#but not close enough with to feel relaxed around if i'm already wound up or for them to like. remember to include me in conversation

[benoitblanc]

the imposter syndrome sure is impostering today lads

[godsfavdarling]

waiting for the day to end

my masterlist, part 2

pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader summary: You and Spencer come back to his apartment, and your boyfriend’s drunken state brings old wounds to the surface. words: 2,3k warnings: angst, panic attack, drunk Spencer, mentions reader's ex-bf who was an alcoholic, no y/n a/n: I'm imagining later seasons Spence but I am not gonna yuck anybody's yum!

You smoothly place the keys in the lock of his apartment and quickly turn them twice to unlock the door. The dark room abruptly brightens when you flick the light switch on.

Spencer, who has been leaning against the wall near you, stumbles into the room right behind you.

The door slams shut behind him, the thud reverberating through the room.

You flinch, spinning around at the jarring sound.

“Sorry,” Spencer mumbles, a bit unsteady.

He throws himself onto the armchair with a heavy sigh, his head lolling back as he closes his eyes.

You murmur under your breath, “I’ll get you some water,” and head toward the kitchen, your heels clacking against the floor. 

In the quiet, you take a few deep breaths to steady yourself before filling two glasses of water. 

When you bring them back, you hand one to Spencer, urging him to drink. He gulps it down immediately, nearly draining the glass in one go.

You’ve never really seen him like this.

Spencer rarely—almost never—drinks. But tonight, it’s obvious just how far gone he is. He’s coherent enough to hold himself up, and his words still make sense, but you can tell he isn’t fully present. 

He was already fading hours ago, just an hour into dinner at Rossi's when his team had convinced him to relax and celebrate Garcia’s birthday with a few drinks.

Now, he’s staring off into space, eyes glassy, a faint smile still lingering from whatever joke had last drifted through his mind. You swallow, feeling the anxiety tug at you.

You felt it early on. But you tried to ignore it.

Spencer was different. 

He was responsible and careful. He liked being sober and in control. He was someone who avoided excess.

He was not a drunk. 

You knew all this and tried to stay rational. 

After his third drink, though, all that rationality flew out the window. With the last gulp of his third drink, you decided to excuse yourself, claiming you weren't feeling well, and spent most of the evening outside. The poker game was so intense that no one really questioned you or bothered to check on you.

You had thought, knowing Spencer’s sharp observation skills, that he would come find you shortly and ask what was wrong. He always did. He could always tell when something was off and always wanted to know. But tonight, he didn’t.

You waited, each minute stretching longer than the last, hoping he’d realize and come find you, that he’d be his usual self. But as the laughter and clinking glasses carried on from inside, you realized he was somewhere you couldn’t reach him tonight.

As you watched him now, slouched in the armchair with you far away from him sitting on the edge of the couch, your heart ached. 

This wasn’t the Spencer you knew. He was lost in his thoughts, barely acknowledging your presence. You handed him your glass of water, and he took it with a mumbled "thanks", sipping it more slowly this time.

“Spencer, are you okay?” you finally asked, unable to keep the concern out of your voice.

He looked up at you, his eyes a bit clearer but still distant. “Yeah, just... tired,” he replied, his voice heavy with exhaustion.

You nodded, but the anxiety still sat inside you.

Stop!

Spencer is not him! 

He is nothing like him!

You keep staring at him, fidgeting with your fingers and the hem of your black velvet dress, feeling helpless as you try to guess what he wants. 

Is he going to stay here for a while? Does he need more water? Is he going to shower, or maybe just head to bed?

Finally, Spencer glances up, his gaze focusing on you as if for the first time tonight. His brows knit together as he notices the anxious look in your eyes. 

"What’s wrong?" he asks, his voice soft but tinged with confusion.

You swallow, feeling a rush of emotions you’ve been holding back all evening. He’s looking at you now, really looking, like he usually does, but something about his unsteady, drunken state makes you hesitate. 

He’s here, yet somehow not fully here, and you’re not sure how to answer.

You force a smile, shrugging as if it’s nothing, but your heart pounds. "Just… tired, I guess."

Spencer’s gaze doesn’t waver, and you know he sees through your answer, even in his state. 

Now he sees. 

He’s silent, watching you with a slight frown like he’s trying to piece together a puzzle. The quiet stretches between you, heavy and thick.

You glance away, twisting the hem of your dress tighter. 

"Maybe you should get some rest," you say, your voice barely more than a whisper. You try to keep the tremor out, but it’s there. A lot of it.

He’s never seen you like this—not this vulnerable, this close to tears. You’ve not been dating that long. A lot of things are still unknown, unsaid, unshared and the toxic, drunk but highly functioning, unpredictable boyfriends have not yet come out in any conversation.

"I’ll be fine," Spencer mutters, rubbing his face with one hand as he sinks further into the chair.

His words are gentle, but they’re not the reassurance you’re aching for. 

You wish he’d tell you he’d never do this again, that he understands why this is hard for you. But he doesn’t. He just looks at you, distant and hazy.

A lump forms in your throat as the silence presses down on you. You stand up, needing some distance, and force a tight smile. "I’ll let you get some sleep. I’ll go… take a walk or something."

As you turn to leave, Spencer reaches out, his fingers brushing your arm. "Hey," he murmurs, his voice soft but unsteady. "It’s like 2 AM. You’re not going anywhere alone."

You stop, frozen, a tightness forming in your chest. You want to say it’s fine, that you just need space, but the words feel like they’re stuck in your throat. Instead, he continues, unaware of how badly his presence is affecting you right now.

“Let’s take a walk together. It’ll help,” he offers, his voice tinged with concern, though still a little slurred.

You turn sharply, frustration and something darker bubbling up in your chest. “No!” you snap, louder than you intended, the word echoing in the quiet room. You instantly regret it, but the hurt is too raw, too overwhelming. You try to swallow the sudden surge of emotion, but it’s too much.

You finally realize that his hand in on your arm, and the realization hits like a cold wave. You feel an intense rush of discomfort. You don’t want him near you right now. 

The feeling of his fingers on your skin, even though they’re meant to comfort, feels wrong.

You can’t breathe. You can’t handle his touch, not like this, not after everything that’s happened. You jerk away, backing up, your heart hammering.

Without a word, you turn and storm toward the bathroom. You lock the door behind you and lean against it for a second, trying to steady your breath. 

The walls feel like they’re closing in, the anger and fear swirling inside you until you can hardly tell the difference between the two.

It’s not his fault, you think, taking a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside your chest.

He’s just drunk, he’ll be sober soon, but... why does it still feel so wrong?

You press your hands to your face, feeling the tears already starting to form.

I’m not that person anymore. I’m not going to let this take me back. I can’t let it.

Your thoughts race, but you force yourself to focus, turning the shower on. The sound of the water helps. 

You quickly but clumsily step out of the dress and underwear, leaving them in a heap on the tiles. 

You step under the hot spray, closing your eyes, letting the warmth soothe the tension in your muscles.

Just wash it off, just wash it off, you tell yourself as if the water could cleanse more than just your skin.

You’re lost in the sensation of the water for long minutes when there’s a gentle knock on the bathroom door. 

You freeze. Your heart skipping a beat.

“Hey… uh… I really need to pee,” Spencer calls out, his voice even softer than before.

You swallow, fighting the panic rising in your throat, and quickly shut off the water. You wrap a towel around your body and open the door just enough for you to slip past him. Without a word, you go into the bedroom and gracelessly put on one of the shirts you left in his drawer.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow everything will be fine, you think, climbing into bed, curling up under the covers. 

You just want this day to end. You need it to end.

Then it hits you—you’re in his bed.

You stand up and then sit again on the edge.

You should go home. You should be in your own bed. You want to get up, gather your things, get dressed, and leave, but you're paralyzed. You're overwhelmed. You can’t breathe. You can’t move.

Then Spencer walks into the room, his gaze landing on you. As if he can read the turmoil in your mind, he says softly, "It's late. Stay here tonight. Take the bed. I’ll take the couch."

You don’t say anything, unable to find the words.

He pauses, watching you for a moment, before quietly pulling his pajamas from the closet and heading into the bathroom.

You just need to sleep. You’ll sleep it off, and when you wake up, things will make sense again. Maybe Spencer will apologize. 

Apologize for what?

He didn’t do anything wrong.

He’ll be sober. Everything will go back to normal.

But sleep doesn’t come. The bed feels cold, and the silence in the room is suffocating. You can’t shake the thoughts in your head.

What if he doesn’t remember?

What if he won’t leave it and you’ll have to explain and he’ll be angry?

Why are you angry?

Why are you upset?

Just as you're about to give up on sleep altogether, you hear the soft creak of the door opening. Spencer slips into the room quietly, his footsteps hesitant. He walks to the bed, sitting down beside you without saying anything at first.

"Are you asleep?" he asks quietly, his voice gentle, almost too careful. You feel his gaze on you, even though you’re facing the window, your back to him.

You don’t answer at first. You don’t want to talk to him right now. You don’t want to explain why everything feels broken. You don’t want him to ask.

But you can feel him there, his presence. 

Finally, he speaks again, his voice low but steady. “Please... can we talk? I don't wanna go to bed with you upset and angry.”

You don’t move, staring into the dark. You wish you could say the right thing. You wish you could fix it, but all you feel is a dull ache in your chest, and the thought that maybe nothing will ever be the same again.

Spencer’s hand reaches out, his fingers trembling slightly as he hesitates for a moment before gently moving toward you. "Hey, I—" His voice cracks, and you can hear the sorrow in it, the regret, the helplessness.

But as his arms come closer, something inside you recoils. You can’t have him near you right now. Not like this. Not when everything feels so wrong.

You flinch, turning away from him instinctively, the words coming out before you even have a chance to stop them. “Please don’t touch me.”

The words hang between you like a heavyweight. 

Spencer freezes, his hand hovering in mid-air, and for a second, everything is still. You can hear his breathing — shallow, uneven — as if he’s trying to understand, trying to process what just happened.

You don’t want him to feel hurt, but you can’t help it. You feel exposed, vulnerable, like a raw nerve, and his touch, even if it's meant to comfort, feels suffocating.

“Okay,” Spencer finally says, his voice small, resigned. He pulls his hand back slowly, as though giving you space to breathe. 

You don’t look at him. You can’t. 

“I’m sorry,” he adds, his voice distant now, like he’s trying to find his footing again. “I just... I’m not sure what happened. I know hurt you. I don’t know how but I’m sorry.”

The silence lingers, thick and uncomfortable, wrapping itself around both of you. Spencer hesitates for a long moment, unsure of what to do or say next. You can feel his eyes on you, but you don’t lift yours. 

Finally, he clears his throat softly.

“I’ll... I’ll sleep on the couch tonight,” he says, his voice gentle and careful like he’s trying not to disturb the fragile air between you.

“It’s okay. If you want to talk... or anything... just come and tell me. I’ll be here.”

You don’t say anything. You still don’t look at him. But you can hear the sincerity in his voice, the aching honesty of it.

If only his words, his willingness to be there even when you’ve pushed him away could make things better.

But you don’t answer him, because you don’t have the strength to. You don’t know what to say.

Spencer sighs quietly, almost like a final surrender, and then you hear his footsteps moving away from you.

The door opens and closes softly behind him, and you’re left alone in the silence of the room once more.

Spencer’s words echo in your mind, but they don’t bring comfort. Not yet. 

[vanteguccir]

── ୨୧ !　𝗣𝗘𝗧𝗛𝗔𝗟𝗦 𝗢𝗙 𝗗𝗘𝗔𝗧𝗛

　　　　　　　　𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x reader

SUMMARY: The Hanahaki Disease is a rare illness where the patient throws up and coughs flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love. In order to fully recover from the disease, it's necessary that the one they're in love with fall in love with them too. Or to fall in love with somebody else.

WARNING: Throwing up, blood, stomachaches, lung aches, one-sided love, crying, death talk. PURE ANGST, with a happy ending.

REQUESTED?: Yes, by anon.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

Part 2

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Panting and covered in a thin layer of sweat, Y/N found herself emerging from the whirlwind of bad memories that enveloped her sleep. Her heart hammered in her chest, echoing in the silence of the night. With numb hands, she reached for the bedside lamp, bathing the room in soft yellow light.

Her heart seemed to be squeezed as the images still danced in her mind, an unwanted reminder of the emotional turmoil that consumed her.

In the center of his room, Y/N remembers seeing Chris sitting on his own bed with a relaxed expression. Next to him is another girl, perfect, with long hair and a radiant smile, who seems too comfortable in his presence. Their gaze met briefly with a complicity she knew very well, but at that moment, it cut through her like a sharp blade. His sparkling blue eyes carried a glow of intense love that she understood well because she saw it in her own eyes every time she thought of him.

