over your seat in a split-second decision. You saw red, your entire body screaming for release, for someone to just stop dismissing you. But before you could close the distance, a firm hand shot out, grabbing you mid-air.

“Hey!” Logan’s voice cut through the chaos in your mind—or in the room, it was hard to tell—his voice sharp and commanding.

You felt his strong arms wrap around your waist—hard, like steel, pulling you back. You let out a shout of frustration, trying to twist free, but Logan’s grip didn’t falter. It was like he was two steps ahead, as if he had already anticipated your move, as if he knew exactly what was about to happen. His voice was in your ear now, low and unwavering.

“[Y/N], enough,” he said, his tone hard but not cruel. “This isn’t the way.”

Before you could even process what was happening, Logan yanked you backwards with a force that left you no room to fight it. In an instant, he’d pulled you out of the room, dragging you down the hallway with such speed that no one could have comprehended what just happened. There was a stunned silence behind you as you were pulled out of the room, your feet barely touching the ground as Logan kept a firm hold, his steps echoing through the hallway.

“Let me go!” You tried to struggle, to twist your way free, but his grip tightened, holding you firmly as he pushed you further from the group.

“No,” he said, his voice a low growl. “Not until you calm down.”

You were breathing hard, the adrenaline coursing through you. Your pulse was a drum in your ears, and you could feel the heat of your anger radiating off you in waves.

“I don’t need you to babysit me,” you spat, still trying to break free. “I don’t need your fucking help!”

You tried to tear his arm away, but Logan’s grip tightened, his body pressing into yours as he moved with precision, dragging you down the hallway without a word. The moment you realized what was happening, the reality of it hit you like a punch to the gut. Your anger, your rage—it all crashed down as you found yourself being physically restrained, the helplessness burning in your chest.

He didn’t say a word as he pulled you down another hall, his face impassive, but you could feel the tension in his body as if he was just as ready to snap as you had been moments ago. But he wasn’t letting you. He wasn’t letting you lose control.

“Let me go!” you snarled, struggling against his grip, but again, Logan didn’t even flinch. He kept moving, keeping you contained, his presence too overwhelming for you to break free from.

When he finally stopped, it was in a hallway, somewhere far enough from anybody that no one would hear you—no one would witness how you’d almost cracked. He barely released his hold on you, but not before pushing you back against the wall, his body still towering over you, blocking your every escape route.

“Take a breath,” he said, his voice low and steady, like he was speaking to someone who might break apart at any second.

His grip on your arm softened, but only just enough for you to feel the tension in his hand. He wasn’t letting go, but he was giving you space to breathe, to calm down if you could.

“You’re better than this. So stop acting like a fucking fool, [Y/N].” He said, his voice lower now, almost like a warning.

Your chest was still heaving, your body still tense with frustration, but hearing him say that—hearing him treat you like more than just a hothead, like you were capable of something better—suddenly made it all feel worse. The tears you’d been holding back started to burn at the back of your eyes, and you hated yourself for it. Hated that you felt so weak, so fucking out of control.

But Logan wasn’t looking at you like you were broken. He wasn’t judging you, even though you knew you deserved it. He was just… there. Silent. Waiting.

You wrenched yourself out of his grip (despite both your dismay) and took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to regain some composure.

“Just… don’t touch me,” you muttered, your voice raw and unsteady.

Logan said nothing. He didn’t have to. The silence between you was thick with something unspoken, something neither of you could easily put into words.

But it didn’t matter. You couldn’t let it matter. Not now.

You turned and walked away, not looking back.

You barely took a few steps before the frustration began to bubble up again. You had only just started to walk away from Logan, but the moment you stepped around the corner and out of sight, it felt like the world was pressing in on you again.

The laughter from the group still rang in your ears. “Drama queen.” The words clawed at your skin, digging into you like a constant reminder of everything you hated—being dismissed, being belittled.

You were done. You couldn’t keep holding it in. Your fists clenched, nails digging into your palms as you spun on your heel, slamming your hand against the wall. The sharp sound of your palm against the cold surface echoed in the hallway, but it wasn’t enough. The rage, the helplessness—it was all too much.

“Fuck!” you hissed, breath coming in sharp bursts as you stared at the spot where your hand had just struck the wall, feeling the dull sting radiating through your knuckles.

You couldn’t keep it together anymore. It was too much. You were tired of being on the edge, of trying so damn hard to be perfect at everything—at work, at life, at keeping it all together. Everyone depended on you to do everything. Always being there, and put together.

But right now? You didn’t want to be. You didn’t want to hold it in anymore. Your body was shaking with the weight of it all—the frustration of being forced to be something that was overwhelming, the anger at yourself for letting it all pile up until you exploded.

You wanted to break. You wanted to let go—but you knew you couldn’t. You couldn’t afford to. You’d kept it locked away for so long, keeping everything in check, trying to make sure no one saw the truth behind the mask. Who knew what would happen if you let yourself slip away, even just a smidge. You were already forced to be somewhere you didn’t want to be, you couldn’t risk losing anything else. But the anger… the helplessness… It was too much. You were suffocating, and you couldn’t breathe anymore.

And that’s when it hit you: This is why you were here.

You couldn’t handle it. You couldn’t keep pretending that you had it all together. You were falling apart at the seams, and the pressure—the pressure of trying to control everything—was finally breaking you.

You spun around, not knowing what you were doing, just feeling the surge of emotions all crashing in. You needed to hit something again, harder. You needed to feel something, anything, that would make it stop. But before you could even move an inch, a voice cut through the chaotic storm inside your mind.

“[Y/N]?”

It was Logan.

You didn’t even turn to look at him. You didn’t want him to see you like this. Hell, you didn’t even want to see yourself like this.

“Leave me the fuck alone,” you snarled, voice hoarse as the tears welled up, but you fought them back. Not yet. Not here. Not now.

But Logan was already there. In an instant, his hands were on you, trying to turn you, pulling you against him, his arms firm and unyielding. You tried to twist, to pull away, but his grip was too strong. And it wasn’t that you didn’t want to break—because you did.

But you couldn’t let him see it. You couldn’t let anyone see how much you were falling apart. You were so fucking tired of pretending to be fine, you were ready to break but not in front of him.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Logan tried to pacify your struggles, as his hold on you failed to waver. It wasn’t like before. It wasn’t about controlling you. His presence was heavy—comforting in a way you hadn’t let yourself experience in so long.

The tears came the more you struggled in his grip, despite all your efforts. Hot and fast, they burned your face, dripping onto the linoleum floor, and there was nothing you could do to stop them. You wanted to stop them. You hated it. You hated feeling this weak.

But Logan just held you as your body went slack. His grip tightened, pulling you into him. Not to silence you, not to force you to do anything, but to hold you steady, to keep you from falling completely apart.

“I told you not to touch me,” you choked out through the tears, voice breaking as you finally let yourself give into him, your body shuddering against his. You were shaking—not just with the anger anymore, but with the helplessness that had been buried so deep.

You tried once more to push him away, weakly, but it was like fighting against a wall. His chest was too solid. His presence was too overwhelming. You didn’t want to feel it. You didn’t want him to see the cracks.

But there was no escaping it now. The reality of everything you’d been holding inside came rushing at you, and it hurt. It hurt more than you could even process.

Logan didn’t speak. He didn’t try to fix anything. He just let you break in silence. His arms around you were steady, not demanding. They didn’t try to pull you back from the edge. They simply were. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself breathe as you were.

When he finally loosened his grip and you finally pulled yourself away from him, still sniffling, you couldn’t bring yourself to look him in the eyes. You couldn’t look at him like this.

“Please, don’t touch me anymore,” you muttered, voice shaky, and with that, you turned away, your feet dragging as you walked down the hall. You didn’t look back. Not once.

But you knew, in that moment, something had shifted between you. Something in you had cracked.

And Logan knew it too. He didn’t stop you this time. He didn’t chase you. He just let you go.

The silence in the hallway hung heavy in the air after you walked away. Logan stood there for a long moment, the weight of the last few minutes settling over him. He hadn’t expected the tears, the rawness that tore through you, but the way you’d fought it all—fought him—made something click in his mind.

He didn’t follow you. He didn’t try to force anything. Instead, he gave you space. Because deep down, he understood.

He didn’t move from where he stood immediately. He wanted to give you time. You needed it. Needed to process it all.

When he finally did move, it was slow. The hallway was too quiet now, too empty. His hand rested on the wall, his mind replaying the moments that had just passed, trying to piece everything together. What did you need? He hadn’t known before, but now? Now, something was different.

—

It had been a few days since you’d broken down in the hallway. Logan hadn’t pushed you since, letting you process things on your own, but he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it. About you. About the way you’d finally let your guard down, even if just for a moment, before retreating again. He’d stayed close but careful, offering support in quiet ways, waiting for you to let him in.

You walked into your room, your steps slow, your mind racing. As you sat on the edge of your bed, you couldn’t stop the image of Logan holding you from replaying over and over in your head. The warmth of his embrace still lingered on your skin, even though you had pushed him away.

A soft knock at your door interrupted your thoughts.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. You knew who it was but, if you looked at him again, you weren’t sure you could hold it together. You needed space. You needed time.

Another knock. A little louder this time.

You dragged a shaky breath into your lungs, wiping your face with the back of your hand. You hated this—hated the fragility of it all. But the pressure inside you hadn’t subsided. You could feel the ache in your chest, the pull to break again.

“[Y/N]?” Logan’s voice came through the door, low, steady. “Can I come in?”

You stayed quiet. You wanted to tell him to leave you alone. You wanted to shut him out. But you couldn’t. You knew deep down you didn’t want him to go away. Not now. Not after everything.

The door creaked open slowly, and Logan stepped inside, his eyes cautious. He didn’t push, didn’t say anything. His presence was still heavy, but it wasn’t demanding. The door shut behind him with a soft thud, followed by a small discernible click.

He didn’t ask if you were okay. He didn’t offer any words of comfort. He just watched you, letting the silence hang between you. You felt the familiar heat rising in your chest, the uncomfortable feeling of being seen too clearly, but this time, it wasn’t like before. He wasn’t trying to fix you.