Y/N closed her eyes tightly, running her trembling fingers through her hair, trying to ground herself when a sensation that was already quite common for her captured her throat. Coughing softly, she felt something strange shifting from her lungs. A heavy sigh escaped her nostrils at the sight of small rose petals cascading onto the fabric of the sheet covering her legs.

The initial feeling of sameness quickly turned into panic as she felt increasingly suffocated. The petals continued to sprout, climbing up her throat like a reverse slide and sliping from her lips between each cough, like a dark warning of an unrequited love that was eating away at her insides.

In a moment of frightening lucidity, she seemed to remind herself that this was just another attack of the dreaded Hanahaki disease. Flower petals, once symbols of beauty and romance, have become signs of a silent curse for Y/N weeks before.

The famous, but so rare illness that haunted the passionate hearts of those who dared to love without restrictions. When a soul found itself consumed by unrequited love, its body rebelled, expelling flowers and petals through painful coughs, a physical testimony to the deep emotional wounds that afflicted the heart.

It was quite hypocritical of the universe to create such a disease that affected those who love. Suffering from unrequited love was already too much, but apparently not enough.

Each cough was an explosion of petals that escaped her slightly bruised lips, dark red blood vibrating against the yellowish light, leaving a messy and disgusting trail. Y/N clenched her hands into fists on her sides, feeling her limbs give involuntary spasms, the flowers gathering on the bed around her more and more.

The strange, distressing sound of coughing echoed through the hallway of her house, cutting through the silence like a cry of distress. Nick, who was staying in the guest room - better known as his own room - wakes up suddenly.

His brain barely had time to register his sleepy mind or what time it was, worry consuming him as soon as his eyes opened, getting up from the bed abruptly. His feet tripped over the pieces of clothing thrown on the floor while his hands rested momentarily on the wall decorated with posters, trying to regain his balance.

The boy runs towards his best friend's room blindly, his heart beating wildly in his chest. He pushes the door open hard, finding the devastating scene. Y/N was above her own bed, curled in on herself, surrounded by a sea of ​​petals, her face contorted in agony.

Without hesitation, Nick approaches, calls for her name escaping his mouth, desperately seeking a way to ease her pain.

"Shh, I'm here, I'm here." Nick whispers softly, kneeling on the floor next to her body and reaching out to gently stroke her back with one of his hands, his other one hovering over the sheets, feeling imposing at the sight of the confusing and unlikely mess of blood. "It's going to be okay, I promise."

With difficulty, Y/N looks up to meet the blue ones looking back at her, her teary eyes reflecting a mixture of pain and gratitude.

"Nick, I don't know what to do anymore..." She murmurs, her voice weak and shaky. Nick smiles tenderly in response, his free hand traveling to her clenched one, grabbing it firmly.

"Let's take one step at a time, okay? First, let's help you calm down." He carefully helps her to her feet, guiding her to the bathroom while whispering words of comfort.

Upon entering the small room, the brunette quickly guides her to sit on the closed lid of the toilet, moving nimbly to turn on the bathtub with warm water, adding a few drops of lavender essential oil that he knows is her favorite, with the intention of helping her body relax.

"Come here." Nick helps her stand again, helping her trembling arms undress her body, keeping it covered only by her underwear. "Let the water soothe you."

He holds her right hand firmly, guiding her until she sinks into the hot water. A sigh scapes Y/N's lips, feeling the heat enveloping her tense limbs as Nick sits on the floor beside the bathtub edge, ready to help her with the necessary.

"You will be okay." Nick whispers gently, watching the girl close her eyes and try to control her coughs.

While he offers her support with a calm aura never seen before in Nicolas Sturniolo, his heart is torn between care for her and a fierce anger toward his own brother that boils inside him, fueled by pain to see her in that state and injustice by what he witnessed every day since Y/N discovered the consequences of her unrequited love.

Nick holds himself back from screaming, from letting his fury consume all the space between them. But even in his silence, the girl could feel the tension emanating from his body, the intensity of his emotions throbbing in the air.

Nick vividly remembered the day he discovered the terrible truth about the Hanahaki disease that afflicted his best friend. He could almost see her anguished expression again, the silent tears that ran down her face as she confessed what a torment her unrequited passion had become. The memory of the revelation echoed in his mind like an incessant echo, mixing with Chris's trembling image.

Nick quickly shook his head, expelling the bad thoughts and feelings, focusing all his attention on the girl in front of him.

After Y/N had calmed down a bit, he helped her out of the tub, wrapping her in a soft towel before guiding her back to the bedroom, where he had her sit on one of her pink puffs, seeking for a comfortable set of sweatshirts, ironically, from Fresh Love in her closet.

"Are you feeling any better?" Nick asks her softly after making sure that her body was already covered in the warm outfit, his eyes observing her figure hugging the wet towel in her arms as if it were a teddy bear.

"A little." Her voice came out hoarse and worn out by the force she exerted when expelling the petals and flowers, feeling her throat scratchy with each breath.

"Come on, let's change the sheets so you can go back to sleep. You need the rest more than ever right now."

Together, they remade the bed, removing the scattered petals and replacing the sheets with fresh, clean ones, where the two lay down together, Y/N gently asking Nick not to leave her alone again.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The next day, Tuesday, after a restless night, Y/N and Nick headed to his house. It was recording day, and the oldest triplet couldn't find the courage to leave her behind. The atmosphere inside the car was tense but comforting. The girl drove cautiously, keeping close attention to the sensations in her body.

Upon climbing the entrance stairs, the two were greeted by the random sounds of a movie that escaped from the television sneakers and the silly fights between Chris and Matt, who were in the living room, thrown comfortably on the soft couch.

The wooden kitchen table was already filled with 21 different drinks that the boys would have to try and blindly guess the brand and flavor for that Wednesday video

YN tried to smile in greeting, but the weight on her chest seemed to suffocate her. A small "hi" escaped her lips, her hands quick to place her purse on the floor, next to the couch, before sitting on the other end of the upholstery, bringing her legs together beneath her body.

As she watched the triplets go over what would be done on the video, her gaze inevitably turned to Chris. Her heart sank as she saw him break into the most radiant smile at the mention of his girlfriend after Matt said something that reminded him of her. Every word that escaped his lips was like an arrow piercing her soul, reminding herself of the cruel reality that he belonged to someone else.

Y/N quickly looked away, trying to hide the anguish that was boiling inside her, but every passionate detail he shared about the other girl only intensified her own silent pain. She found herself caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, desperately wishing he could see her while fighting the sadness of knowing that would never happen.

And then it happened. A sudden coughing fit took her by surprise, shaking her body violently. The girl bent her upper body, undoing her intertwined legs and resting the soles of her feet on the floor, panting as the three brothers turned to her with concern. She quickly brought her right hand to her mouth, covering it.

"Is everything okay, YN?" Chris asked, frowning as his eyes ran over her figure.

Y/N tried to smile, but another wave of coughing overcame her. It was as if invisible thorns were piercing her lungs, tearing her from the inside.

"I...I'm fine." The girl muttered, struggling to catch her breath. Her eyes quickly found her palm, blood smeared on her skin, along with small broken petals. She swallowed hard, struggling to control her overflowing emotions. "I think... I need some air." Finally, she confessed, her voice shaking.

Without hesitation, Matt suddenly got up from his seat, walking towards her with agile steps, stopping in front of her body and extending his right hand, offering her help.

"Come with me." The brunette suggested softly, grasping her hand and guiding her out of the room slowly, Chris's confused question about what was happening fading behind their backs.

The two went down to the garage, and despite the pain in her body, Y/N smiled as she stepped foot in the room that was so common, but that meant so much to them. Sunlight filtered between the small windows of the gate, naturally illuminating the space that became small with the van.

Together, they sat on the floor, their backs against the back of the car, the silence comforting as she tried to calm her rapid breathing. Matt remained by her side, offering her silent comfort, his eyes conveying deep empathy, concern, and a hint of something that, despite it being hypocritical of her, Y/N didn't seem to recognize.

"You know..." Matt began, his soft voice breaking through as he fixed his eyes on the gate in front of his outstretched feet. "You could still consider having surgery to remove the flowers."

Y/N nodded slowly, pondering his suggestion.

"I know." She murmured, her voice thick with resignation. "But... I don't know if I can. I don't want to lose our memories."

Matt frowned, his orbs traveling to her side profile, running over every little detail momentarily.

"I understand." He whispered, even if internally, he didn't completely. How could he understand that the love of his life preferred to suffer in an unimaginable way for someone who didn't look at her in the same way that he himself did? "But you know that if you keep going in that way, it will only get worse."

Y/N looked down, tears starting to pool in her eyes. She knew what Matt was talking about.

Hanahaki disease doesn't have many cures, but those that did exist were intense; Having surgery to remove the flowers and, consequently, forget about the love feeling and all the memories that surround it, or having the feeling be reciprocated, or survive with that until your body can't take it anymore.

She knew that if she didn't remove the flowers, she would die. Eventually.

"I know." She admitted, her voice shaking slightly. "But... I can't, Matt. The memories with him, with you two... they mean so much to me. I can't just give them up."

Matt nodded momentarily, his own anguish rising in his chest along with the urge to scream to the seven seas how much he loved her and that he was there to give her the love she deserved.

It was an indescribable pain, witnessing the girl he loved more than anything in the world be consumed by a passion that wasn't towards him, and Matt wished with all his being that he could ease her suffering, even if it meant sacrificing his own heart.

"He's an idiot. For not seeing you, I mean." The brunette muttered, lowering his gaze to the ground between his legs. "He's lucky to have your eyes on him and to receive a love like yours."

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Days turned into weeks, and Y/N's condition only seemed to worsen, leaving her increasingly weak and vulnerable. Vomiting entire flowers became a frequent occurrence, a constant reminder of her miserable situation.

Now, she was no longer left unsupervised, Matt and Nick taking turns looking after her, despite her complaints and constant fear of becoming a burden.

On a particularly difficult night, she was at their house, in Matt's room, where she would sleep since Nick needed to edit the last Cut The Camera podcast.

The sound of loud laughter came from the living room next to the small hall that led to where she was; Chris and his girlfriend were playing some video game on the television. The sound was like a knife to the heart, and Y/N couldn't help but curl up beneath the thick duvet, feeling a wave of nausea and despair approaching her.

Matt, who was sitting in his gaming chair while answering some emails on his computer, soon realized her imminent agony, rising from the chair abruptly as violent coughs echoed through the walls of his room.

"Hey, hey, I'm here." Matt crouched on the floor next to her body, murmuring softly. His blue eyes ran over her fragile figure while his hand quickly found home on her back, massaging the covered skin.

Carefully, Matt pulled the duvet down her body, straightening his posture and picking her up in his arms, quickly carrying her into his bathroom. The boy helped her sit on the edge of his bathtub comfortably, with her face above the open toilet.

The boy gathered the loose strands of her hair into a loose ponytail secured by his right hand. He grabbed the washcloth from the sink, dipping it into the running water of the tap before pressing the wet fabric over her forehead.

"That's it, let it all out, sweetheart." He whispered, his voice soft like a comforting breeze.

His blue eyes squeezed shut as the sound of a loud sob followed one of her coughs, his own eyes filling with tears. Matt caught his bottom lip between his teeth in a death grip, swallowing back his sobs.

As the coughs slowly subsided, Y/N felt relief seep into her being, small sniffling escaping her nose while thin tears ran down her reddened cheeks, a deep sense of tiredness taking over her body. She felt completely exhausted.

"Are you feeling like throwing up again?" Matt asked gently, stroking her shoulders with his free hand, receiving a small shake of head in return. "Okay, do you want to go back to bed?"

"I... I don't want to get the sheets dirty if... If another crisis comes." She murmured, her voice weak and tired.

Matt nodded understandingly, a gleam of determination in his eyes. He quickly reached out with his hand that was previously on her back, pressing the flush and closing the toilet lid.

"You're okay." The boy whispered, his voice soft like a comforting breeze. "Come here."

He settled on the cold bathroom floor, resting his back against the freezing walls. Matt gently pulled her to sit next to him, his arms wrapping around her shoulders in a protective hug.

Y/N leaned against him, laying her head on his right shoulder and looping her arms weakly around his torso, feeling the comforting warmth of his body against hers. Their hearts beat in unison, sharing the weight of their worries, fears, and loves.

"Sleep, honey. I'll be right here when you wake up." He murmured softly in her ear, his words echoing almost as a promise of comfort and safety.

For a moment, Y/N allowed herself to close her eyes, letting herself be carried away by the feeling of peace that Matt's arms gave her, which she never felt anywhere else. Her breathing began to get lighter, indicating that sleep was finally approaching.

With a heart heavy with love, Matt gently leaned his head over hers, his lips delicately brushing her hair as he whispered words of love in the silence of the bathroom, believing that the girl was sleeping.

"If you only knew how much I could love you the way you deserve..." He murmured in a soft, loving tone. "I love you more than anything in this world, and I promise to take care of you forever, even when you are not aware of it."

The girl was slightly startled when she heard the words, her heart beating wildly in her chest and surprise flooding her mind. She expected everything but that. However, she remained quiet, savoring the comforting warmth of his arms and words, which unconsciously touched her heart in a different way. A good way.

Maybe the universe had better things for them.

taglist:

@lustfulslxt @ladybunny44 @worldlxvlys @earth2starkey @remussbitch @freshloveforthefit @il0vebeingdelulu @sturniolowhore @mimi-luvzyu @alorsxsturn @urfavgirllyyyyy @domizzzsstuff @sturnizd @hearts4chris @cupidzsq @dracoflaco @leah-loves-lilies @tylerthecreatorsrealwife @rootbeerworshiper @junnniiieee07 @elliesturniolo1 @sstvrnioloo @lightsgore @gidgett11037 @sturniolho @ksskianshd @ccolleenn @sturniolo-lover1317 @soimightlikeoldmen69 @hrtyjy @ldr-sl0t @breeloveschris @bellasfavbisexual @its-jennarose @sainzzsturns @ecliphttlunar @iammattswife @prettydollie @imwetforyourmom @sturnzsblog @h3arts4harry

(If you want to be added to the taglist, go to this post)

[victoria-grimesss]

tear you apart - part III

Part one: here    Part two: here 

masterlist

-> Pairing: König x fem!reader

-> Words: 4.1k

-> Warning: MDNI!, the mask stays ON, unprotected sex, semi-rough sex, König is a giver and a worshiper, some jealousy, mushy feelings, fluff, things are getting cute!!

-> A/N: thank you 100 followers yippee!! masterlist is in the works, let me know if you like the direction this is going and I'm open for any storyline suggestions :) 

You were standing in the courtyard, skipping breakfast today since you just weren’t feeling it.

The ice on the ground had recently been salted so you didn’t slip this time around. The mountain-scape to the north of the base was picturesque and you enjoyed coming out to this area for seclusion and clean air. 

You slipped on a thick black scarf today to conceal the evidence of last night and to help with the fact the heating unit in your dorm section went out overnight so you made sure to bundle up extra. It would have been easier to warm up if König was in bed with you but alas he wasn't. 

It was the morning after your rendezvous with König and to say you were sore was an understatement. The marks he left were scorched on your skin. It pained you to drag yourself to the shower after that night, washing away the smell of him on you. You examined yourself afterward and he was not delicate with his placement. Dark purple marks dotted your jawline and down your neck. Teeth marks are evident too. Purple painted your hips in the same shape of his fingers and if you concentrated hard enough you could still feel his grasp on you. You thought deeply of that night as you took in a deep breath of cold air, butterflies danced in your stomach and the embers of that night flickered within you. 

“Hey Y/N!! Funny seeing you here!” Bennet, one of the new recruits you befriended recently, was walking toward you while warming his hands. He was alright looking, he would be handsome if your brain wasn't already preoccupied replaying the unholy things König had done to you the previous night and thinking of the other things he could do to you.

“It’s quite cold out here, you actually like it?” He has that picturesque crest bright white smile and he's clean shaven, his eyes stay locked on your lips for a bit too long and you shuffle your feet bringing the scarf up to your mouth to breath heat into it.

“I don’t mind it, it's refreshing out here. Easy to relax, gets a bit much inside sometimes.”

He laughs, it’s light and he's everything opposite of konig. He's soft where König is hard, and light where he is deep. 

“Not used to such close quarters? It’s not all that bad right? Pretty girls like you make it much easier.” 

Oh.

He's flirting. 

You assumed he wasn't out here for friendly conversation after all, I guess he didn't hear word of the noises coming from the colonel's office the other night and that someone had seen you exit.

“Look Bennet-”

“Enjoying the weather?” His voice booms as the door slams open, his shoulders are back and his head held high. You’ve become conditioned into becoming tense with anticipation just at the sound of his voice.

He walks over, you wonder how long he was watching before he busted out of the door, did he see Bennet flash his hollywood smile at you like a bird flashes his feather during courting season? He seems wound up, tense and his eyes are dark.

Bennet straightens his back, greeting his superior, not knowing of the connection the two of you have. Your eyes bounce between the two. 

“Colonel sir, I was just speaking to my friend Y/N-”

“Were you now? I could swear you had-” he moves his arm, his sleeve slipping from his watch and he brings the watch to his face. “-Bathroom and laundry duty at about this hour, soldier? Or am I mistaken?” König stands at his full height, towering over Bennet and bringing both arms to cross his chest.

“No, sir you’re not I was just-”

“You will do your job and do as you're told, you'd be best to stick to it yea?” He’s mean and gritty but you like it. He asserts his authority without forgiveness and you assume that's why he has the rank and position he does. His gaze never leaves Bennet, the other man shrinking under his spotlight.

“Yes, of course sir.” Bennet shuffles off, your gaze is on the door he left in and the courtyard is silent. There's a long pause and it feels like time has frozen.

You hear König take a deep inhale and slowly release the exhale.

Then he turns his body so it faces you completely.

He’s equipped himself with all his gear today and he looks massive as usual.

“Mein süßes Mädchen you look lovely today.” 

“König, that was quite crass how you treated Bennet, he's a friend of mine.”

His eyes visibly roll,

“I know you come out here to clear your heads and for that you need solitude my love.” 

“Well you’re out here so I can't clear my head now can I?”

“I thought my company would be enriching for your experience.” His eyes crinkle and you meet them, admiring how the black paint around his eyes makes his blue eyes brighter.

“Your company is always very enriching.” You mean this in more than one way of course. If the others at base knew that you talked so casually with the colonel they would be shocked, yes he can be intimidating when needed but sometimes he is sweet.

“You certainly seemed to enjoy your visit to my office, I hope the grand tour met your standards.”

“They most definitely did, and then some.” You blush, bringing the scarf to your mouth again to warm yourself.

He tilts his head at your action.

“You hide the marks I gave to you?” 

“Well, I’m not sure you wanted the others to know that we’re ya know… sleeping together.”

He scoffs,

“I would love everyone to see them, it is a visible mark of my admiration to you, my loyalty to you. If others have problems with it they can take it up with me yea?”

His hand makes its way to your cheek and he cups it in his palm, your eyes close and admire the way you can easily sink into his touch so easily.

He moves his hand from your cheek to the scarf, unraveling it and he takes a deep breath when he reveals the many marks he scattered on you. The scarf stays in his grasp and he takes your chin in his grasp with his forefinger and thumb turning your heads up to him. His eyes are dark again as he looks upon you.

“You are beautiful, I will only be upset for a moment when these marks vanish because it gives me a reason to scatter you with even more next time.” 

His romantic words never fail to erupt butterflies within you and you are still astonished at how he can be such different men, a violent soldier, a soft romantic, and a starved lover.  

He clears his throat, hands moving from your chin to your shoulder and down your arm until he gathers your hand in his. He moves your hand under his mask and kisses your fingers gently, his eyes never leaving yours and you get a feel for his lips on your skin and you shiver but not from the cold this time.

“It pains me to leave you Schatz but I will see you later, don't go messing around with other boys alright? They’re no good for you.” 

“I wouldn't dream of it.” You smile and part ways, this day could not go any slower.

—

Never had you had a hard time concentrating before, you’re a trained soldier and damn good at your job, you’ve taken out squads of men with no alarm raised or suspicion drawn but the only thing on your mind as you’re in the gym is König. König, König, König. He’s like a parasite, digging and infesting in your brain, ruining all other men and options for you. It's only him now.

You try to avoid the stares in the gym, the workout top you wear hides very little of the bruises and lingering teeth marks and you just try to tune out the side eyes and lingering looks. 

As your workout ends you make your way to the locker-room and Bennet once again invades your vision.

“Hey Y/N- oh shit, someone really did a number on you! Didn't know a girl like you was into all that.” He winks and his eyes are only on the marks not looking you in the eyes.

“Oh these, yea well ya know how it is, girls got needs.” You give a halfhearted laugh just wanting to shower.

“Oh I know very well, if you ever need help with those needs I can definitely help you with those.” He's smirking and you grow sour at these unwanted words, about to tell him off when a hand slams onto his shoulder.

“I appreciate your concern, but her needs are well taken care of in my hands, right Schatz.” He always comes to you right when you need him and his eyes are so dark and his grip on Bennet’s shoulder is so tight the clothes are heavily wrinkled under his hand. Bennet’s eyes are wide as they race from you to König.

“I-um I didn't know you were with him.”

“It’s an honest mistake, she’s a very pretty girl and a wonderful lover. I am extremely lucky to have her. But I’ll let you know if you ever speak to her in this manner again I won't hesitate to crush you alright?”

Bennet's face has gone pale and he scurries off once König releases him, holding his shoulder as he leaves.

“König.”

“Come with me.”

He gives no room for argument. He grabs your hands and whisks you away out of the gym. You have to walk at double speed to keep up with his pace.

“König, I need to shower.” You try to protest but he keeps walking.

“I will have you as you are, you think a little sweat will deter me?” His voice is deep and you know seeing another man pester you twice in the same day has sparked some kind of primal urge within him. You have no complaints either way.

“Where are we going?” The twists and turns of the base make you dizzy and he moves with such speed you've gone into a trace following him blindly just watching the way he knows this place like the back of his hand. 

“Quiet, you'll know soon enough.”

People sure have a staring problem around here because they stare you down as he leads you down the halls.

You finally reach the door and he opens it and ushers you in quickly closing it and slamming you against the door. 

Your heart is racing again as it does when he's around and his hands can't seem to be still upon you; they trace the lengths of your hips to your waist, bringing you closer to him each time.

“Meine Taube forgive me but I must have you, you understand right? All of them stare, they wish to be in my position but I know none of them could touch you as I do, feel you as I do.” 

You stare through your lashes up at him and he discards his helmet leaving his mask and the rest of his gear on.

“I would never have anyone as how I have you, how I let you have me.” 

He groans, leaning over you and his head rests on your shoulder before he lifts his mask just above the peak of his nose, exposing his jaw and lips to you. You’re left silenced and before you can think to utter a sound his lips crash to yours and he consumes your moans and whines as if he's starved.

His hands become crazed and he holds your hips and lifts you so you wrap your legs around his hips and your arms around his neck. 

He groans as he grinds his hips into yours, your back pressed against the door and your hand wanders under his mask from behind and you grip his hair tugging it forcefully. He pulls back from your lips at that moment and you get a good look at his lips. They're parted and kiss swollen, he's panting and the stubble on his jawline sends another wave of heat downwards.

He smirks and you can see the sharpness of his canine teeth, you can practically feel them already.

“See something you like?” You meet his eyes and your face darkens.

“I see a lot of things I like.”

His mouth crashes back onto yours and he continues his assault until he locks his lips onto your neck once again biting, licking, and sucking with no abandonment. You throw your head back, hitting the door but you feel no pain or really anything besides him and the heat radiating from between your legs.

“Lets get the prinzessin somewhere more comfortable yea?” He carries you the distance to his bed and in the short walk you see he has a much bigger bed than provided to the rest of the troops, makes sense, you doubt he can even fit into the regular sized ones. His bedding looks comfortable, the bed made neatly and everything in his room is neat and pristine. Up to code.

He lays you down onto the bed and you sink into it, you nearly moan at how comfortable it is.

“Not fair you get such a comfortable mattress and I’m subjected to a damn near plywood board.”

He laughs in between kisses as he unbuttons your shirt.

“Liebling you will never see your bed again, I must implore you spend your nights in mine.”

He sucks and kisses down your chest reaching behind you and undoing your bra clasp with one hand and throwing it far across the room.

“I-I would have a much better time sleeping here. I wouldn't mind that.”

“We wouldn't do much sleeping.”

Oh. So bold.

You throw your head back as he cups one breast and latches his mouth to the other.

“I’m sorry my love, I didn't get to indulge you in this last time.” He kisses again. “But I swear no where will be left untouched on you, I’ll have to be killed to be parted from you.”

You hands grasp anywhere they can as he continues his ministrations and you grasp his shirt.