You could feel the distance between you. He was there, but he wasn’t pushing.

He shifted, taking a step closer, but not too close. It was a subtle offer, a quiet invitation.

The silence stretched between you like a taut string, every breath you took loud in the otherwise still room. Logan didn’t rush you. He just stood there, his hands loose at his sides, his presence calm, steady, like an anchor in the storm of your thoughts.

“I thought I told you to leave,” you said, your voice wavering despite the steel you tried to inject into it.

His lips twitched, a barely-there smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You didn’t say a word, sunshine. Just figured you might need someone who’ll stick around—Help take care of you.”

You hated how much his words hit the mark, hated how the rawness inside you stirred at the idea that maybe, just maybe, he was right.

Logan took another step closer, his boots soft against the floor. The click of the lock earlier seemed louder now, echoing in your mind.

“You’re my nurse,” you whispered, like a warning, but your words lacked conviction.

“I am,” he agreed, his voice low but even. “And that means takin’ care of you, even if you fight me on it. Especially if you fight me on it.” The tone in his voice emphasizing the last part—as if the fight you put up brings a rush to his blood.

You scoffed, your instinct to push him away rearing its head. “This feels like more than taking care of a patient.”

His gaze softened, but it didn’t waver. “Maybe. But does it matter? You’re not by yourself anymore—not in here. You don’t have to keep pretending you’re fine when you’re not. Let me help you.”

Your breath hitched, the weight of his words sinking in. He saw too much, and yet, you didn’t feel the urge to run. You felt… understood. The wall you’d built around yourself since arriving finally cracked, just enough for his steady gaze to slip through.

“You don’t get it,” you muttered, shaking your head, your hands clenching the edge of the bed. “I’ve always had to hold it together. Always. If I let go—” Your voice broke, a sharp crack in the stillness.

“You won’t fall apart,” Logan interrupted, his tone firm but not harsh. He crouched down in front of you, his hands resting on his knees, his body just close enough to block out everything else. “You’ve been doin’ this on your own for too long. Let someone else shoulder some of it.”

His hand lifted slowly, giving you time to pull away, but you didn’t. His fingers brushed against yours where they gripped the edge of the mattress, the warmth of his touch grounding you.

“Logan…” Your voice trembled, a mix of warning and plea.

“I’m here,” he murmured. “Just let me help.”

You closed your eyes, trying to pull yourself together, but the heat radiating from him was impossible to ignore. The way his thumb traced over your knuckles was gentle, but there was an unspoken promise in his touch.

He shifted closer, his legs brushing against yours now. The tension in the air thickened, your pulse quickening as his steady gaze roamed your face. There was something in his expression—something deeper than concern. His job might have brought him here, but the way he looked at you was anything but professional.

“Logan,” you said again, this time softer, your voice barely a whisper.

He leaned in slightly, the rough edge of his voice brushing against your skin. “Let me in, sunshine. Just this once.”

Your walls wavered, the vulnerability threatening to spill over. The ache in your chest was unbearable, the pull to let go stronger than your fear. He wasn’t just offering to help; he was offering himself.

Your breathing grew shallow as his hand slid up, his fingers curling lightly around your wrist, pulling your hand away from the bed and into his. You opened your eyes as you let him guide you, avoiding all chances to truly look him in the eyes, his movements slow, and deliberate, until your hand rested against his chest.

He shifted and his other hand found your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheek in a slow, grounding motion. “Let me take care of you. All you’ve gotta do is trust me, sunshine.”

Your lips parted, words caught in your throat as his thumb slid lower, grazing your bottom lip. You froze, your mind racing, but Logan didn’t push further—he just waited, his touch firm but patient.

The shift was subtle, but it was there—the change in the air between you. He wasn’t just offering comfort anymore. He was asking for surrender, for trust in the most intimate way.

And God help you, you were ready to give it to him anything he asked for.

The tension between you crackled, thick and electric, but his touch remained steady, grounding. Logan’s thumb brushed the curve of your cheek, slow and deliberate, before tracing the edge of your jaw. His movements weren’t hurried—there was no rush, no demand—just an unspoken invitation.

“See?” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, like he was coaxing you down from a ledge. “Ain’t so hard to let someone else take the reins for a bit, is it?”

Your breath hitched as his fingers trailed down, brushing the side of your neck. The warmth of his palm lingered, the weight of his hand firm enough to quiet the chaotic swirl in your mind, but not enough to drown out the muffled sounds of people passing by your door.

“I… I don’t know how,” you admitted, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

Logan huffed a soft laugh, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “Yeah, you do. You’re already doing it.”

His fingers shifted, sliding to the back of your neck, and you leaned into the touch before you could stop yourself. He drew you closer, just enough to feel his presence envelop you entirely. Your knees brushed against his thighs where he stood in front of you, and the heat radiating off him was impossible to ignore.

“Relax that jaw of yours,” he said, his tone still light but with a teasing edge. After caressing the nape of your neck his hand comes back to your jaw and squeezes until your lips part. “You’ve been clenching it so tight, it’s a wonder it hasn’t locked up yet.”

You blinked at him, caught between embarrassment and curiosity. His eyes, dark and steady, met yours, and for a moment, you swore he could see straight through you.

“C’mere,” he murmured, tugging gently on your wrist until you slid closer towards him.

The shift brought your bodies even nearer, his hands bracketing your thighs now, his thumbs brushing circles over the fabric of your pants. His touch was careful but deliberate, testing your boundaries while coaxing you further out of your shell.

“Let me take the lead,” he said softly, his voice dipping lower, more intimate.

You swallowed hard, feeling the ache in your chest ease as something entirely new unfurled in its place. Trust. Need. A quiet kind of surrender you didn’t know you were capable of.

“How?” you finally gave in and asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan’s lips quirked into a small smirk, but his gaze stayed steady, unwavering. “Like I said… starting with that jaw.”

His hand moved, knuckles grazing your chin as his thumb pressed gently against the corner of your mouth. The motion was slow, teasing, giving you plenty of time to pull back. You didn’t.

“Open up for me,” he murmured, his words a low rumble that sent a shiver racing down your spine.

The command was quiet, laced with care, but the underlying edge of authority had your pulse spiking. Your lips parted instinctively, your breath shaky as his thumb slid along the inside of your bottom lip.

“Good girl,” he murmured, the praise slipping out like it belonged there.

The words hit you harder than you wanted to admit, warmth pooling in your chest—and lower.

Logan shifted closer, his other hand steadying your jaw as he studied you, his expression unreadable but intent. “We’ll take it slow,” he said, his thumb retreating as he brought his hand to the hem of his pants. “Just let me guide you.”

Your breathing hitched as your eyes flicked down to his hands, the way his fingers deftly worked the knot of his drawstring pants. The quiet rustle of the fabric filled the space between you, a sound that felt louder than it was.

Logan’s movements were deliberate, unhurried, as though he was waiting for any sign of hesitation from you. When your gaze lifted to meet his, you saw no rush, no impatience—just the same steady calm that made it impossible not to trust him.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he murmured, his voice grounding you even as it sent your pulse racing.

You swallowed hard, your jaw relaxing further at his words, at the way his presence seemed to envelop you completely. His hand returned to your chin, tilting your head up slightly, his thumb brushing against your skin.

“Atta girl,” Logan praised softly, his lips curving into a faint smile, as his thumb caressed your skin. “That’s it. Just breathe for me.”

The tension that had coiled so tightly in your chest loosened a fraction as you exhaled shakily. His fingers traced along your jawline, the touch soothing and deliberate, coaxing you to focus on him and nothing else.

When his drawstrings tangled free, Logan leaned in closer, his free hand bracing against the edge of the bed beside you. His proximity was overwhelming in the best way, his warmth and scent filling your senses.

“This ain’t just about me, sunshine,” he said, his voice low and sure. He takes one hand, and brings it to your neck. His thumb finds the pulse point beneath your jaw and he brings you in closer. “This is about you learning to let go. To stop holdin’ on so tight it hurts.”

You nodded faintly, swallowing against his palm, your body responding before your mind could catch up. There was no space for second-guessing, no time for overthinking—not with the way Logan looked at you, like he already knew exactly what you needed.

“Good,” he murmured again, his tone like gravel smoothed by honey. “We’ll go slow, but I need you to trust me.” He nuzzled the side of your head, his breath tickling your skin as he slowly let go of your throat.

Logan’s hands moved, sliding down to catch yours. His touch was firm but not forceful, the rough calluses on his palm grounding you as he pulled your hands away from your lap. He brought them up, pressing them flat against his chest.

“Feel that?” he asked, his voice low and steady as your fingers splayed over his warm skin through his shirt. His familiar heartbeat thrummed steadily beneath your touch, grounding you, centering you. “That’s all you gotta focus on. Just me. Nothing else matters right now.”

You nodded faintly, the tension in your shoulders coming to a still as he kept your hands there for a moment, letting you adjust. Suddenly, a loud slam down the hallway caused you to jump and turn towards the door. He quickly grabbed your chin forcing you to look at him. “What did I just say?” He quirked, all you could do was look at him, heat blooming from your neck up.

Then, slowly once he made sure you weren’t looking away, he began guiding your hands downward.

The motion was deliberate, unhurried, as though every inch was a silent reassurance that you could stop at any time. His hands covered yours, his thumbs brushing the backs of your knuckles as he slid your palms down the planes of his torso, over the firm muscle beneath his shirt, until they rested against his hips.

Logan gave you a beat to take it in, his gaze locked on yours. His breathing was measured, but you could see the faintest flicker of tension in his jaw, the restraint he was holding onto so tightly.

“Still good?” he asked, his voice dropping lower, rougher now.

“Yes,” you murmured, barely trusting your voice as heat pooled low in your belly. You unconsciously squirmed, in anticipation, in heat who knew.

Logan nodded, his lips twitching into something that wasn’t quite a smile but carried the same weight of approval. He waited, giving you one last chance to back out before guiding your thumbs to join his, beneath the elastic of his scrub pants.