“Take this off, now.”

He leans back on his knees and stares down at you, eyes heavy with lust.

“Your wish is my command.” He strips himself of the chest gear and shirt in record time and his chest is heaving as he leans atop of you again. His dog tags dangling over you, catching the spare light in the room. His mouth kisses down your stomach, the cool metal of the tags freezing after his searing lips, and unbuttons your pants sliding the zipper down with his teeth. You feel his hot breath on the front of your panties and the sight of him is ponographic.

“Oh god König I’m going to fucking explode if you dont hurry it the fuck up.” You groan and twist your hips to get him to do something, anything.

“Schatz you are too hasty, you are like artwork. I need to admire you as you are and appreciate what lies before me. Be patient and you will be heavily rewarded.” He strips your pants off maintaining eye contact the whole time and kisses from the band of your panties all the way back to your lips and he kisses sweetly this time touching the now exposed thighs and places his whole hand on your heat cupping it in his hand and he groans once more. 

“You make my self control crumble you know that?” He traces his fingers up and down your core sliding your panties to the side to continue the motion.

“I cannot help myself when I’m around you, you could say the most awful things to me and I would still kiss the ground you walk on.”

“I would never say anything mean to you König, never.” He kisses your lips and you bite his lower lip as he leans back.

“I know you wouldn't, that's why I keep you all to myself.”

He slips a finger in and you clench around him, growing hotter and panting heavier. You move a hand down his broad expansive chest, scars littering it as proof of the man he is, of the hard work he's done. You cup him as well, stroke him over his pants and he sucks in a breath his movements of his fingers stutter.

“Liebling, Scheiße”

You look at him innocently as you unbutton and unzip his pants, releasing him from his boxers and taking him in your hand.

“What? I’m not doing anything.” You smile and stroke him lightly, his hips thrust into your hand and his eyes lock onto yours like you're treading thin ice.

Your thumb circles the tip collecting the leak that sprouts from him and he shudders again.

His fingers work on you faster and your hand gets uncoordinated on him and your vision starts to go hazy.

He hums, clearly pleased with his work on you.

“What wrong soldier, having trouble concentrating?” He laughs and you don't hear him anymore as you reach your peak, your hand that's not gripping him carving nail marks into his shoulder.

He draws two more orgasms from you with his fingers alone, you can imagine his fingers are pruned now with how soaked he's managed to make you. Your mind has been melted, remolded and melted again. You had let go of your grasp on him to hold tightly to his shoulder but he didn't seem to care, his mind was only on preparing you for the main event. His tip was leaking and had made a sizable puddle on your midsection.

“You think you’re ready for me now mein liebling?” He holds himself in his hand tracing the tip across your core and you scoot yourself closer to him trying to inch him in, he holds you hip in place.

“You heard me? You ready my dear?”

“Yes König, just get on with it, I can't wait any longer.” 

“Of course my love.” He leans down to capture your lips and at the same time your tongues meet he enters you and it's the most lovely feeling you've ever felt. A tear slips down your cheek and if the sun exploded right now you would have no care in the world.

He sinks fully and brushes hair from your face, kissing your cheek and moves his hips out then back in to start a good rhythm. You both groan at the initial feeling and your hands move under his mask that has now dropped back down over his face to cup his jawline. He moves his head in your hand and kisses your palm, his eyes heavy on you, eyelids droopy and pupils dilated so wide his eye color would be perceived as black and not their original blue color. 

You moan softly and the hand that was braced holding himself has moved to your hip and you look between the two of you and observe the way you connect. You can feel the coil in your stomach start to tighten up once again. König is insatiable, he dives into your heat with no sign of stopping, each breath whine and moan that escapes your lips only adds to his stamina and pleasure. He starts to speed his thrusts and the metal bars of the bed start a rhythmic banging against the wall, if you weren't so drunk off of him right now you would feel back for the neighbor but you don't care right now and can only think of König as he fills your vision. The new marks on your body sting and the way he grips your hip has you dripping on him and you can hear the evidence and you know he can too.

“You are a goddess incarnate, you know that. Like a siren I am drawn back to you each time I leave you. You pull me back into you so deliciously I cannot ever leave, I could spend all eternity inside you and never grow bored.”

His words tighten the coil within you even more and you throw your head back, drawing more and more like into his back and he growls.

“Yes Liebling, use me to express your pleasure, take it out on me and I shall give it back to you a thousand times. I can feel you getting closer, do not hold back on me.”

He's harsh now with his movements and he's getting closer too, he's moved your legs to his shoulder and he's delved even deeper into you and you nearly, no you do scream his name, and it's loud.

“König, I'm close, don't stop.” He continues his abuse and his thrusts grow unrhythmic. He bends over you, your head is thrashing side to side as you near your limit and he holds your head steady in his large grip making you look straight at him. His dog tags sway in front of your vision like a metronome keeping you in this trance-like state of euphoria.

“Look at me. Good girl, go ahead and make a mess.” He fucks you through your orgasm and he follows right behind you, thrusting deep and you both are locked in a gaze. 

Your eyes roll to the back of your head and you take a deep breath in and let it out, deflating under his gaze and your brain feels mushy.

König shifts, “My love, darling.”

He snaps his fingers in front of your face. His eyes crinkled again and if his eyes could be heart shaped they definitely would be right about now.

“There she is.” He places your legs back on the bed and removes himself carefully kissing you hard on the lips and again on the cheek before he gets up and once again cleans you up, he's topless but in the heat of the moment he never did take off his boots or pants. 

“Thank you.” You say, your voice horse as he's cleaning you up and providing you with clean panties and one of his shirts to wear.

“You don't need to thank me darling, I enjoy taking care of you. You truly deserve it.”

You get up and change into his shirt, it pools on you but it smells of him.

“Beautiful, you should wear my clothes more often.” He watches you like a hawk as you stumble to the bathroom, legs feeling like jelly.

“If shirts 5x my size were part of the military dress code I would take your words into consideration.” 

You hear him laugh as you close the bathroom door and relieve yourself, looking in the mirror you look utterly destroyed, you smooth over your hair and splash your face with water, taking the time to brush your teeth as well.

His bathroom is pristine and smells like citrus, another green flag, he knows how to keep clean.

“I used your toothbrush if that’s alright.” You stop in your tracks, he's striped down to only his boxers and mask. He’s built like a greek god but he’s got some thickness along with his muscle you assume at his age he's just grown more sturdy.

“You’re going to catch flies if you keep your mouth open like that, lay with me. Relax.” He’s laid back on a pillow, only the light of his bedside lamp illuminates the room and he's made a small nest of pillows on your side.

You nestle yourself in the crook of his arm and he wraps his arm around you kissing the top of your head and humming softly a song you don't know.

“Did you mean those things you said, it wasn't just your brain turned to sex mode right?” You beat yourself a bit for plaguing him with the job of reassuring you of his feelings but you want to know his feelings are true.

His hold on you gets a bit tighter.

“I have never felt more sure about something in my life, you have come into my life so suddenly and I will move mountains to keep you in it. I told you I will worship the ground you walk on so let me show you.” He kisses your face in multiple places and all your worries melt away with his touch.

His words glaze over your brain like honey and butterflies erupt from it in droves, you have never even seen this man's full face yet you are so sure you would devote yourself fully to him as he says he will do for you. You fall asleep to the sound of him humming and have never felt more at peace.

[fangirl-writes]

Tell me you want this

Isaac Lahey x Fem!Stilinski!Reader

Warning(s): canon-level stuff, blood, making out, mentions of sex

Summary: In a life that is constantly on the move, you appreciate the small moments much more. Especially if they're with Isaac.

"It'll just heal in a few minutes, you know," Isaac said.

"I know," you replied, sitting on his bed next to him.

You pulled a baby wipe from its package and held Issac's chin between your thumb and forefinger, moving his head to look him over.

It had been a particularly bad fight, for everyone. The kind of fight where you needed the rest of the night to just heal; physically, mentally, emotionally.

And, of course, you wouldn't let Isaac do it on his own.

You began wiping at a spot on his face, gliding the cloth over the apple of his cheek.

"If Stiles finds out about this, he's gonna be upset," Isaac said, watching your face contort as you worked.

"Yeah, well," you moved his head to the other side, frowning at the mention of your brother. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

You and Isaac had known each other forever. Being in the same grade, it would’ve been hard not to notice one another, but even besides that you had a connection. You were sort of friends.

Not the kind that hung out outside of school, but the loners who ate lunch under the bleachers and spent free periods in the library.

You also covered for him whenever he wasn’t in school, finding out about his home life after his dad had a particularly bad day.

You’d cleaned him up then, too.

Isaac gently grabbed your wrist, "and Derek-"

"Derek's not gonna hurt me."

You'd long since perfected sneaking into Derek's loft to see Isaac. You suspected that he knew you were there. Being a seasoned werewolf, you were sure he could hear the extra heartbeat, if not smell your scent.

But you didn't care, and clearly neither did he.

But Isaac? Isaac cared.

Ever since he became a werewolf, and you were further pulled into the bullshit that came along with that, he’d been protective in a way he hadn’t before.

You weren’t sure if it was a wolf thing or if Isaac felt some kind of obligation to you. Either way, you wouldn’t let him keep you out of it.

Tossing the wipe in the trash, you put your hand to his now clean cheek. "Relax."

He eyed you for a long moment, searching, before he took a deep breath and leaned into your touch.

The shape of his jaw pressed into your palm, his hand wrapping around your wrist gently, as if just to touch you.

Silence surrounded you, only the sound of your heartbeats and breathing cutting through.

That and the tension that hung palpably in the small space between you.

"You know," he pulled at the new hole in his shirt. "I think you better get this one, too."

You smiled, shaking your head. "I guess I better."

He wasted no time in pulling the material over his head and tossing it somewhere else in the room, making you laugh.

You scooted closer to him, crossing your legs under you and pulling another wipe from the package.

"Oh, Isaac," you said, taking in the wound. "It must've hurt."

He shrugged. "You'd be surprised how much the adrenaline can mask...and I'm used to pain."

He was so close now, close enough you could feel his breath on your cheek as you cleaned him up.

You focused on the task at hand because if you didn't, you'd notice the way he was staring at you. And you weren't sure what you'd do if you met his eyes.

He was fitter than he used to be, the tone of his chest and abs more prominent, his arms more muscular.

You unconsciously lifted your other hand to drag it down his chest.

He shivered under your touch. "Y/N..."

You swallowed, stilling your hand on his shoulder as you continued to clean him up.

"Y/N," he said again, making you look up at him.

His eyes were already on you, as you suspected, looking at you with so much intensity you wondered what he was thinking.

"Yes?"

He was so beautiful, especially this close.

You could see every line on his face, every freckle, every mole. The sculpt of his nose, the part of his lips. The dim light made the blue of his eyes seem darker, or maybe that was just the way he was looking at you.

He lightly pushed down your hand that had stilled on his chest so that he could lean closer, brushing his nose against yours.

"Tell me you want this."

His breath fanned your lips, and you sucked in a breath. "Isaac-"

"I can hear your heartbeat," he said. "I can tell how nervous you are...don't be. Tell me you want this."

You released the breath, shakily. "Yes. Yes, please, kiss me."

He leaned in, pressing his lips softly against yours.

You kissed him back, hesitantly. So hesitantly that he stopped, but didn't go far, allowing you the power to continue if you wanted. And you did.

More confidently this time, you kissed him. And he kissed you back.

You didn't realize how much you'd wanted this until now. How kissing him felt akin to breathing; natural, easy, like if you stopped, you might die.

It was a natural progression that he pulled you closer by your waist, his hands rough but gesture gentle, slow.

Your hands slid their way over the shape of his arms, then shoulders, then neck before they finally stopped to tangled themselves in his hair.

He hummed into your mouth, dragging his tongue over your bottom lip, and you parted them. His tongue slid over yours, experimentally, trying to find a rhythm.

You tugged against his hair.

That caused him to moan.

His fingers were ghosting just under your shirt when-

"Isaac, I need you to- oh my god."

You jumped apart, faces burning, as Derek stood in the doorway of Isaac's room.

It was pointless to try to look innocent, Isaac was shirtless for Christ's sake.

"Okay, I've clearly let this go on too long, I don't need you having sex in here."

"We weren't going to have sex!" Isaac protested, and you hid your face in your hands.

"Maybe not yet," Derek replied, crossing his arms. "How'd you get here anyway?"

"Walked," you replied sheepishly.

"Great, now I'm going to have to take you home. They're going to think I've kidnapped you."

"I can walk home."

"After that fight today? I'm surprised you made it here, let alone getting back."

"I can take her back," Isaac offered.