“Easy,” he murmured, the word a quiet reminder as he guided your hands to push the fabric down slowly, exposing more of his skin. The sliver of skin burned against your fingers as you ghosted them along his body. His abdomen tensed under your touch, his breathing shifting slightly as he exhaled through his nose.

Logan let the pants hang low on his hips, one hand trailing up to cup your jaw again, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. “We’ll go nice and slow,” he said, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth again. “No rush, sunshine. Just follow my lead.”

With that, he took your hands again, guiding them lower until they brushed the waistband of his boxers. His movements were steady, deliberate, as though showing you exactly where he wanted you without rushing you.

“You feelin’ brave?” he teased softly, the faintest smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, though his eyes held nothing but warmth and patience.

You nodded again scooching closer to the edge of the bed, and the brink of insanity, your chest tightening with anticipation. His smirk deepened, and he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“Then show me, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Let me see what you can do.”

Logan eased back slightly, just enough to give you room to move, but his hand lingered on yours, a steadying presence as he guided your touch. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his waistband, and with a deep breath, you pushed the material down further, revealing more of him inch by inch.

The air between you grew heavier, the tension palpable as his arousal became impossible to ignore. Logan’s hand left yours, but only for a moment, trailing up to brush a stray strand of hair from your face before cupping the back of your neck.

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart.” he murmured, his voice warm and rough, sending a shiver down your spine. His thumb traced lazy circles at the base of your skull, grounding you as his other hand rested atop your forearm, giving you control but silently encouraging you to keep going.

You shifted slightly, your hands trembling as they moved to rest on his hips again. Logan watched you closely, his gaze steady but dark with something you couldn’t quite name. His chest rose and fell in a slow, measured rhythm, as though he were holding himself back, letting you set the pace.

When your hands brushed the bare skin of his hips, Logan inhaled a shaky breath, a faint sound escaping him that made your pulse spike. He leaned in, his lips ghosting over your temple as he murmured, “Don’t overthink it. Just take what you can, sunshine. I’ll guide you through the rest.”

Your fingers curled into his skin as you leaned forward, your breath brushing against his lower abdomen. Logan’s hand slid from your neck to your shoulder, a subtle but firm anchor as he shifted slightly, giving you better access.

“Atta girl,” he praised, his voice barely above a whisper. The words sent a wave of warmth through you, and you felt your hesitation ease, replaced by a quiet resolve to follow his lead.

Logan’s hand moved again, this time to rest over yours as he guided one of them lower. He didn’t stop until you were cradling the solid weight of him. Your touch lightly teasing the ache that pulsed beneath your trembling hand. Logan guided your hand to palm the rigid heat beneath his clothes, wrapping your fingers around him. A sharp inhale escaped his lips, and you felt the faintest tremor in his muscles as your touch sent a jolt through him.

“Slow,” he reminded you, his voice tight but still soft. “Just like that.”

The tension between you was thick enough to cut with a knife, every shift of his body, every measured breath, drawing you further into the moment. Your fingers trembled as they traced the contours of his arousal, the fabric of his boxers doing little to disguise the heat and weight beneath. Logan’s grip on your shoulder tightened slightly, not in impatience but as a subtle reassurance, his silent way of telling you that you were doing exactly what he wanted.

His hips shifted just barely, an almost involuntary reaction to the way your hand brushed against him. “That’s it,” he murmured, his voice a low rasp that sent a shiver down your spine. His thumb traced another soothing circle at the base of your neck, the grounding motion a stark contrast to the fire building between you. “You’ve got me, sunshine. Just keep going.”

Emboldened by his words, you pressed a little firmer, your palm smoothing over the outline of him, taking your time to explore every inch. The way he exhaled sharply, the muscles in his abdomen tensing beneath your other hand, made you feel a surge of confidence. You dared to glance up at him, and what you saw made your breath catch. His head was tilted back slightly, his jaw tight, the faintest flush coloring his cheeks. His eyes, though darkened with desire, never left yours, his focus sharp and unwavering.

“You’re taking your time, huh?” he teased, his smirk returning, though it was tinged with a rawness that made your chest tighten. “Not that I’m complaining.”

You swallowed hard, your hand faltering for just a moment before finding its rhythm again. His reaction—the way his body leaned into your touch, the low sound he made in the back of his throat—was intoxicating. It spurred you on, your fingers brushing the waistband of his boxers again before slipping just beneath, your fingertips meeting bare skin.

You felt him twitch ever so slightly, and your cheeks twinged with excitement. There was something happening inside of you that you weren’t quite sure what to think of it. You knew what Logan was doing would’ve been demeaning as hell anywhere else, but here, now… all you wanted to do was give in, succumb to whatever it was he wanted you to do. He asked you to trust him, and so far he hasn’t shown you a reason not to.

Your heart thudded in your chest as the realization hit you: you wanted this. More than anything, you wanted to give yourself over to him, to see what it felt like to let someone else carry the weight for once. If his touch—barely there—was enough to leave you trembling, what else could he make you feel? What more could he show you?

The thought sent a rush of heat through you, your breath quickening as your fingers finally curled around the rigid, throbbing length of him, pressing more firmly against his strained need. Logan’s soft groan rumbled through the air, stirring something deep in your chest—a quiet, unfamiliar hunger that threatened to consume you. You let yourself sink into it, letting the weight of the moment guide your movements, every brush of your touch unraveling a part of you you didn’t know existed.

“Good,” Logan murmured, his voice warm and gravelly, the rough edge of it sending a shiver down your spine. “Just like that, sunshine. You’re doin’ perfect.”

You inched closer to the edge of the bed, the pull to be nearer to him overwhelming, almost instinctual. Kneeling now, you practically sank toward the floor, chasing the heat radiating from his body like you couldn’t bear the space between you.

Logan shifted, and before you could fully close the distance, he was pulling back. The loss of contact jarred you, a quiet whine of protest nearly escaping before you caught yourself. His hand came to rest on your shoulder, firm but gentle, stopping you in your tracks.

“Here,” he said, his voice low and steady. In one smooth motion, he grabbed a pillow and tossed it to the ground between the two of you, the soft thud breaking the tension for only a split second.

Your gaze snapped up to meet his, eyes wide, blown out with something you couldn’t quite name—but it was there, raw and undeniable. The way he’d stopped you, how casually he’d thrown the pillow down, like he knew exactly what you needed before you did—your chest tightened, and your jaw slackened just slightly. You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry, yet you swore you could taste the heat rolling off him.

Logan’s eyes flickered down to your throat as you swallowed, the barest hint of amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. He let out a low, rough chuckle—one that felt like gravel and smoke—and before you knew it, his hand was cradling the back of your neck, fingers splaying out against your nape and jaw in a way that had you forgetting how to breathe. The strength in his grip was tempered with something careful, deliberate, and when he tugged you forward, you melted into it willingly, chasing the pull like it was magnetic.

His lips found yours in an instant, the kiss deep and consuming, all heat and desperation that made your head spin. Logan kissed you like he was trying to unravel you, his mouth moving against yours in a way that left you pliant and eager, gasping against him. With every subtle pull of his hand, you followed, inching forward without thought, his control and your surrender melting together.

When you opened your eyes again, you were on your knees on the pillow, face to face with the aching strain beneath the thin fabric of his boxers. You blinked up at him, lips kiss-swollen, as the realization coursed through you, heat prickling at the back of your neck. Logan watched you closely, his thumb brushing slowly along your jaw where his hand still lingered, as though grounding you there—reminding you that this was him, guiding you, coaxing you forward.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, his voice dark and edged with something thick and raw. His thumb dragged along your lower lip, smirking when he noticed you shiver. “Go on. Hold me again, sweetheart.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. Your hands trembled slightly as they curled around him once more, this time with more confidence, more purpose. Logan’s gaze stayed locked on yours, his chest rising and falling in steady breaths, though his voice dropped to a whisper when he spoke again.

“Good. Now, let me feel those soft lips of yours.” He guided you closer, the weight of his palm on the back of your neck a constant, steadying anchor as you leaned forward. Your lips brushed along the shaft first—tentative, testing—as though learning every inch of him. Logan’s breath hitched, and when you pressed a lingering kiss to the tip, his reaction shattered any lingering doubt.

A deep groan spilled from his chest, half a breathless chuckle, half a helpless sound that made your stomach twist in the best way. He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, the sound shaky as his muscles tensed.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he muttered, his hand tightening at your nape. You swore you felt him tremble for just a moment before his voice turned low and rough again. “Sorry, baby. Can’t help myself.”

Before you could process what he meant, his fingers slid into your hair, fisting just tight enough to make your scalp tingle, and with a gentle but deliberate motion, he pushed the tip past your parted lips. The first inch of him filled your mouth, the taste of him flooding your senses, and it was enough to make your mind blank entirely.

He stilled, his hands firm yet tentative as they guided your gaze up to meet his. The look in his eyes sent a wave of heat coursing through you, pooling low in your belly and making your thighs clench involuntarily. A faint whimper escaped your throat, and you squirmed, trying in vain to adjust the soaked fabric pressing against your folds.

“Oh, pretty girl,” Logan murmured, his chest rising and falling heavily, his voice low and rough with restraint. “You’re makin’ this real hard for me.” He paused, his thumb brushing along your jaw, the smallest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You trust me to take good care of you, right?”

You nodded without hesitation, a small, ragged sound catching in your throat as heat prickled across your cheeks. You felt obscene—completely undone under his gaze—but the way Logan looked at you chased away every last shred of doubt.

“Good girl,” he breathed, his hands sliding up to cradle the sides of your neck, a gentle yet possessive hold that left your pulse fluttering wildly. Slowly, he guided you closer, his touch steady as he coaxed your mouth open.

“Relax for me, sweetheart,” he whispered, his thumb sweeping over your jaw, encouraging it to drop further. A strained exhale left his lips as he eased in deeper, until the tip of his cock brushed the back of your throat. “Oh, yes—” Logan’s voice broke into a rough, shaky breath as he bottomed out, and your eyes fluttered shut as you adjusted to the weight of him.