"And have you get busy in my car? Yeah, no, thanks."

"We wouldn't-" Isaac groaned. "Fine."

"Let's go. Now."

Too embarrassed to protest, you stood and followed Derek out the door.

Boyd and Erica were sitting in the main room and looked at you with wide eyes when they saw you come out of Isaac's room.

Great, you thought. Now it looks like a walk of shame.

"Y/N, wait."

You turned as Isaac came out of his room, holding your jacket in his hand.

"You, uh, forgot this," he said, blushing as everyone looked at him.

Face hot, you took it from him. "Thanks."

You put it on as Derek grabbed his keys and the two of you disappeared out the door.

Then Boyd and Erica's eyes drifted back to Isaac.

"...what?"

Erica split into a grin. "So, Stilinski, huh?"

"Shut up."

[lint-beetle4]

Is it ok if I can request a Macaque x reader involving hotel sex? I guess Macaque wanted to return the favor after the reader does a lot for him, and he treats her to a hotel for some alone time, given that the reader deserved to relax and he remembers the reader's love for bathing.

One-Night Pleasures (Macaque x Reader) Smut

(Sorry, this might be a bit short lol, been hella tired lately)

Smut below

You didn't expect Macaque to treat you to such a fancy hotel. You honestly didn't expect him to make enough to spare such luxury, but it seems his theater job had been working pretty smoothly.

"How much did this even cost?" You gaped at the room, seeing a large single bed in the middle with red, velvet curtains and white accents decorating the room--god, it looked like something out of a celebrity show.

Macaque simply shook his head, hand waving away the question with a smirk. "Don't worry about it. I'm just making up for that little favor of yours. Really helped me out there."

You turned back to the dark monkey, confusion sinking in to your brain.

"You mean when I let you crash in my house?"

It wasn't much of a favor, in your honest opinion. You loved the monkey to death, so him asking to crash for a while was a welcome surprise for you. Judging from Macaque's expression, it seemed he had other motives for such a question.

"Well, yes, if you want to me technical." Macaque purred, "Buuut, you became a sort of hideout for me while Wukong was getting on my case a bit. Nothing big, just an annoyance like Wukong is."

You chuckled, patting his shoulder with a shake of your head. "Still isn't much of a favor though, isn't it?"

"Are you telling me that you didn't want a pricey hotel with all your favorite foods in it?" Macaque held a hand to his chest. "Ah, you wound me."

You snorted, "I didn't think you'd be able to afford it, genius. You went all out, thanks."

"No problem, cherry blossom." Macaque winked, stretching with a groan. "Well, it is getting pretty late, don't you think? How about a nice bath before we head to sleep?"

He had a point. Outside of the pure luxury of a hotel, he'd taken you on a little vacation: a quiet beach with only you two, foods made for you, small attractions to amaze you. Macaque put in a good amount for you--you were surprised he wasn't more tired.

The water that surrounded you was heavenly, warm with roses lined along the rim of the tub. You traced them lightly, watching as some fell into the water. Behind you, sat Macaque who was picking through your wet hair with a strange determination. You enjoyed how delicate his hands were when he groomed you.

"This is nice," you sighed, leaning back against your lover. "How's my hair doing?"

Macaque huffed a proud sigh, chest puffing slightly. "Amazing, thanks to me."

"Thank you, sweetie." You tilted your head back, kissing his chin. "You always make me look good."

"You look good naturally--I'm just sprucing you up more." Macaque chuckled hugging you closely, hands squeezing your bare chest lightly. You giggle against them, placing your head against the crook of his neck.

"You've done so much work for me, you know. I almost feel bad." You grin.

Macaque shook his head, kissing your forehead. "Don't, you're amazing already. Plus, I was wondering if we could--maybe get one last gift in?"

You tilt your head, silent question in the air.

You received a silent answer, a familiar bump against your back and Macaque's hand squeezing your chest more, circling your nipples. You grin widely, turning yourself around to join Macaque's lips.

You held Macaque's head close, feeling as much of him as you could as his fingers toyed with your nipples, pinching and fondling them gently. You sigh against his lips, feeling his hands drift lower, pausing before they reach your growing issue.

"Macaque--" You whisper, tugging his hand lower. "Touch me."

He didn't need another word, hands going to fondle your ass and stroke through you tenderly. He went slow, tracing your hips and teasing you slightly before giving you the attention you needed with a slight buck of your hips. Macaque chuckled, kissing your neck and jaw with small, sharp bites against your jaw line. You roll your hips against his hand, feeling his padded fingers send shivers through your increasingly hot core.

You groan, exhaling roughly as he prods into you, stretching and stroking you wonderfully, sensitive patches of tissue given the upmost care as you continue to buck into his hand with increasing intensity. Macaque shushed you gently, pulling out before you could feel pressure building up inside of you, threatening your release. You groan as Macaque stopped, hearing his soft voice.

"Wait for me, now. You'll feel better with more than just my hands, silly."

You sighed shakily, nodding with a stifled whine as his fingers slowly leave you. Massaging your thighs, as you felt yourself slowly being filled his dick, stretching with the thick member as Macaque purrs from behind you.

Feeling Macaque's cock buried deep into you, you whine once more, moving your hips impatiently as Macaque nipped at you neck before thrusting into you, your body jerking in slightly surprise. Macaque's movements refused to stop, his thrusts getting louder and faster as your lean back against him, mouth dumbly open as drool slowly pours out of your mouth.

You feel Macaque groan, his hands tightening as he leans heavily against you, his voice rumbling against your back. You pant, moaning through mouth as Macaque's movements became ceaseless, the both of you ignoring the way the water gradually grew colder.

You yelped, nearly screaming as Macaque kept hitting a sensitive spot in you, waves of pleasure tingling through your body as your core tightens ever so slowly. You arched your back, feeling the spot being thoroughly abused as Macaque growled, his teeth now sinking deep into your shoulder, pangs of pain mixing with the near euphoria you were experiencing.

You heard Macaque whine against you, his thrusts becoming desperate as you slowly feel yourself getting closer to your climax. In a snap, your body tensed up as Macaque's teeth sink deeper into you. You moaned loudly, feeling your body go limp as Macaque continues to fill you up, broken thrusts jolting your body as you cum a second time against him with nothing more than a low groan and a shiver.

Macaque slipped out of you, his tongue lapping up your bleeding wound with apologetic licks. You sighed against him, leaning back as he slowly cleaned your body.

Macaque quickly summoned a towel, wrapping you up as he brought some clothes to you, helping you change before he laid you on the bed, nuzzling against you as you stroke his damp mane.

His voice rumbled against your chest, breath tickling your ear as he whispered.

"Thank you for everything, my dear."

[carlsdarling]

Might be a hard one. Carl first arrived to Alexandria, reader was a model before the apocalypse (so she's like really beautiful ). (Smut or fluff your choice <3) and he finds out that reader also has a crush on him. And he's just so proud that he got with a model, telling everyone about it<3 sorry if this is difficult. Love your work btw 💖

Beautiful

Carl has a crush on Y/N, but after his accident, he doesn't dare to ask her out... Bit of a plot, then sex. Everyone is 18 or over.

WARNINGS: smut, nsfw, oral (male receiving)

Before the fall, you were an aspiring model, you had already started as a kid and were planning to move to LA. But the apocalypse ruined everything.

When Carl Grimes arrived in Alexandria, you didn't pay much attention to him at first; he was just some guy. Of course he stared at you and had a crush on you - they all did, especially before the fall, when such things played a bigger role. But you weren't interested in Carl for a long time, he was your age and you liked older guys more.

It was only over time, when you started hanging out with the others more often, that you began to like Carl - his courage, his lovable character, his pretty blue eyes and the dark hair that always fell in his face.

Carl, for his part, had just gotten around to asking you out, but before that could happen, the accident occurred in which he lost his eye. After that, Carl withdrew completely, which you thought was a shame because you enjoyed his company.

Carl didn't want to see anyone anymore. You went to his house several times, but Rick or Michonne regretfully turned you away each time because Carl locked himself in his room anyway and wouldn't let anyone in. Eventually, though, you had enough. There was a big birch tree right below Carl's window, and you quickly climbed up it, scrambled onto a canopy and crawled up to Carl's window to knock vigorously.

An astonished sound could be heard from inside, then the curtains were pushed aside and Carl stared at you perplexed - out of the one eye he still had. The wound was covered with a bandage. It was the first time you had seen each other since the accident, and Carl seemed hesitant as to whether he should even open the window. "Carl!" you said indignantly. "Open up. It's cold."

He reluctantly opened the window, turning away from you. "What do you want?" he asked dismissively.

"To check on you," you replied. "You're just locking yourself in here."

Carl stood with his back to you. "It's my business."

"I thought we were friends?" Carl remained silent. "Won't you even look at me?" Dismayed, you noticed that Carl's shoulders were shaking and you realized that he was sobbing. Tentatively, you approached him to hug him.

Carl clutched your hand and cried. "I... I was going to ask you out," he confessed.

"And why aren't you doing that?"

"That was before I lost my eye," he said gloomily. "Everything's different now. Who wants to go on a date with me now?"

You carefully turned Carl around to face you and stroked his tear-stained cheek. "Me?"

Carl looked at you in disbelief.

"But you're so beautiful. Far too beautiful for me. It was like that before, but now..."

You put your hands up at your sides in disgust. "Carl Grimes! Do you think I'm that shallow? Are you? So if this had happened to me, you wouldn't like me anymore?"

Carl stumbled. "Yes, of course, I... I just thought..." You kissed him on the lips before he could continue. Carl was taken aback, but returned the kiss tenderly. You sank onto the bed, where you continued kissing and began stroking each other. Carl had his eye closed; apparently he wanted to concentrate completely on your activities. You could feel the tension he had been carrying around with him for weeks, all his muscles were hardened, and you came to the conclusion that Carl desperately needed some relaxation and stress relief.

So you slid off the bed, knelt down in front of it and positioned yourself between Carl's legs, gently pushing his knees apart and undoing his belt. "Uum..., what are you doing, Y/N?" Carl asked uncertainly.

"Just let me," you whispered, pulling down his jeans. There was a visible bulge in his blue boxers, and as a small wet patch spread across the fabric, Carl blushed. You let your hand ghost over the bulge slowly.

"You... you don't have to do that," he mumbled. „I can take care of it myself, later.“

"But I want to," you objected and also freed him from his boxer shorts. Carl squirmed, and his cock sprang free, and you were quite surprised by Carl's size - it was big for such a slender boy. Carefully you started to stroke and squeeze his dick and cupped his balls with your hand. Carl let out a soft, delighted sigh and closed his eye as he surrendered to your hands. A few drops of clear precum oozed from the rosy-red tip of his dick, and you rubbed them on the skin of his shaft to ease the glide of your fingers. Carl's moans became louder, he had sunk backwards onto the bed, and he was bucking his hips while you continued to caress him. You accelerated the movements of your fist and felt Carl's cock twitch under your touch, more precum flowed over your hand, and you could tell that Carl was beyond close, his hands clutching the mattress as he submitted to you completely. You let go of him briefly to stroke the soft line of dark hair that ran from his private parts to his belly button, then you breathed gentle kisses on the pale skin around his belly button, continuing on the inside of his thighs and finally sucking intensely on the tip of his throbbing dick.

Carl screamed out with pleasure, thrusting so hard into your willing mouth that you began to gag. "Sorry," he gasped as you let go of him, pleading for you to go on. His hair was a mess, his cheeks flushed, he looked so precious and fucked out.

Once again you began to caress his cock with your lips and tongue. Carl whimpered uncontrollably and was writhing on the bed. "Y/N, I... I'm cumming," he gasped, leaving it up to you to decide whether you wanted to pull away or not. You closed your lips even tighter around his dick, then Carl's whole body tensed, he quivered, and then he released a considerable amount of seed into your mouth, a firework of sticky streams. You swallowed all of it and started licking and sucking Carl clean, then you lay down next to him.

You hugged each other. "That was incredible," Carl whispered in your ear, breathless and heated.

"Do you finally believe me that I like you?" you asked teasingly.

Carl just nodded, and from that moment on, you were inseparable and Carl was so proud to be with you.

--

Tags: @loveforcarl @tessasweet @taylormarieee @knochentrocken0808 @xxcarlswifexx

[impishjesters]

First-time jitters (NSFW-ish)

warning(s): kissing, hickeys, suggestive themes, implied lead-up to sex, sexual jokes note(s): Naked twister kind of joke, not anything in a typical Jax insulting joke form. A/N: I actually really liked writing this, it gave me a chance to write just kissing and while I still suck at it, it was something. Plus I can totally see Jax cracking jokes to keep his s/o from being so tense and nervous. Happy that this didn't push me out of my comfort zone, even if it did make me feel weird about writing kisses. I'm not experienced in that department either. request: Hey I was wondering if you could write a very slight NSFW of Jax and the Reader? Maybe this is the reader’s first time and is nervous about it?

“I’ve uh, never done this before…” You mutter nervously, hands playing with the hem of your shirt.

“What sat on a bed with a man?” Jax snorts.

“Ass, you know that’s not—”

“Oh, you’ve never played naked twister? It’s a little slippery I’ll admit.”

“Jax…”

“See you’re already doing a great job, ya already got saying my name down. Though I’d like to hear it a bit louder and more desperately, maybe a tad more breathy.”

You cross your arms in irritation and embarrassment, this was not how you were going to spend your first time if he kept being a little shit lord and keep cracking jokes. You loved him and tolerated enough of this outside of the bedroom, it wasn’t exactly something you were expecting during such an intimate moment.

As if sensing your thoughts Jax took a seat on the bed and leaned closer, placing a hand on each side of you on the bed. “Oh c’mon angel, I’m trying to ease the tension. Ya more wound up than a music box, if ya this tense it’ll hurt. And we don’t want that.”

Jax wasn’t stupid, he could tell you weren’t ready when the topic was officially brought up and told you he was fine waiting. Blue ballin’ sucked but he’d endure it until you were ready—which was tonight, if you were still up for it.

He caught you chewing on your bottom lip and raised a hand to tap at your lips to get you to quit. “Ya know I won’t do anything to hurt you, especially if ya aren’t into it.” You giggle faintly and he slips his fingers over to pinch your cheek. “There we go, loosen up and I’ll help loosen you up so it won’t hurt. Trust me.”

“That’s pretty bold of you to ask me to trust you of all people.” You tease. However, there is reassurance in the tender touch and his tone that has you relaxing more and more into his touch.

Jax rolls his eyes playfully, giving your cheek another pinch before moving the hand back to the bed. “And ya pretty dumb to trust me of all people.” he pokes back.

It’s all in good fun, it’s not typically how he’d treat someone in bed but you aren’t just any random shmuck in his bed. Plus it’s your first time and he’d rather not make it an unpleasant experience, he would like to get laid more than once after all.

Before you can respond he gives you a quick kiss, shifting to get more comfortable on the bed with you but not making any attempts to undress either of you. “We’ll go slow, ain’t gotta get naked right from the start—though I won’t complain if you wanna strip.” His brows waggle suggestively but his tone is far from it.

“Can we just kiss for now?” Kissing isn’t new and it feels like a nice start to everything, you don’t want to back out now but you aren’t going to just force your way straight into sex.

“Sure doll.”

Jax is surprisingly careful with his kisses, each kiss is sweet yet firm until you find yourself getting impatient at the little pecks and run your tongue along his bottom lip. Working around his teeth takes a few minutes but in no time the kisses grow more heated and full of tongue.

The distance between the two of you gradually closes, Jax sits with his legs loosely crossed creating the perfect little spot in the middle for you. He drapes your thighs over his and tugs you closer to create just the right amount of space between the two of you, mainly so he doesn’t have to keep breaking his back to lean in.

Your hands find purchase around his neck while his hands find home on your lower back. It’s no different than the usual make-out session except this will actually lead to more than just the two of you separating and having to wind down or take care of things separately.

Jax is the first to break away, leaving you panting. You’re such a flustered, red mess and he’s soaking up every little noise and expression on your face. Diving back in he dodges your lips much to your confusion and instead aims for your neck. You tilt your head to give him better access and he peppers the area with kisses and the occasional nibble.

He pulls back after a bit, satisfied to see your neck littered with his marks, and gently guides your head to tilt the other way, giving the same attention to the unmarked side. There’s no way someone won’t say something later, the marks are too obvious and most definitely won’t be covered by your clothes—you’ll have to think of an excuse later.

Eventually, he has to pull away and admire his handiwork again, that smug expression on his face per usual, except the reason is different this time, more genuine. “What a pretty necklace ya got there doll, who bought it for ya?”

Necklace? You weren’t wearing any—oh the hickeys. “Jaaax..” That’s so painfully cheesy that you can’t help but whine and giggle.

“Your damn right I did. Looks so good on ya too.”

He runs his fingers over the fresh marks and you can’t help but shudder at the sensitivity. You don’t remember them normally being that sensitive, but you also don’t remember him ever leaving that many in one sitting. Something tells you those won’t be the only hickeys you’ll end up with.

Your eyes fall on his own neck, bare as ever, and find yourself feeling a little mischievous. “How about we give you a matching one?”

Jax’s arms tighten around you, pulling you closer as if to help give you a better position before his hands knead into your hips. “Oh sugar, I’d be more than happy to be sportin’ a matching necklace with you.”

[lovelygirlwithablog]

Mission: Amore

pairing: Harvey Specter x f!reader

Summary: Harvey Specter doesn’t do undercover missions—or romance. But in Milan with you, lines blur between duty and desire. As the mission turns deadly, Harvey realizes more than just his heart is at risk. Italy may be his toughest—and most personal—case yet.

Warnings: romance, friends to lovers, violence/action, mild language, emotional angst, alcohol use, mature themes, smut, p!v, fluff

A/N: i can't thank you enough for all the likes, reblogs and new followers (seriously, i'm jumping around my room😭). sorry for taking so long to post something but school is taking more time than usual (exam's month, yay) and I really hope you will like this story!! requests are always opened <3

The hum of the plane settled into a low, steady drone as you leaned back, staring out the window at the endless stretch of clouds and sky. This wasn’t how you’d pictured your first trip to Italy—sitting next to Harvey Specter on a red-eye flight with an agenda that would likely get you into trouble.

Harvey, of course, was completely unfazed. He looked relaxed, leaning back in his seat with his laptop open, typing away as if he were just on another late night at the office. The occasional clink of his cufflinks as he adjusted his shirt sleeve was the only sound breaking through the silence between you.

"Are you nervous?" he asked suddenly, without looking up.

You raised an eyebrow. "About the mission or sitting next to you for seven hours?"

He smirked, finally glancing over. “You tell me.”

Typical Harvey—throwing the question right back at you. You shifted in your seat, trying to shake the feeling that he could see right through your calm exterior. If he knew how tightly wound you were, or how the thought of being in close quarters with him for days was already tying your stomach into knots, he didn’t show it.

"Just hoping you don’t snore," you shot back. "Or hog the armrest."

He chuckled, the low, warm sound oddly comforting. "I don’t snore. And you can have the armrest, partner." He emphasized the last word.

You took a steadying breath and nodded, trying to match his calm, collected energy. "Fine. But just remember, this is a team effort."

His eyes softened just a little as he studied you, almost as if he were considering something he hadn’t allowed himself to think about until now. "Trust me. I know what’s at stake."

With that, he returned to his laptop, but you couldn’t shake the feeling off. Seven hours of flight lay ahead—and days in Milan after that. Somehow, you knew this trip would be more than you’d bargained for.

The private jet landed smoothly at Milan’s Malpensa Airport, and after a quick transfer, you found yourself stepping into the grand lobby of the hotel. The air was rich with the scent of fresh espresso and a hint of luxury. Ornate chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and marble floors gleamed underfoot.

Harvey walked beside you, exuding his usual confidence, his eyes scanning the area as if evaluating every detail. You couldn’t help but admire the way he carried himself—like he owned the place.

"Nice digs, right?" he said, glancing over at you with that trademark smirk. "I figured if we’re going to do this, we might as well do it in style."

"It’s certainly… impressive,"you replied, trying to hide your awe. "Just remember, we’re not here for the amenities."

“Relax,” he said, feigning innocence. “I’m just appreciating the view.” His eyes flicked to a couple of well-dressed guests across the lobby, then back to you. “Besides, a little luxury never hurt anyone, especially not when you’re about to dive into the center of Milan’s criminal scene.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. “You’re impossible.”

“True, but it’s part of my charm,” he shot back, moving toward the reception desk. As you approached, the receptionist greeted Harvey with a smile, clearly recognizing him.

“Mr. Specter, welcome back,” she said, her eyes sparkling. “Your suite is ready.”

“Thank you,” he replied smoothly, flashing a grin that could charm the socks off anyone. He turned to you, raising an eyebrow. “I hope you’re ready for a little bit of luxury. I booked us a suite.”

“A suite?” You blinked in surprise, caught off guard. “I thought we were keeping things professional.”

“Professional doesn’t mean we have to be uncomfortable,” he countered, a playful glint in his eye. “Trust me, we’ll need the extra space to strategize.”

You could feel your heart race as you followed him to the elevator. As the doors slid closed, you both exchanged a glance.

When the doors opened to the suite, you stepped inside, taking in the plush furnishings, sweeping views of the city, and the unmistakable air of sophistication.

“Welcome to our temporary headquarters,” Harvey said, his voice low and teasing. “I’d say we’ve arrived in style.”

He stepped closer, leaning against the door frame with that familiar cocky demeanor. “As long as we��re on the same team, I think we’ll manage just fine.”

As night fell over Milan, you stepped out of the hotel with Harvey, the warm evening air brushing against your skin. The streets were alive with people, laughter, music, and the delicious smell of Italian food wafted through the air.

As you and Harvey settled into a cozy corner table at a Italian restaurant, the ambiance was warm and inviting, with flickering candlelight casting soft shadows around the room. You took a sip of the rich red wine the waiter had poured, letting the flavors swirl over your tongue.

“I can’t believe we’re in Milan,” you said, glancing around at the rustic decor and the delicious aromas wafting from the kitchen.

“Don’t get too comfortable. We have work to do,” he replied playfully, raising his glass in a mock toast. “But I guess a little wine never hurt anyone.”

Just then, a man approached your table—a tall, well-dressed stranger with dark hair and an easy smile. He seemed confident, exuding an effortless charm as he stopped beside you.

“Excuse me,” he said, addressing you directly. “I couldn’t help but notice you from across the room. Your smile could light up the entire city.” His accent was Italian, smooth and melodic.

Ah, the usual pick up line.

You weren't impressed, but, well, you're not always in Italy.

You glanced at Harvey, who remained quiet but stiffened slightly in his seat.

“Thank you,” you said, returning the man a smile.

“Matteo,” he introduced himself, a twinkle in his eye. “Would you mind if I joined you for a moment?”

Before you could think twice, you nodded. "Sure, that would be nice.”

Matteo slid into the empty seat across from you, and you could feel Harvey’s gaze, the atmosphere shifting subtly.

“So, what brings you to Milan?” Matteo asked, leaning in slightly.

You opened your mouth to answer, but before you could say anything, Harvey interjected, his tone smooth and casual. “We’re on our honeymoon,” he declared, a charming smile plastered on his face.

You blinked in surprise, momentarily caught off guard. “Uh—” you began, but Harvey continued seamlessly.

“I’m ‘Jack,’ and this is my beautiful wife, ‘Sophie,’” he said, his confidence unwavering. This were your false identities. Jack and Sophie Castens, a married couple from California.

Matteo’s expression faltered slightly, his eyes widening in surprise. “Oh, I see. Congratulations,” he said, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You could sense the tension in the air, and the mood shifted. Matteo’s body language changed, becoming a bit more rigid as he looked between you and Harvey. “Well, it was nice to meet you both,” he said quickly, his charming demeanor fading. “Enjoy your evening.”

With that, Matteo stood up, his smile replaced by a polite but strained expression. He glanced at you once more before walking away.

You watched him go. “Wow, that was unexpected,” you said, glancing at Harvey, who wore an amused expression but was clearly hiding his irritation.

“Didn’t see that coming, did you?” he replied, a hint of satisfaction in his tone.

You shook your head, still processing what had just happened. “He didn’t even get a chance to say anything interesting.”

“Yeah, well, he shouldn’t have been flirting with my wife,” Harvey said, leaning back.

After the unexpected encounter with Matteo, you and Harvey decided to leave the restaurant and take a stroll through the streets of Milan. The city was alive with energy, the warm glow of street lamps illuminating the cobblestone paths.

As you walked side by side, the tension from dinner seemed to melt away. You could feel the electric atmosphere around you, and for a moment, it felt as if the city was yours alone. The stunning Duomo loomed in the distance, its intricate details bathed in soft light.

“This place is incredible,” you said, glancing up at the cathedral. “I could get lost here forever.”

“Don’t let it get to your head,” Harvey replied with a smirk, but there was a hint of warmth in his tone.