“Come on, baby. I know you can take it,” he urged softly, his voice laced with both praise and challenge. Your hands rose instinctively to grip his thighs, your fingers twisting into the fabric of his pants as you let out a muffled moan around him.

The sound seemed to undo him further. Logan groaned low in his chest, his hand shifting to the back of your head to hold you there just a moment longer, as though savoring the feeling. You tried to quiet yourself, but the excitement coursing through you was impossible to contain—soft, needy noises escaped despite your efforts, vibrating against him as he held you still against his body.

Logan’s grip tightened at the nape of your neck, his restraint snapping like a taut wire. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he rasped, his voice rough and gravelly, “fuck, you’re takin’ me so good.” His hips began to move—slow at first, testing your limits—before he couldn’t hold back any longer.

He bucked into your mouth with a sharp, unrelenting rhythm, his breath coming harder and faster with every thrust. The sound of his low, guttural groans mixed with the wet noises of your mouth, the lewdness of it only spurring him on. “So perfect,” he praised, his voice cracking as he drove himself deeper. “You were made for this, weren’t you, baby? Look at you—”

The words tumbled out in a broken mix of curses and praise, his hold on you steady but possessive as he guided your head to meet each snap of his hips. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, your throat constricting around him as your nails dug into his thighs, but the way he sounded—so utterly wrecked—sent waves of pleasure through you, making you moan around him.

“Fuck,—oh, baby, just like that—” Logan’s voice was strained, raw, his head tilting back as he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. He was on the brink, his movements growing more erratic as he neared his edge, but before he could lose himself completely, his hand fisted in your hair, yanking you back with a sudden, desperate motion.

You gasped, panting heavily as your lips parted, your chest heaving as you blinked up at him. His eyes were blown wide, dark with hunger, his lips slightly parted as though trying to catch his breath. Without a word, Logan hauled you upward, crashing his mouth onto yours in a heated, sloppy kiss. His tongue pushed past your lips, claiming every inch of you as he groaned against your mouth, tasting himself on your tongue.

The kiss was frantic, all teeth and heat as he walked you backward, his hands gripping your waist before spinning you around and throwing you onto the bed. You barely had time to catch your breath before he was on you, his hands tugging at your clothes with a singular focus, stripping you bare with rough, hurried movements.

“Goddamn,” Logan muttered under his breath, his gaze sweeping over your exposed skin as he sat back just long enough to yank his own shirt over his head. The sight of him—bare-chested, muscles taut and flexing as he moved—sent a fresh rush of heat pooling between your thighs.

Logan’s hands were on you in an instant, his lips crashing down against your neck as he kissed, nipped, and licked his way down your body with a ravenous intensity. His fingers dug into your hips, pulling you closer, his grip firm and possessive as though he couldn’t get enough of you.

“You’re somethin’ else, sunshine,” he murmured against your skin, his voice rough and low, vibrating through you. His teeth scraped over your collarbone before his tongue soothed the mark, leaving you gasping beneath him.

His lips trailed lower, his hot breath teasing against your chest as his hands slid up, cupping your breasts with a firm, deliberate squeeze. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. Logan grinned against your skin when you arched into him, his lips wrapping around one taut peak as his fingers rolled the other, coaxing a breathless moan from your lips.

“Look at you,” he said, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze, his lips glistening. His eyes burned with unrestrained hunger as his hands roamed your body, exploring every inch with rough, greedy caresses. “Already fallin’ apart for me, huh?”

You barely managed a nod, your head spinning as his mouth moved lower, his lips pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your stomach. His hands gripped your thighs, prying them apart as he settled between them, his gaze locked onto yours. The sight alone—Logan on his knees, his broad shoulders pinning your legs open, his lips glistening as he licked them—made your breath hitch.

“Goddamn, you’re a dream,” he rasped, his voice thick with reverence and desire. He dipped his head, his stubble brushing against your inner thighs as his tongue flicked out, teasing along your folds. The first swipe of his tongue sent a shudder through you, and Logan groaned deeply, the sound reverberating against you.

“You taste so fuckin’ sweet,” he murmured, his lips wrapping around your swollen clit and sucking lightly, drawing a sharp cry from you. Your hands flew to his hair, fingers tangling in the thick strands as he worked you over with unrelenting precision.

Logan alternated between long, slow strokes of his tongue and quick, teasing flicks, relishing every sound you made, every twitch of your body beneath him. His hands gripped your thighs tighter, holding you in place as he buried his face deeper, his nose brushing against your sensitive nub as his tongue dove inside you.

“God,” he growled against you, his voice rough and dripping with approval. “You’re so fuckin’ sweet, sunshine. Can’t get enough of you.” He pulled back slightly, his lips and chin slick with your arousal as he grinned up at you. “Look at you, practically undone for me already.”

You writhed beneath him, your body trembling as he pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, his fingers replacing his mouth to keep the steady rhythm against your clit. “Logan,” you whimpered, your voice high and desperate, your thighs trembling as heat coiled low in your belly.

“That’s it,” he coaxed, his voice like velvet, his eyes dark and intense as he watched you. “Let go for me, baby. I wanna feel you fall apart.”

You were barely holding onto a thread of sanity, your head spinning, your breath hitching as Logan’s relentless tongue and fingers pushed you higher and higher. Your nails scraped against his scalp, and Logan groaned in response, the vibration sending you tumbling over the edge.

Your body arched off the bed as the pressure inside you built to an unbearable peak, every nerve ending ignited under Logan's expert tongue and fingers. The pleasure crashed through you like a tidal wave, your thighs trembling violently as you cried out his name, your hands fisting in his hair.

"That's it," Logan growled against you, his voice dark and dripping with satisfaction as he continued to devour you. "Let it all out for me, sweetheart."

Your orgasm tore through you, so intense that your vision blurred, your entire body trembling as if it couldn’t contain the raw ecstasy coursing through you. Logan didn’t let up for a second, his tongue working you through the aftershocks, prolonging every wave until you were left gasping and shuddering beneath him.

Before you could catch your breath, Logan was on you, his body a solid weight over yours. His hands gripped your hips, and in one swift motion, he buried himself inside you, stealing the remnants of your orgasm and turning them into something even more feral.

“Fuck,” Logan rasped, his voice rough as his hips snapped forward with an unforgiving pace. “Still so tight, baby. I’ve gotcha—just let me take care of you.”

The sensation was overwhelming—his thick cock filling you completely, his relentless rhythm pushing you further into the mattress with every thrust. Your cries mingled with the sound of skin meeting skin, your nails clawing at his back as he moved with a desperate hunger, biting and sucking at your neck, leaving marks that burned and thrilled in equal measure.

“You feel that?” he murmured darkly against your ear, his teeth grazing your earlobe before his lips trailed down to your jaw. “This is what you were made for—bein’ mine. My perfect little thing, takin’ me so damn well.”

His hand slid up to your throat, his fingers wrapping around it with a possessive grip that sent a shiver through you. He applied just enough pressure to make your head spin, his eyes locked onto yours, burning with raw intensity. “Look at you, sunshine,” he praised, his voice low and gravelly. “So fuckin’ beautiful when you let go—when you give yourself to me.”

Your moans turned into gasps as he choked you lightly, his thumb brushing along the side of your neck, coaxing you to surrender completely. Logan’s lips found yours again, devouring your cries as his hips slammed into you, his movements erratic and desperate as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

His teeth sank into your shoulder, a primal growl rumbling through his chest as his hand slid down to your thigh, gripping it tightly to spread you wider for him. His thrusts grew harder, deeper, and the sheer force of him sent you spiraling again, your body clenching tightly around him.

“Fuck, baby, that’s it,” Logan groaned, his voice breaking as he felt your walls flutter around him. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect, so good for me. Gonna make you mine all over again.”

You cried out as another orgasm overtook you, this one more intense than the first, leaving you trembling and incoherent beneath him. Logan’s movements didn’t falter; if anything, they grew rougher, more possessive, his thumb pressing into the base of your throat as his teeth found the tender skin of your collarbone again.

"That's my girl," he growled, his voice sharp with pride and need as your body writhed beneath his. "Look at you, squirtin’ all over me—so fuckin’ perfect.”

Your body gave out beneath him, your vision blurring as the pleasure consumed you entirely. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, your cries filling the room as Logan’s relentless pace pushed you to your limits.

Logan’s hand fisted in your hair, tugging your head back as he kissed you deeply, his tongue dominating yours as his hips drove forward with punishing intensity. His free hand roamed your body, squeezing, groping, claiming every inch of you as he chased his own release.

“You’re mine,” he growled, his voice rough and possessive, his breath hot against your ear as he gave a final, brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt. His body tensed, a guttural groan tearing from his throat as he came, his hips rolling through his climax as if he couldn’t bear to leave your warmth.

Logan collapsed over you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his lips brushing against your temple as he murmured softly, his voice still tinged with raw need. “So fuckin’ good, sunshine. My perfect girl.”

Logan’s grip tightened around your waist, his breath ragged as he held you in place, your body still trembling beneath him. His chest heaved, his lips brushing against your ear as he pressed a kiss to the side of your neck, savoring the feel of you around him. His voice was low, a dark satisfaction lacing every word.

“See how good it feels to let go, sweetheart?” he murmured, his lips curling into a smirk as his eyes bored into yours. "I told you, just had to trust me."

You didn’t respond with words, your gaze locking onto his as you fought for breath, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. The only sound in the room was your uneven breaths and the faint, rhythmic pulse of his dick still buried deep inside you.

His hand found the back of your neck, pulling you forward with unrelenting force. The kiss he claimed you with was messy and possessive, his tongue dominating yours, tasting, owning you in every way. His grip on your neck tightened slightly, making it harder to breathe, but you didn’t care. You were lost in him, completely, mindlessly, heart in your throat as he claimed you like this.

You were on top of him now, your body straddling him, both of you entwined in a messy, raw dance that didn’t need words—just the wet slide of your lips, the heat of his skin, the desperate shallow thrusts that made everything blur. His kiss was greedy, ferocious, as though he needed you to know that you were his—his plaything, his perfect girl.

You moaned into the kiss, the sensation of him still deep inside you enough to keep your thoughts scattered and incoherent. Logan didn’t pull away. He kept you close, his tongue in your mouth, tasting, owning, until you could barely keep your eyes open, your body consumed by him —sloppy, messy, and completely possessive, as if the world could end and all that mattered was this. All that mattered was you, beneath him, in his arms, on top of him, held and claimed by his every touch.

And as you melted into the kiss, body trembling and mind slipping into a daze of pleasure, everything else faded. All that remained was the feel of him, the sound of his breath, and the heat that still burned between you.

---

a/n: smooches! (reblog pls)

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formylovetodaryldixon · 2 months ago

Text

"The way to heal a heart." Daryl Dixon Imagine.

(Not my gif!)

When his heart can’t stand the pain of a loss, you discover why Daryl ignored you all those days. But there, you tell your husband the way his heart can heal.

A/N: Based on the conversation between Maggie and Daryl after Glenn's death. (Spoiler alert: also Daryl briefly threatening a poor guy for touching you, because I don't like things to get too serious TT–TT) Hope you like it. Thank you!

The small and cozy cabin loses the amber glow that the fire of the small chimney caused when Daryl throws the sand on the hot embers, extinguishing all the flames. Lying on the small bed, you watch silently as the place loses its color, but the heat is still impregnated in the air and on the walls, and you feel it as a little shelter for your husband and for you, far from the walkers and the world in general.

When Daryl reaches the bed, he kicks off his boots, taking off his vest next, his shirt and his pants, leaving them on the floor to get in the bed too, where the heat of his body wraps you as he puts his left arm around you, resting on his right side to stroke your belly under the covers.

Living there was good, but that wasn’t the reality and you two had to take a step to it, so tomorrow you two would go to the Hilltop.

“I wish I had said good–bye.” You say. King Ezekiel didn’t offer his help to fight against Negan, but you would always thank him for his help towards Daryl. “I think we should leave the Kingdom in the right way.”

Although Daryl didn’t like that the king hadn’t helped you all, he recognized Ezekiel’s gesture towards him.

“We can come back someday. Kids were crazy ‘bout ya.”

Even if you trained them to protect themselves during your stay, they kept the innocence within, intact and bright, despite how cold and grey the new world had become. But the future was uncertain for them and for you two, and you worry about what would happen next.

“Do you think we’ll be okay after all this?”

Daryl was never a person who thought of the future either, the difficulties of his life took him to live one day at a time, without great plans or big expectations. But he found you there, as a light of hope, and then he found himself wanting more. He didn’t dream of impossible things, but simply asking to have one more day with you.

“As long as we’re together everythin’ will be fine.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“I want to.” He says, looking softly at you. His doubts and his negatives had consumed his life in the old world, but he had to find himself falling too deep to then realized that he wanted to live in this new one. “Close yer eyes, peach. We’ll leave early tomorrow.”

The hours pass when you fell asleep and it feels like being on a cloud, far from the fear of dying or losing your people. There is no heavy guilt on your shoulders, no recollections of who you are and who you had to become to survive, no walkers, no blood, without a world painted red. But suddenly, your heart starts feeling heavy, and your body sinks into a complete darkness, fear and weeping. Your closed eyelids move, trying to wake you up from that high fever, until finally, you do. You sit on the bed, taking a big breath of air, back in reality where the cabin is no longer warm, but then you realize the nightmare isn’t yours. It is not in your head, but in Daryl’s.

“Daryl, hey, wake up…” You shake his shoulder. Lying still on right left side, his body moves against the bed, his hair covering his face as he complained. “Daryl!”

The last push finally awakes him, and for a moment, Daryl finds himself looking to the void, in a place far away from there as he sits down too and breathes through his parted lips, his gaze lost and his chest rising and falling sharply.

“Hey, it’s okay, it was just a nightmare—”

“No… it was somethin’ else.”

“What?”

But Daryl remains silent for a while, never saying what it really was. The cool night air helps him to calm down, and Daryl finally comes to be himself after he was lost in his own memories.

“Ya should… lie down again.”

He looks at your side of the bed with his head down as he did when he was ashamed, and without saying anything else, he lay back down with his back to you. In that moment, you realize Daryl is suddenly far gone again, but you don’t want to force anything with him, so you just lay sideways too, your gaze fixed on the scars on his back.

It takes you some time to fall asleep, but the hours pass in a few seconds when you do, and then, it is day again: the birds are singing a sweet song, and it is time to leave. The muscles of your body are tense, and you find yourself staring at the wooden ceiling after you rub your burning eyes with your fists.

“Time to go, peach…” Daryl is standing next to the table, already dressed as he packs his backpack and yours. “Get yer pretty ass outta bed and get dressed.”

He seems to be in a good mood that morning, so you decide not to press him to speak and wait for him to do it first.

There are no walkers around the forest near the Hilltop, and the group of future archers had improved greatly in the previous days since you and Daryl got there. But when the afternoon falls slowly, there are only two people with you, a young man and a young woman, twins. They are the best in the group; they are the strongest too, especially since they are not afraid to fight for their freedom.

“Have you been married for a long time, (Y/N)?”

Sean is a good man, young, brave, handsome, determined, but blushes when Mary, standing in front of you two, chuckles to herself before shooting her arrow that hit the target perfectly. She and her brother live in a trailer and they gave Daryl and you a place in their home.

“Sometimes it feels like centuries.” You chuckle at him, and then, you look back at Mary. “That was amazing, Mary, well done. You are getting better every day.”

She smiles at you.

“Are you flirting with (Y/N), Sean?” Maggie’s voice behind you makes everyone turn around. The knife–throwing lesson group is already moving away in the distance to get back home, and only Maggie and Sasha are left. “That’s a very bad idea.”

“If Daryl finds out I don’t want to think what he would do.” Sasha chuckles, making fun of him. “He doesn't like people getting too close to his wife. He just wants (Y/N) all by himself.”

Suddenly, Sean looks frightened, because he had met a very silent Daryl. That scared the strangers.

“Thank you, Sasha.” You say, but she just laughs as you look at Sean with a soft gaze. “They're kidding, Sean, please, don't listen to them.”

Maggie chuckles.

“Okay, it’s time to go, guys. Get your things and go home.”

Everyone on the Hilltop respected Maggie, so the twins take their things and walk in the same direction as the other group after saying goodbye. You walk towards the tree and pick up the arrows. They are firm against the trunk, and you think how easy it would be to embed it in the body of the enemy. But that is a dark thought, so you push it away and go back with the girls to walk through the woods.

“Is Daryl okay, (Y/N)?”

Your gaze moves from the front and you look to your left without stopping. Maggie waits, her eyes looking at you with concern. You know where her question is going, because since you and Daryl came to that place, he couldn’t look at Maggie in the eyes.

“Yeah. He is.”

Your short answer makes her nod, thoughtful, but she is not satisfied with it. Maggie loved Daryl, she worried about him, and you knew nothing had changed for her.

“He seems distant these days.”

You knew perfectly well that Daryl was being distant with everybody. He disappeared all day in the forest and barely spoke at night, and the only one who seemed to be able to approach him was Jesus. It hurt you to think that Daryl didn’t lean on you as your husband, but he was like that and you knew it when you married him, and now, you can’t complain.

The amber light from the lamp on the picnic table glows in the dark and cold night as you and Jesus play cards. You are sitting down on the wooden chair while resting your elbows on the table, having a good time with him, but you didn’t tell him that you only stayed up so late because Daryl hadn’t yet returned.

Time passed and you worried more.

“And… straight flush!” Jesus throws his cards on the table feeling like a winner. All his cards are hearts: 2, 3, 4, 5, 6. “Beat that, (Y/N).”

You chuckle.

“It is impressive, Jesus, but you don’t win with that…” You push your cards on the table, too, five cards of spades from 10 to ace, without feeling like a winner though. “I think this is a Royal flush. And it means I win.”

Jesus leans his elbows on the table as his expression falls.

“If this was not ordinary poker I would have lost all my clothes by now.”

You laugh, and for a moment, that seems like a very distant memory. Jesus begins to laugh with you, but his smile dies as the gates open and he looks back. You both look in the same direction and see Daryl coming in with his crossbow around his body and a canvas bag that seems to be heavy, so surely he had hunted some animals.

Jesus turns again and picks up all the cards as Daryl walks towards you two. The distance is long so Jesus speaks freely, but softly.

“He’s just having a bad time, (Y/N), but don’t worry about him.”

It was impossible not to worry about him.

“I know his personality is… special, but it’s a bit hurtful that he still can not talk to me.”

“It’s not that he doesn’t want to do it, it’s just that Daryl doesn’t want to worry you. He doesn’t know how to do it, too.” He sighs. “Should we play again?”

You are still not sleepy and being awake turning on the bed is not a tempting idea, so you nod while finally, Daryl reaches you two.

“Shouldn’t ya be sleepin’?” He asks, his voice low and hoarse.

He cares about you, he always did.

“We’re playing cards.”

“I’m playing; (Y/N) is kicking my ass.” Jesus chuckles, handing out the cards. “Do you want to play, Daryl?”

“Nah. I’ll go to sleep.”

Daryl just passes you by and walks away. You feel that your body falls when you exhale, but you take the cards to forget the matter, at least for a while.

After about 25 minutes, you call it a night when your eyelids start to feel heavy, so you say goodnight to Jesus and walk back to the trailer. You didn’t sleep much anymore, but sometimes, under the apparent protection of the gates surrounding you, you could lay down for a while, to stop thinking.

Inside and on the other side of the trailer, Sean and Mary are sleeping too, so you quietly take off your boots before lying down on the bed. From his side, Daryl sleeps with his back to you. However, lying on your left side and as you drift off into a light sleep, you feel Daryl rolling over in bed, blindly searching for the warmth of your body, pressing himself against you, because that reminded him that he is still alive.

In the Hilltop orchard, you are glad to see the vegetables growing perfectly. The days were good in that place because the people accepted you two so fast. Mutual help was what increased the trust between the community and the new guests, and until then, everything went well.

Squatting, your hands become dirty as you remove some soil.