Just as your fingers brushed against his, his phone buzzed in his pocket, breaking the moment. He sighed, pulling it out and glancing at the screen.

“Work?” you asked, noting the slight annoyance in his expression.

“Yeah, quick call,” he said, answering it almost reluctantly. “I’ll be right back.”

You nodded, watching as he stepped a few paces away, his voice low and focused. You turned your gaze back to the beautiful streets, the blend of old architecture and modern life surrounding you. The atmosphere was buzzing, yet you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

While Harvey spoke, you noticed a shadowy figure lingering at the edge of the plaza. Your heart skipped a beat as you recognized the clothing and stance—it matched the description of the criminal you were supposed to be tracking.

You glanced back at Harvey, who was still engaged in his call, his brow furrowed in concentration. The figure shifted, and your pulse quickened. You were about to call out to him when the man turned and disappeared into a narrow alley.

Your instincts kicked in. You hesitated, torn between wanting to alert Harvey and the urgency of remaining calm.

Harvey ended the call and walked back towards you, his expression shifting as he noticed your distraction. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I just thought I saw someone… Never mind,” you said, trying to brush it off while the adrenaline buzzed in your veins.

He studied you for a moment, concern flickering in his eyes. “You sure? We can keep walking if you want.”

You hesitated, then shook your head. “No, I’m fine. Let’s keep going.”

With a nod, Harvey stepped closer, his shoulder brushing against yours as you resumed walking. But as you moved forward, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were on the edge of something. Someone.

Just as you were about to share your concern, a series of sharp, echoing gunshots rang out through the night.

Your heart raced as you instinctively grabbed Harvey’s arm, pulling him closer to you. “Did you hear that?” you whispered, the adrenaline surging through your veins.

He nodded, his expression shifting from relaxed to alert in an instant. “Stay close,” he said, scanning the street for any sign of danger.

You could see the tension in his posture as he led you towards a nearby alley, instinctively guiding you away from the noise. The sound of gunfire reverberated in your ears, sharp and shocking against the otherwise lively backdrop of the city.

“Do you think it’s—?” you began, but Harvey cut you off.

“Not here. We need to find cover,” he replied, his voice low and steady, a hint of urgency threading through his words.

As you turned into the alley, your heart pounded, the reality of the situation crashing down around you. You pressed against the cool stone wall, glancing back at the street, where shadows darted past in a panic.

“Stay quiet,” he murmured, his gaze fixed on the mouth of the alley. You nodded, your breath quickening as you realized that this was not just a night of sightseeing—it was quickly becoming a dangerous mission.

Harvey’s phone buzzed again, but he ignored it, fully focused on the unfolding situation.

Then, another shot rang out, closer this time, followed by a flurry of footsteps. You pressed yourself further against the wall, your pulse racing.

“Do you think they’re after us?” you whispered, the gravity of the situation hitting you hard.

“Just stay behind me,” he said, his voice calm but firm, as he stepped slightly in front of you, instinctively shielding you from whatever was about to unfold.

The sound of chaos erupted around you—people shouting, the clatter of heels against the cobblestones, and the metallic echo of gunfire. You exchanged a glance with Harvey, the unspoken understanding between you solidifying in that moment. You were in this together, and there was no turning back now.

The night had turned dark and dangerous, and as the sounds of violence continued, you felt a mix of fear and adrenaline coursing through your veins.

As the chaos unfolded outside, you pressed your back against the cool wall of the alley, your heart racing as adrenaline surged through you. Harvey’s eyes were focused, scanning the street where the gunfire had erupted. The weight of the moment hung heavy in the air, and you felt the danger closing in.

“Stay here,” he said, his voice low and steady. He stepped a bit further into the alley, trying to get a better look at what was happening. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the way he prepared for anything that might come next.

Then, without warning, a figure appeared at the mouth of the alley—a masked man, his gun drawn and aimed into the night. Harvey’s instincts kicked in, and he raised his own weapon, ready to take action.

“Harvey, wait!” you shouted, panic rising in your chest, but it was too late.

The sound of gunfire rang out again, and you froze, your eyes wide as Harvey pulled the trigger. Just as he was about to fire, another shot rang out—a sharp crack that seemed to split the air.

Time slowed. You watched in horror as the bullet struck Harvey, hitting him square in the side. He stumbled back, his expression shifting from determination to shock as he gasped, clutching his side.

“Harvey!” you screamed, rushing forward as he fell against the wall, pain reflecting across his features.

He managed to keep his grip on his gun, but you could see the blood seeping through his shirt. Panic surged through you as you knelt beside him, your hands shaking. “Oh my God, what do I do?”

“Get down!” he grunted, struggling to stay conscious, his voice strained.

You quickly ducked down beside him, your heart racing. You could hear the sounds of chaos growing louder as more footsteps approached, the shadows of more figures moving closer. You had to act fast.

“Harvey, I need to get you out of here,” you said, your voice trembling as you pressed your hands against the wound, trying to staunch the flow of blood.

“Don’t… don’t let them see you,” he managed to say, his breath coming in sharp gasps.

Your mind raced, torn between the urgency of the moment and the overwhelming fear gripping you. “I can’t leave you,” you said, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

“Trust me,” he whispered, his voice barely above a whisper. “You need to go.”

You shook your head, desperation clawing at your throat. “I’m not leaving you here!”

“Listen to me,” he insisted, a fierce determination burning in his eyes despite the pain. “Get to safety. Call for help.”

Suddenly, more shots rang out, and the figures were drawing nearer. You could see the silhouettes in the dim light, their intentions clear.

Just then, a surge of adrenaline coursed through you. You couldn’t let them find you here. With one last, frantic look at Harvey, you made the decision. You would follow his orders, but you weren’t leaving without a fight.

“I’ll be back,” you promised, your voice steady despite the fear threatening to overwhelm you. You squeezed his hand tightly, giving him a final look of determination before slipping deeper into the shadows of the alley, heart pounding and breath hitching, ready to do whatever it took to save him.

With your heart racing and adrenaline pumping, you found a small vantage point, crouching behind a stack of crates. Peering out into the street, you saw the masked figures advancing, their weapons drawn and aimed at the fleeing crowd. Fear gripped the bystanders as they scattered, but you couldn't let them become victims tonight.

Taking a deep breath, you steadied your shaking hands. You had trained for situations like this, and while you had never imagined you'd be in a life-or-death scenario, the skills you had honed kicked into high gear. You couldn't let fear dictate your actions. You were going to fight back.

You spotted a clear target—a thug aiming his gun at a terrified couple, his finger tightening on the trigger. Without thinking, you raised your own weapon, the weight of it feeling surprisingly comfortable in your grip. You focused on your breath, silencing the chaos around you as you took aim.

BANG!

The shot rang out, echoing through the night. The thug dropped to the ground, surprise etched on his face as he crumpled.

Your heart raced.

You shifted your aim to another figure who was attempting to intimidate a group of young people.

BANG!

Another shot. Another thug fell, and you felt the power of your actions ignite a fire within you.

"Get down!" you shouted to the civilians, urging them to find cover as you continued to take out the armed threats one by one.

Each shot was precise, calculated. Your training kicked in, and you fell into a rhythm, moving with confidence and purpose.

As the remaining thugs realized they were being picked off one by one, panic spread among them. They began to turn on each other, unsure of where the threat was coming from. You felt a surge of adrenaline as you ducked behind cover, scanning the area for any remaining targets.

"Drop your weapons!" you shouted, your voice steady and commanding. The remaining thugs hesitated, fear creeping into their expressions as they weighed their options.

One of them raised his gun, but you were quicker.

BANG!

The shot rang out, and he fell to the ground, his weapon clattering beside him. The others dropped their guns, surrendering as they realized they were no match for you.

Breathing heavily, you turned to the group of bystanders who had sought refuge, their eyes wide with shock and gratitude. "Is everyone okay?" you asked, scanning the crowd for any signs of injury.

They nodded. Just then, you remembered Harvey. "I need to get Harvey!" you shouted, rushing back to where you had left him.

You found him leaning against the wall, his face pale.

"Y/N..." he said, a hint of a smile breaking through the pain.

"Did you doubt me?" you replied, kneeling beside him and pressing your hand over the wound to staunch the bleeding. Tears were starting to fall down your cheeks. "I'm getting you out of here."

Before he could respond, the sound of approaching sirens grew louder, and the realization of the situation settled in. You had done it. You saved lives.

-

The sterile scent of antiseptic filled the air as you paced back and forth in the hospital waiting room, your heart racing. The chaos of the night was behind you, but the weight of it pressed heavily on your chest. After the gunfire subsided, the paramedics had arrived swiftly, transporting Harvey away on a stretcher, his face pale and strained.

You had insisted on going with him, but they had gently but firmly told you to stay behind. “We’ll take care of him. He needs you to stay calm and wait,” one of the paramedics had said, but the reassurance did little to quell the anxiety swirling inside you.

Now, all you could do was wait. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed softly, illuminating the small room filled with uncomfortable plastic chairs and the distant sounds of hospital machinery. You could feel your heart thudding in your chest as you replayed the events of the night over and over in your mind.

You leaned against the wall, glancing at the clock. You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. Harvey had been there for you; now you needed to be strong for him.

Every time the automatic doors opened, your pulse quickened, hoping it would be a doctor coming to give you news. You watched families come and go, some faces filled with joy, others with despair, and you felt a knot tighten in your stomach. What if something happened to him? What if he didn’t make it?

Just as you began to spiral into a haze of anxiety, the doors swung open again, and a doctor in scrubs entered the waiting room. Your heart leaped into your throat as you approached him, desperate for answers.

“Are you here for Harvey Specter?” the doctor asked, looking at you.

“Yes! How is he?” you replied, your voice trembling.

“He’s stable. We were able to stop the bleeding, but he will need to undergo surgery to repair the damage,” the doctor explained, his tone calm but serious.

Relief flooded through you, but it was quickly followed by a wave of concern. “Can I see him?” you asked, needing to be by his side.

“Not just yet. He’s in surgery now, but you can wait here. The nurses will keep you updated,” the doctor replied, giving you a reassuring nod before turning to leave.

You watched him go, your heart still racing. He was alive—Harvey was alive. You took a deep breath, trying to calm the whirlwind of emotions inside you.

You returned to your seat, fingers tapping nervously against your thigh as you stared at the wall, lost in thought. The events of the night replayed in your mind—the gunfire, the adrenaline, and how you had taken control. But now, all you felt was helplessness.

As you stared at the wall, you realized you didn’t just care about Harvey as a colleague or a partner; it was deeper than that.

Harvey had risked everything to protect you, and you were determined to show him just how much he meant to you.

-

"Y/N L/N." a voice suddenly calls for you. It's one of the nurses that was in and out of Harvey's room.

You stand up quick and look at her, your heart beating out of your chest.

"You can see him." she spoke, her italian accent coming to the surface as she elaborates. "He is stable and will leave the hospital tomorrow."

"Gosh, thank you," you finally manage to smile.

You walk slowly into the room and close the door behind you.

"Y/N," you heard Harvey whispering and you ran to his bed.

"Harvey..." you sat on a chair beside him. You looked at him and touched his face with your fingers. "I thought I lost you..." your voice cracks as tears begin to pile in the corners of your eyes.

"I wouldn't give you that joy." he smiles. God, that beautiful smile.

You smile softly and nod.

"I-I can't imagine a life without you in it." you look away from his eyes.

Before he could speak, the nurse comes back into the room.

"Miss, I'm going to ask you to leave. We have to run some tests on his body. He is going to be fine."

You look at him one more time and leave.

-

You pace the hotel room, the echo of the news that Harvey would be okay doing little to calm the tight coil of worry in your chest. The soft thud of your footsteps blends with the muffled city sounds outside, each second stretching longer than the last.

Suddenly, the door clicks open, and you whirl around to find Harvey stepping in. His suit jacket is draped over one arm, and a few stitches run along his brow, stark against his otherwise composed expression.

“Are you kidding me?” you snap, relief and anger tangled in your voice. “You should be in the hospital, not strutting back here like it’s just another day at the office.”

He smirks, the hint of exhaustion in his eyes betraying his voice. "Missed me?”

You glare at him, folding your arms as your pulse quickens for an entirely different reason.

“You’re unbelievable, Harvey. You think this is funny? You scared the hell out of me.”

For a moment, his expression softens, and the room falls into silence. Harvey steps closer, his smirk fading. “I know,” he says, voice lower, more honest. “I’m sorry.”

The apology catches you off guard. It’s rare for Harvey to admit when he’s wrong, let alone with the hint of vulnerability you now see in his eyes. You stare at him, words momentarily escaping you, as the anger simmers into something softer, something that feels like the ache you’ve been holding onto for far too long.