“Normal people would wear gloves, (Y/N).” Sean chuckles, appearing in front of you as you stand up.

“Are you calling me weird?” You tease him and run the back of your hand down your face to scratch your cheek. “I thought you were practicing with the bow.”

“I was going to go now, but I thought you were going with us.” He smiles a little bit, kind of shy.

You smile a little bit too.

“Not today, Sean. My arm hurts.”

The bowstring used to scrape your skin every time you released the rope, and the friction was starting to burn, but the truth is that you are tired mentally after last night.

“(Y/N)…” Sean chuckles, again. “You have some dirt on your cheek.”

Your first reaction is to clean it, but getting even more soil on your face. Sean tries not to laugh, and you wipe your hands on your jean before trying again.

“I think I should have worn gloves. Guess you were right after all.” You chuckle. “But don't tell Sean, I don't want him to think he's always right.”

He smiles.

“Here… let me do it for you.” Sean hides his hand on his long sleeve to help, and he wipes your face gently. “We don’t want you to go around here with your pretty face dirty.”

But there, just as in the romantic books you used to read before the world went to hell; Daryl has to arrive at the wrong time to misunderstand the situation completely, and in that moment, he takes Sean’s arm and pushes it away from you.

“Keep yer hands off ma wife or I’ll break ‘em, kid. I ain’t gonna say it twice.”

You feel terrible, because Sean is still young and easy to scare.

“Daryl…” You call him in such a firm voice that he turns to look at you. The fire inside is suddenly burning, but Sean is not the one to blame for anything as you look back at him. “Sean, leave us alone, please.”

He looks at Daryl and then at you, wondering if you would be okay. But, even scared of Daryl's horrible silence the past days, Sean remains in his place.

“(Y/N), are you sure?” He whispers, and his small words are enough to make Daryl narrow his eyes, giving Sean a look full of anger.

“Are ya fuckin’ thinkin' I’m gonna hurt ma wife, kid?” But before Daryl can take a step towards him, you block his way with your body, causing your husband to stop dead in his tracks, however, you can’t stop him from keep talking. “Ya better walk away ‘fore I start beatin’ yer ass.”

You are mad as hell.

“Daryl, shut it!” You say firmly again, without raising your voice because that wasn’t in your nature, sadly, and you look at Sean. “Sean, leave. In any case, I would hurt him first so don’t worry. Go, please.”

Unsure, Sean walks away, but it's your confident words that keep Daryl looking at you. However, before you could say anything to him, you hear the man on the gates screaming that the saviors are coming.

“(Y/N)! Daryl!” Enid shouts running toward you from the gates, and you two run towards her and meet halfway. “You two must hide. The saviors should not know that you two are here.”

“Wait, no…” You say quickly. “We must find Maggie first. She’s in the woods with the others.”

“Jesus went to warn her. She will be alright. Come on!” Enid runs toward the building behind and you two run after her.

The sound of the cars become clearer and the gates open just as you all surround the building. Enid stops at the wooden doors that would lead you two to a cellar in a small basement, but it doesn’t feel right, not while the others are exposed with the saviors there.

However, Daryl opens the door and waits for you to enter.

“I will come for you when they are gone.” Enid says behind you.

Against everything, you walk down the stone steps and open the wooden door to enter the cellar while the place sinks in the darkness the moment Enid closes the doors above. The vegetable baskets are stack on shelves, and you push one to the side, which had enough space for you to hide in case someone come down. But, when you turn, you see Daryl staring through a hole in the door with his knife in his hand.

“Daryl, this is not the right time…” You whisper. Your mouth is dry and you feel your heart as tight as your stomach. “Please, don’t do it, not now.”

The plea in your voice surprise him, so he turns around and you both hide. The shadows of the basement serve as protection as he pushes the shelf back into the right place. It is not long before the outside doors open again, and the light enters through the cracks in the wood. You hold your breath when one of the saviors comes in, watching everything around him and then taking a basket. The place is full with food and the savior begins to collect the vegetables, piling them near the door.

And again and again, he turns his back on you, unprotected. Daryl lifts the knife in his hand, squeezing it hard, so close to kill the savior. But, even if you know he could handle one of them, they are too many outsides for you to make it alive, so you raise one hand and close it around his wrist, soft but firm, and at then, he finally looks at you after days. His blue eyes hold your gaze, and you slowly shake your head to stop him.

Fortunately, the savior takes his things and leave. Your heart feels less heavy and you breathe again as Daryl and you step out of that little hiding place. Doubts return to you, and you wonder how much harm those people could do, and how much harm you could do, and you ask for the time when you only had to worry about the walkers.

“I could have killed him.” Daryl grunts with his back in front of you.

The hatred to them for having kept him in that cell was never going to disappear.

“I know well you could. But you didn’t think about the consequences.”

Through his shirt, you see his back tenses.

“I never do it, do I? That’s why people die… ‘cause of me.”

The guilt you hear in his voice takes your breath away. Daryl really believed that, and his voice was so sincere and broken that it breaks your heart. The guilt is on his shoulders, you can see it more clearly know, so heavy that he can hardly bear it.

“Daryl…” You say, preparing to say your best friend’s name. “Glenn’s death was not your fault.”

Daryl turns, head down and part of his hair covering his face. His strength is destroyed, and he sobs before he speaks.

“It was… I have nightmares 'bout it. If I had not been so stupid—”

“Daryl, no…” You try again, taking a deep breath first. It is hard for you to hear his words, because they are not true. “Things happen, people die and we can’t help it, but we can honor their lives, fight for the things they believed in. They are not here but we are, and now I understand that we owe them this because they deserve it. Glenn was brave, kind, strong, and had a beautiful heart that no one else. He stayed true to himself, he didn’t lose part of him in this world, and he loved you so much because you and he were exactly the same.” Silent tears are about to fall from your eyes, but you stop them for a moment. “Talk to Maggie, okay? Listen to her and believe when she tells you that she loves you so much because she wouldn’t lie to you. The way she sees you has not changed at all, but you have to forgive yourself even if you are not guilty of anything. Be stronger and fight for Glenn, make him feel proud. It’s the only way you can live in peace.”

He takes a moment, but finally, Daryl nods: he wipes his face and tries to hold your gaze.

“M’ sorry for leavin’ ya alone these days. M’ so sorry, peach.” He says softly, and you walk to him to put your arms around his shoulders. He clings to you like his life depends of it, arms around your waist, holding your body against him. His beard tickles your bare neck and he takes a deep breath before looking back at you, but without letting you go from his side. “And I would never hurt ya, never, y’know it, right?”

You let out a sigh, knowing that from there, things will get better.

“I know, love, but you still have to apologize to Sean.” You smile a little bit just to lighten the mood, pushing away a few strands of his hair out of his face to look into his eyes, but at the same time letting him know that you are serious. “If not, I'm going to have to hurt you, like, seriously.”

Daryl smiles softly, and he nods, hugging you again.

At that very moment, he’s letting out all the pain that was hurting him all that time, but that is the first step to healing. And you know everything will improve over time. Hearts healed at their own pace but they did eventually. And right there, your hearts are regenerating, closing their wounds and beating harder than before.

#daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon x reader #daryl x y/n #daryl dixon #twd daryl

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sorrowsofsilence · 1 year ago

Text

I Was Always Yours

Pairings: Noah Sebastian x Reader

Words: 4.1k

Part Two

Warnings: smut 18+, fluff, swearing, unprotected s*x (pls wrap it b4 u tap it), female recieving, PnV penetration.

Summary: You grew up with Nick Ruffilo and Noah, but its been years since you’ve seen your best friends due to them being away touring. When Ruffilo came back to your hometown, opening his home tattoo studio, you get the opportunity to reconnect with him, and Noah. Deep down you’ve always had something for Noah, and it turns out he’s always felt something for you too. Perhaps seeing eachother years later, after you’ve both changed, sparked something.

Author note: This is short haired Noah era! <3 I just couldn’t resist using the beautiful photo of Noah above :3 Also, I haven’t written on tumblr in years, but I thought I’d come back with this fluff/smut! Enjoy if this finds you! <3

PS. THIS IS A FANFIC ABOUT REAL PEOPLE IN FICTIONAL SCENARIOS. I AM NOT IMPLYING THIS IS HOW THESE PEOPLE ARE IRL OR THAT THIS SITUATION WOULD HAPPEN. IT IS FOR FANFIC PURPOSES ONLY!

I finally gathered the courage to turn off my car, letting the crisp autumn air bite at my cheeks as I stepped outside. Taking in a shaky breath I allowed my legs to carry me towards the door, my hands clammy and fingers fidgety.

The boys were always simple- and even their nice townhouse was in an everyday neighbourhood, with nothing elaborate on the outside. Just as it had always been, as if time never flew by.

I didn’t know why I was so nervous. I’ve known Nick and Noah for years. We were neighbours growing up, went to high school together, and even shared memories from our adulthood. These boys knew me and I knew them, but I knew that things were different now.

The boys had just finished tour, and have grown exponentially in their music careers. They walked around with security now, and had fans dedicated to finding out everything about their lives- they’ve become a spectacle; no longer just Nick, or just Noah.

The nerves also came because I didn’t even know if I’d be seeing Noah. Admittedly, he was my first crush; and really, I don’t think it ever left. When I first met him in seventh grade he sported a shaggy haircut and a dorky grin, and he’s held my heart with iron bars ever since. Over the years I had just accepted that my feelings would never be reciprocated, and we both dated other people on and off.

It’s been almost three years since I last got to see him due to the pandemic, and we only ever texted each other on big life events, like birthdays, or during the release of their album. I knew the boys were back when Nick sent out a message that he was looking to tattoo again. I sported a few of Nick’s pieces, but I was looking to get a cover-up of a bad decision I made during a past relationship. I texted Nick asking if he was available, and here I am; right outside Nick’s house.

I sighed deeply, trying to persuade the anxiety out of my lungs, before knocking, following the pattern I had always used when I was younger. Within seconds I was greeted by a pair of grey-green eyes and a wide smile, my nervousness beginning to cease.

“Y/N!” I was pulled into a bone-crushing hug, and I let out a sigh of relief I didn’t know I was holding in. My grin matched his own as I wrapped my arms around him, squeezing back, laughing.

“It’s nice to see you Ruffilo.”

We pulled away from each other and shared another smile. I took off my leather Doc Martens, straightening my fuzzy red polka-dot socks before giving him another hug, smiling into his neck.

“It’s been way too long,” Nick said, giving me an empathetic glance as we separated. “Life has just been crazy.”

“Yeah, I almost wonder if I should be bowing to you right now considering how famous you’ve gotten,” I couldn’t help but laugh, and Nick rolled his eyes, leading me down the hall. The place was neat; white paint, and light flooring. Various Bad Omen’s posters and records hung neatly on the wall, along with other abstract art pieces. It was delicate and simple, just as they way they always kept it. It’s nice to see that they haven’t changed in that regard.

“Trust me, no bowing is required.” Nick turned back to face me, his smile radiating, before motioning at a door ahead, and I walked into a small office filled with tattoo supplies. It was Nick’s mini-home tattoo studio.

“Wow, this is awesome Nick. You’ve always wanted your own little studio.” I said, looking at his work plastered on the wall, soaking it in with awe.

He sighed happily, “Yeah, when we were looking for a house that was one of my requirements. I needed my own space; just because we make music doesn’t mean I’ll give up tattooing.”

I nodded, taking a seat on the chair. “Thank you for seeing me by the way, I appreciate you squeezing me in.”

“Hey, for you, I’d do anything.” He smiled warmly, sitting across from me.

Nick and I chatted for almost an hour before even starting the tattoo. We caught up and talked about tours, and I loved getting to listen to his stories about performing and getting to travel the world. It seemed like the dream, especially considering that before the pandemic, they joked about only pleasing ten fans.

However, the entire time I felt distracted. The only thing my mind kept wandering to was if Noah was home, or if he was going to show up. I felt ashamed being so disconnected from the conversation with Nick; because he was someone I cared about deeply. Yet, my thoughts took me elsewhere.

“You alright?” Nick asked gently, as he started preparing his supplies, glancing at me teasingly.

“Oh yeah! I’m good!” I smiled reassuringly and Nick echoed me, chuckling to himself.

“What?” I asked him, the cheesy grin plastered on his face making me nervous.

“Noah will be home soon, he’s just out with Davis.”

I stared at him, my cheeks beginning to flush, “Okay, cool?” I shrugged nonchalantly, but my stomach immediately began doing spirals, nerves bubbling throughout my veins.

Nick wiped my thigh, preparing the location for the stencil quietly before asking, “You never told him how you felt?”

I watched him cautiously, eyes flickering between his hands and his eyes, “I- I don’t feel anything,” I shook my head, ears getting even hotter. “That was so long ago.”

Nick looked up through his lashes, looking very unconvinced, “Sure, and I don’t play in a band.”

Rolling my eyes, I gave him an annoyed smile, “It would be nice to see him. It’s been a long time- and he doesn’t post anything online anymore, or text.”

Nick nodded as he wiped and re-drew the outline on my leg, “Noah’s been pretty recluse. He’s gotten a lot of anxiety from the fame; mostly just sticks to himself when we finish shows. Plus, he doesn’t enjoy dealing with some of the fans.”

I frowned, feeling myself get sad. Noah has always been pretty introverted, but it looked like he was getting out of his shell on stage. He was playing into the pretty boy facade he had going, and he knew he was hot. I’ve seen plenty of videos from the tour.

“Well, I hope he is doing alright,” I said softly, looking around the room again for any form of distraction.

As if on cue I heard the front door open, and a yell cascaded down the hall, “You better not have a girl in your room,” he had teased.

Immediately I felt the hair on my neck stand in anticipation, realizing that the voice belonged to Noah. My fingers began to tingle as all the blood rushed towards my face, my chest losing any ounce of breath I was just able to exhale.

His voice bounded across the walls again, “but, these are some pretty sick boots.”

“Got someone even better,” Nick yelled back, laughing, “In the tattoo room.”

A head of brunette hair popped in the doorway, his eyes immediately widening as if his whole world suddenly began to spin within milliseconds. A small flush of colour ran down his ears onto the tops of his cheekbones, before a wide, childlike smile appeared on his face. He stepped into the room, immediately crossing his arms, and leaning on the side of the table as if he thought he was doing something charming.

“No fucking way, look what the cat dragged in,” his Virginian accent dancing off his tongue.

I looked back at him, my heart racing even faster. I know it’s been a long time since I’ve seen him, but he did take my breath away. Noah looked older, but healthy, becoming a lot more muscular and defined, despite his height and lank still being there. His hair was short, a layer of bangs hanging across his forehead in a messy sweep. It was the first time I’d seen him in person without his long hair, all 13 inches gone; but it suited him. I soaked in his appearance, noticing a few new tattoos layered around his fingers as well, my heart yearning.

“Is that really my Y/N/N?” he stared at me, the grin not leaving his face, especially after using my childhood nickname. Noah walked towards me shyly with open arms, squinting his eyes in contentment as he invited me in for a hug.

“the one and only.” I breathed a nervous laugh, standing up. Shaky limbs carried me over to him and he wrapped his arms around me, engulfing me within his body.

I composed myself, inhaling slowly, before hugging back, squeezing his torso. I felt so small compared to him, yet I still fit right between his arms, as if I was meant to always be there, a spot reserved just for me. We rocked back and forth in a tight embrace, his chest vibrating as he let out a happy chuckle.

“Oh my god, it’s been so long.” I could hear the happiness radiating off of him.

I sighed with relief at his reaction; he must’ve missed me too. He held onto me for a moment more, and I breathed in his scent, recognizing his favourite Dior cologne. Smiling into his chest, It felt comfortable- it felt familiar. Years of memories flooded back, my heart recalling, reminding myself that he was who I had been missing in my life all along.

“Wow, you’ve changed Y/N,” Noah said as he pulled away, stepping back slightly, taking me in with a look of awe. He absorbed all of me, drinking in my image, before grabbing the sides of my face, and staring into me with an immense amount of appreciation.

I looked up at him in admiration, studying his deep October eyes as they sang unspoken words, retelling a story that only our bodies knew.

“Your hair,” I said as my hand unconsciously found its way to his locks.

My fingers flowed down his no longer existing threads, reminiscing of his past image. That chapter of his life was gone. He’s been reborn into a much more confident man, a newer version of the Noah that once was. I almost longed for his old appearance, because I didn’t know this Noah- but by the way his eyes gleamed, he was still mine.

Noah chuckled, “Yeah, I was tired of getting it in my mouth when singing.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, leaning into his hand, before pulling away to look at Nick.

Nick gave us a sly smile, shaking his head gently.

“I didn’t expect to see you,” Noah sighed, still smiling. I swear it hasn’t left his face since he saw me. He looked over at Nick, “And you didn’t even tell me?”

“I thought it would be a fun surprise,” Nick looked at Noah playfully, before patting the tattoo chair. I took a seat again, positioning my thigh within Nick's reach.

“You’re getting some ink?” Noah asked, folding his arms in approval as he leaned over me, looking at the stencil outlined on my skin.

“Yeah, Nick said he wanted to tattoo again, and I needed an excuse to visit,” I said cheekily.

Noah nodded repeatedly, still analyzing my thigh. “You never needed an excuse. You should’ve texted us. Texted me.”

I shrugged, “I didn’t want to get in the way. You guys are busy- especially now. the last thing you need is unnecessary messages or phone calls.”

“I haven’t seen you in like three years Y/N,” Noah said, sighing a sad smile. He sat down on a stool, folding his ankle over his knee.

Nick began to outline the tattoo, and I winced briefly, “I know.”

“You never came to see us on this tour.” Noah looked at the floor, analyzing the outline of his white vans. I glanced at him quickly, before concentrating on Nick’s hands. “You know we’d have gotten you in right?”

I gave him a mournful look, “I’d pay just like everyone else, Noah. I don’t expect anything…but I honestly just got super busy.”

“I was really hoping you’d be there.”

I felt my heart clench and my chest tighten at his words. “I’m sorry.” I peered over at him, barely being able to maintain eye contact as I chewed the inside of my cheek.

“I’m sorry I didn’t invite you either; it does go both ways,” Noah said, and we shared a wry smile.

“You should come see us this weekend,” Nick said while concentrating. I furrowed my eyebrows as he scratched along my skin, the area beginning to redden. Despite having multiple tattoos, I never enjoyed the experience of getting them.

“What time? And where?” I asked, biting the inside of my cheek, and closing my eyes at the burning sensation.

Noah scrolled on his phone before I felt my own buzz. Looking at it, I saw a message from Noah. It was a ticket with VIP access.

“I don’t need VIP,” I looked at him in appreciation.

Noah smiled down at his phone, “Well last time I checked, VIP stands for ‘very important persons’, and arguably our childhood bestie is in that category.”

“Well, thank you.” I smiled gratefully, butterflies still knocking on every organ in my body.

“So,” Noah began, shifting positions so he was leaning his elbows on his knees, peering over to stare at my leg, “You and Sean broke it off?”

I followed his gaze, staring at the faded puzzle piece beneath the purple markings of Nick's outline.

Sean was my first serious boyfriend. We were friends in high school, and admittedly always had some sort of connection. We started dating, and were together for four years; before I found somebody else sleeping with him in our bedroom.

I looked longingly at the puzzle piece, my eyes snapping away once Nick began lining on top of it, covering away the layers of regret, “He cheated on me.”

Turning to face Noah, his face immediately shifted from sympathetic to anger, “What a complete fucking tool.” He spat, folding his arms in the chair. Noah’s reaction surprised me, but I nodded in agreement.

“Yep.” I sighed, shrugging my shoulders, “Note to self, don’t get a matching tattoo. You probably won't be with that person forever.” I said, pessimistically.

Noah was quiet for a moment, his teeth chewing on his bottom lip as he contemplated his question, “Did you catch him?”

I nodded, furrowing my eyebrows in annoyance, “In our bedroom too.”

Noah scoffed, audibly groaning while he tilted his head back in hostility, “Pathetic piece of shit. I never liked him being with you.”

My heart raced as Noah glared at the puzzle piece that began to disappear on my thigh, “At least now you’ll get to have a better piece of art on your body.”

“Exactly,” I smiled proudly, watching Nick’s hands run along the skin, “and it’s the one and only Nicholas Ruffilo’s handy work too.”

Nick glanced up smiling. It was quiet for a moment, and I chewed on my lip, anxious to ask.

“What about you? Any ladies?” I said to Noah playfully, winking. Deep down though, I was hoping the answer was no one.

Noah gave me a small smile, “No one at the moment, last relationship ended poorly.”

“That makes two of us.” I chuckled sorrowfully

+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+

Noah pushed me against the bedroom door, lips attached to my own hastily. His kiss was desperate and hungry as he cupped my face in his hands, and I felt weak in the knees as our hips were pushed together, the heat radiating off of him.

“You have no idea how long I have waited to do this.” He breathed between kisses.

My hands found their way to Noah’s hair, rubbing my fingers along his scalp affectionately. I smiled through his lips, eagerly holding myself against him.

“It was so worth the wait.” He whispered, pulling away and putting his forehead against my own. He stared into me, right through me with so much intent. I had always wanted to kiss him, and my heart skipped a beat as I realized where he was, succumbing to me.

I closed my eyes, smiling, “you have no idea how badly I wanted that too.”

He smiled widely, glancing down at my lips again, this time pulling me into his arms while kissing me with force and passion.

“Tell me how badly,” he whispered, running his fingers delicately across my waist and I melted into his touch.

“Honestly? Probably ever since we met.” I admitted, my face turning red with embarrassment at the confession, “and it’s never gone away.”

“Then why didn’t you?” Noah pulled away from the kiss, running his hand up my arm to cup the side of my face again, thumb tracing a gentle circle along my cheekbone. He looked desperate for an answer as if this was all he’s ever wanted to hear. I felt Noah’s heartbeat racing rapidly through his chest, which heaved heavily against my own.

“I never thought you felt that way, and I didn’t want to push anything because I didn’t want to lose you,” I confessed, looking away nervously.

Noah hummed quietly, pulling my chin towards him in another delicate kiss. His lips were warm and gentle. “You’ll never lose me. No matter how long it’s been.”

Noah began running his hands up and down my sides before sliding them between my skin and the hem of my jeans. Immediately I felt flush, and I let my own hands ride up his black t-shirt. His skin was soft and warm, and my fingertips began to tingle with nerves.

Noah hooked his fingers in the loop of my jeans, tugging me towards him and trailing us toward his desk. My thighs hit the back of it, and Noah lifted me gently, placing me on top, and positioning himself between my legs. His warm hands caressed my lower back, creating goosebumps as his nails trailed up and down the skin lightly. I shivered from the sensation.

Noah’s tongue swiped my bottom lip, and I allowed him to kiss me deeper, our tongues melding together. I began tugging at his shirt, and Noah let out a low chuckle.

“You sure you want to do this?” Noah pulled away from my lips to stare into my eyes, looking at me sternly, and analyzing every movement I made.

“yes,” I whined, almost embarrassingly needy, “Do you?”

Noah hung his head, shaking it slowly, “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to fuck someone so badly in my entire life,” He looked up with hooded eyes.

“Then take me however you want.” I sighed, pulling at his shirt again, and Noah looked at me darkly with lust, his October eyes fading into an onyx abyss.

Noah pulled his shirt over his head, exposing his tattooed chest; I stared at the ink longingly, remembering when he first got his desolate tattoo. I traced my fingers over the letters delicately, smiling to myself. This moment between us felt like I was reminiscing over all my lost time with Noah.

“Do you still feel this way?” I asked softly, as Noah pulled off my own shirt, leaving me exposed in my pink laced bra. Noah placed his hand on top of mine as I traced the last letter.

He shook his head, “No, but it will always be a reminder of when I felt empty.”

“I'm glad you don’t feel that way anymore,” I whispered, and Noah’s hands explored my body once again, before pulling on the hem of my jeans.

Bringing me into a kiss again, he fiddled with the zipper before tugging my pants down my legs, leaving me exposed in my underwear.

“I’ve probably envisioned you naked weekly.” Noah admitted as he kissed down my neck, hands roaming over every inch of skin in desperation, “I need to taste you, princess.”

I blushed at his words, and Noah’s kisses trailed further from my neck, teeth grazing across my collarbone to between my breasts. His breath quickened as he kissed lower and lower, licking down my stomach until he stopped right at the edge of my underwear.

“This okay?” He breathed heavily, his own face flushing. I nodded, and Noah pulled at the lace, revealing me.

“Fuck,” He groaned, looking up through his eyelashes briefly before placing his mouth against me, letting his slim fingers trace patterns across the sensitive skin.

Noah’s tongue circled me before he inserted two fingers, and I let out a moan. He pumped slowly, moaning quietly against me, “Oh, you wouldn’t want Nick to hear.”

I squeezed my thighs together around his head in pleasure, and Noah’s free hand gripped my thigh, pulling me even closer.

I began to pant faster, trying to be quiet, “Oh my god Noah,” I let my head fall back, resting against the wall as Noah ate me out feverishly, like this was his last meal. His fingers curled upwards, the repetitive motion sending my abdomen into a knot of fulfillment, my legs shaking against his body.

“Fuck, I need to stop or I'm going to come in my pants- and I don’t want to yet.” Noah’s eyebrows furrowed with pleasure. Taking his fingers that were inside me into his mouth, he licked them clean before pulling himself up. I watched in disbelief- that was probably the hottest thing I’ve ever seen him do; even compared to Noah’s stage performances of The Death of Peace of Mind. He grabbed my ass, hoisting me up and I wrapped my legs around his waist. Noah was extremely hard, his clothed member digging into me as he carried me towards his bed; he kissed me again and I tasted myself off of his tongue.

Noah laid me on the bed, kissing along my neck again as my hands roamed his hair before he unclasped my bra and pulled my panties down, exposing me fully to him.

“You are gorgeous, shit,” Noah mumbled, absorbing me with his eyes as he pulled his shorts down hastily, and I couldn’t help but let my own eyes wander across Noah’s fully exposed body, swallowing hard.

A new warmth washed over me as I got even wetter between my legs, the familiar feeling of excitement preparing my body for Noah’s; but this was different. This time it was Noah, here in front of me. Noah ran his fingers along my folds, moaning and internally begging to replace his hands with his own heat longing to be touched.

Noah spit into his hand and I watched attentively, following his every move as my body shivered. Noah rubbed along himself, before positioning his body above mine.

We shared eye-contact again and I nodded in approval before Noah pushed inside, his body immediately shuddering as I moved my hips against his, and he sighed deeply, squeezing his eyes closed briefly.

“God fucking dammit, you feel so good, princess.”

My legs parted as Noah’s body sunk into mine, his thrusts getting deeper and heavier. I let out another moan, “Oh- my-god-Noah.”

Words were coiled at my throat as Noah pounded into me, hands on either side of my head, his necklace dangling in my face.

“Look at me.” Noah’s voice was rough, and I stared into his eyes. He watched me with every thrust, and I mumbled a string of messy swears, my body clenching around his.

Noah’s arms wrapped around my body, pulling me up so I was positioned on top of him, but so that there was enough leverage for him to continue to thrust into me from below. This new position allowed him to penetrate me deeper and groaned with every entrance of his body into mine.

Noah grabbed the back of my neck and the middle of my back, holding me still as he fully gave himself into me before pulling me into another kiss. His mouth attached to mine hastily, bucking his hips aimlessly. Noah’s moans were almost louder than mine as he shamelessly allowed himself a pleasure.

“Mark me, Noah, show me I was always yours.” I whimpered, and Noah immediately attached to my neck, biting and sucking against the delicate skin that was pinned along my neck.

I heaved into his ear, resting my forehead on his shoulder as he held my hips, allowing myself to completely undo myself, moaning as my body reached my climax.

“Fuck me, Noah,” I panted, gripping his arms as I clenched around him, letting him thrust into me as I rode out my high.

Noah pulled my neck back to look at him again, sweat dripping across his forehead and his eyebrows furrowed in rapture, “please let me cum inside you Y/N.”

I nodded, kissing him eagerly, our saliva melding together as Noah moaned into the kiss. His body quivered as he released himself, exhaling in short breaths of satisfaction.

“Holy shit,” Noah mumbled into my neck, and I held onto him, a smile plastering itself onto my face. We sat there for a moment, panting against each other as our chests heaved, sweat attaching us together. I ran my fingers along Noah’s hair again, absorbing his handsome features, and taking him in.

He looked up at me, his eyes back to their October glow, but now replaced with a gleam of devotion. He tucked the loose strands of my H/C hair behind my ear.

I placed my lips lightly on his, “I missed you so fucking much Noah.”

“I missed you so much princess,” Noah’s hand grabbed the back of my head gently, caressing me into his chest and holding on protectively. He pulled a blanket over us as we lay together out of breath, both relishing the high of our orgasms and the story we just created together.

“I guess I thought you got too busy to be my friend,” I whispered vulnerably as we lay underneath his covers, the story we created longing against my skin.

Noah’s head rested on top of my own, and I felt his body stiffen slightly, “life has been crazy, everything is so different now. We are no longer just screaming in my garage.” He rubbed my arm, nails trailing across my skin once again.

I nodded against him in understanding, “I know. I hope you know I watched every single concert online that I could. I followed so many fan pages just to keep updated on how you were doing.”

Noah pulled me away from him softly, he looked at me with awe, “Did you really?”

“Of course.” I looked up, smiling at him in adoration.

“I was always hoping you’d show up again at my doorstep sometime. You have no idea how happy I am right now.” He laughed, pulling me into him again. I smiled against his chest, absorbing this moment, worried it might be my last.

“I love you, Noah Sebastian Davis.”

“I love you most Y/N Y/L/N.”

Part Two if you want more smut ;)

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