“Sorry doesn’t cover it,” you say, the tension in your shoulders slowly unwinding as you drop your arms to your sides. “You could have—” Your voice cracks before you can finish the thought, and you turn away, unable to look at him without remembering the hospital room, the bandages, the sight of him lying motionless in blood.

You feel him step closer, close enough that the heat from his body warms your back. “Hey,” he says softly, and you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to ignore how his voice makes your pulse flutter.

“I’m here now, and I’m okay.”

You let out a shaky breath and turn to face him. The distance between you is almost nothing, and you can see the faint trace of exhaustion in the way his eyes narrow. Without thinking, your hand reaches up to touch the edge of the stitches, gentle enough that he barely flinches.

“You’re not invincible, Harvey,” you whisper, your eyes meeting his. “One day you won’t be fine."

His hand finds yours, pressing it against his cheek.

“Then I guess I’ll have to make sure that day never comes.”

Your heart lurches at his promise. Before you can say anything else, Harvey leans in, eyes searching yours for permission, and in that moment, all the worry, all the fear melts away.

“Harvey,” you whisper, but before you can say anything else, he closes the distance, capturing your lips with his. The kiss is gentle at first, hesitant, as if testing the waters. But then, the weight of everything unsaid—years of banter, stolen glances, unspoken confessions—crashes over both of you, and the kiss deepens.

Your hands find their way to the lapels of his shirt, gripping them as if to anchor yourself to this moment, to him.

Harvey’s fingers thread through your hair, pulling you closer until there’s not a breath between you. The world outside the hotel room dissolves, leaving just the two of you, tangled in the realization that whatever this is, it’s real, and it’s been waiting too long to be acknowledged.

When you finally pull apart, your breath comes in quick, unsteady gasps, and Harvey’s forehead rests against yours. His eyes flutter open, and he smiles—soft and genuine in a way you’ve only seen glimpses of before.

“Took us long enough,” he murmurs, and you can’t help but laugh, the sound breaking through the last of the tension.

“Yeah,” you say, fingers still curled in his shirt. “It did.”

Harvey tilts his head, searching your face as if to commit every detail to memory. There's a question there, one you answer by closing the distance and brushing your lips against his again, this time slower, savoring his taste.

His hands slide down your arms, resting at your waist before moving to the hem of your shirt. He hesitates, giving you a moment to pull back, but you don't. Instead, you reach up, guiding his jacket off his shoulders and letting it fall to the floor in a careless heap.

Your heartbeat thunders in your ears as he tugs your shirt up, and you lift your arms to help, your skin tingling as the fabric slips away.

The soft, shared gasps echo in the quiet room as he traces a line up your spine, pulling you close. The heat of his touch sears through every inch of you, erasing the worry and fear. You reach for the buttons of his shirt, fingers fumbling as he watches you.

"Careful," he whispers, the smirk returning for just a moment.

You roll your eyes playfully before finishing with the last button and sliding the shirt off his broad shoulders. His expression shifts again, back to something serious, as he cups your face with one hand, eyes searching yours before leaning in.

Harvey’s hands guide you toward the edge of the bed, movements slow and deliberate as if savoring every moment.

You step back until your legs meet the bed, and you sink down, pulling him with you. The mattress dips under you, and a quiet laugh slips from your lips as Harvey’s arm wraps around your waist, steadying you both. His laughter joins yours before he kisses you again.

He leans down, pressing a trail of kisses from your shoulder to your collarbone, each touch making your pulse race faster.

Every touch, every look is unhurried, filled with understanding that neither of you has to rush; there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

Harvey's body pressed into yours, the warmth between you making everything else fade away. His lips find your neck again, kissing and nibbling with a tenderness that makes your breath hitch. You tilt your head back, giving him more access as his hands roam to your back, trailing over your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

His lips move lower, brushing across your collarbone and down toward your chest. You feel his breath against your skin, the heat of him making your heart race faster. His hands gently guide you to lie back, following the curve of your body, as he peppers soft kisses along your ribs, your stomach, each kiss slow, deliberate, as if he wants to memorize every inch of you.

You let out a soft sigh, fingers running through his hair, urging him closer as his lips continue their path lower. Your breath catches when his lips brush just above your stomach, the sensation making your body tremble beneath him. Harvey pauses for a moment, lifting his head, his eyes meeting yours.

"You're perfect," he murmurs, his voice low and rough, before kissing his way back up, his lips finding yours again in a searing kiss.

Harvey's hands slide over your body with a slow, deliberate touch, each movement sending a jolt of warmth through you. His lips follow the trail of his fingers, pressing gentle, hungry kisses against your neck, your collarbone-lingering on the sensitive skin beneath your ear.

"God, you're incredible," he whispers, his voice thick with desire. You shiver at the praise, the way his breath feels against your skin.

Your hands find their way to his body, his chest rising and falling in rhythm with your own hurried breaths. His lips are back on your skin, kissing and teasing their way down.

His hands slide down your sides, fingers brushing the edges of your body.

"Harvey," you gasp, pulling him closer, your fingers threading through his hair, your body arching into his. "Please..."

His eyes lock onto yours. "I need you to know how much l've wanted this," he says. "You're everything l've been trying not to want."

His lips press firmly against yours, stealing your breath as his hands move to the small of your back, pulling you impossibly close, as if there's no room left for anything but the two of you.

You run your hands down the length of his back, feeling the heat of his body.

You're breathless now, your heart racing as you let your hands slide down his chest, fingertips brushing the hard muscles beneath his skin. "You have me," you whisper, your voice a little shaky, but full of conviction. "And I don't think you'll ever be able to walk away from that, Harvey."

His lips crash back onto yours in a heated kiss, one that leaves you breathless and dizzy. His hands move to your waist, lifting you effortlessly and laying you back on the bed. Every movement between you is slow, deliberate, like he's savoring every moment, every kiss.

"I'm not going anywhere, Y/N," he murmurs against your lips. "Not now. Not ever."

You instinctively tilt your head up to kiss him, but he pulls back, leaving just enough space to make you ache for more.

"Do you really want me, Y/N?" he asks you.

Your grip on his neck tightens as you whisper softly. "You have no idea," you reply.

He laughs softly. "Good," he says , pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth before pulling back once more. "Because I'm not done with you yet."

You pout.

"So impatient, angel..." he teases, glancing at you. "I thought you liked taking things slow."

"Harvey... Please..." you whisper.

He smiles and kisses your soft lips again, this time more gentle and slow.

"Are you sure you want this, Y/N?"

"You... you don't know how much I needed you all this time."

He stood just inches away, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that could break through steel.

“You know,” he began, his voice barely above a whisper but deep enough to send a shiver down your spine, “I’ve won a hundred cases, closed deals worth billions, and walked into rooms knowing I’d come out on top.”

He paused, exhaling slowly.

“But standing here with you—right now—it’s the first time I’ve felt afraid. Not afraid to lose, but afraid of what it means to finally win. To finally have you."

He reached out, his fingers brushing against yours, igniting a spark that seemed to fill the entire room. “Because with you, it’s never been a game. It’s everything.”

For a moment, the only sound was the slow, rhythmic beat of your hearts.

And then, you wrapped your arms around him and kissed him.

He takes of your skirt and throws it across the room as you undo his belt and take off his pants.

You take off your own underwear as he does the same. You look down and damn, he was big.

"Y/N..." he whispers your name before kissing you hungrily.

"I know..." you bite his bottom lip.

He looks at you with those beautiful brown eyes and slowly enters inside you.

You both moan at the sensation and you wrap his legs around his waist.

"Oh, fuck..." he lets out a soft whimper. "You're so tight," he kisses you.

You smile and lift your hips slowly. He starts to push his cock into your pussy, stretching you out like no one ever could.

You moan at the feeling of him inside you. Gosh, how much you waited for this. How much you imagined this, daydreaming about it. But it was so, so much better.

He adds two of his fingers on your clit as he continues to push in and out of you.

"Deeper," you manage to say in between moans.

"Princess..." he kisses your neck, biting your soft skin. "I..." he smiles.

"Yes, baby boy?" you praise him.

And well, you didn't know that was one of his weak spots. But you sure discovered that when he pushed deeper into you, squeezing the pillow behind your head.

He trembles slowly and kisses your lips.

"What did you say?" he teases you.

You bite your lips as you smile. "Baby boy?"

"Mhm..." he kisses you, passionately and hungrily.

"Fuck, Harvey..." you moan louder. "I'm close."

"Me too, baby, me too." he bit your bottom lip.

As he pushed inside your wet pussy, you came, trembling.

"Harvey!" you scream his name in pleasure.

"Yes, that's it. Come on, baby," he doesn't stop. "Fuck, I'm coming too."

He closed his eyes and let out a soft moan as he came inside you, his warm cum filling you up.

He kissed you before he collapsed beside you.

You lay against Harvey, your head resting on his chest, the rise and fall of his breathing slowly bringing you both back to reality.

Harvey’s hand, warm and steady, was lightly grazing your back, his fingers drawing gentle patterns along your skin. His thumb brushed over the curve of your spine, the touch soothing and tender.

“Love..." Harvey murmured, his voice low and soft. "Are you okay?”

You nodded against his chest, feeling his muscles flex as his arm tightened slightly around you, pulling you a little closer. “Yeah,” you whispered back. “Just… you’re good at that.”

He chuckled, but there was no smugness in it, only warmth. “I know,” he replied, teasing just a bit. “But seriously, I want to make sure you’re okay. Anything that you need, my princess?"

His hand moved to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers grazing your skin with tenderness.

“I’m good,” you said, meeting his eyes with a smile. “Better than good, actually.”

Harvey grinned, and for a second, it was as if you saw a hint of something more vulnerable behind those sharp, dark eyes. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, lingering there for just a moment before pulling you even closer.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured, his voice soft and full of affection.

You felt your heart soften at his words. It was rare for him to be this open, to be this tender, but in that moment, it felt right. You shifted to look up at him, smiling.

“Do you mean that?” you asked, your voice quiet but full of sincerity.

He met your gaze with an intensity that matched the depth of his feelings. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”

You could feel the security in his words, the comfort in his touch. Harvey Specter, always the man who seemed to have everything under control, had a way of making you feel cared for in a way that only he could.

After a few moments of quiet, you sighed contentedly, snuggling even closer. Harvey shifted beneath you, adjusting so that your head was resting more comfortably against his chest. He kissed the top of your head, and for the first time that night, you both just relaxed, letting the peace of the moment wash over you.

He leaned down to kiss you, slow and deep. The kiss was different this time—gentler, filled with more meaning than anything physical. It was a kiss of assurance, of love, of something real.

You hummed, a small, content sound escaping your lips as your body surrendered to the warmth and comfort. The next thing you knew, your breathing had evened out, your mind had quieted, and you were drifting into sleep.

But just as you were about to slip fully into dreamland, you heard Harvey’s voice again—so soft, so tender, it made your heart skip a beat.

“I love you, angel,” he whispered, his words meant only for you, his breath warm against your skin. “More than you’ll ever know.”

And with that promise, you closed your eyes, your body finally settling into the safe haven of his arms.

[milliesfishes]

still have yet to read the book yet (probably will this weekend) but maybe something like you getting hurt on your vacation?? like i can imagine maybe you step on coral and get your foot cut real bad and so then there is the comforty fluffy part of him carrying you around so you don’t have to walk after the angst of him trying to get you to relax when you’re panicking at all the blood (little no clue if this is in character but it’s cute regardless lmao)

this is from. a long time ago. but it's cute I love you Phantom🫶

⋆౨ৎyou get hurt on vacation with alex⋆౨ৎ fem reader x alex nilsen

Blood on the floor. You cursed yourself when you saw it trickling from your shoe, trying to lift your foot so there was less damage. The motel staff had enough to deal with without you bleeding all over the place.

Limping to the bathroom, you clenched your jaw as the pain sharpened on the underside of your foot. Trying to take deep breaths, you sat on the counter, leaning back against the mirror. It was cool against your head, and you tried to focus on that.

Your heart was stuttering in your chest as your breathing became shaky. Still salt-combed from the sea, your hair was dripping pearls of water down your shoulders onto your breasts. You hadn't bothered to put your shorts or tank top back on, mind too preoccupied with the problem at hand.

Were there even bandages in here? You doubted it. Kicking off your ruined shoes, you bent your leg so the damaged foot was resting on the counter. Reaching for a washcloth, you cringed as your blood stained it, but held it in place, putting pressure on the wound. Biting the inside of your cheek when the fabric met the gash, you held back a cry. It hurt, more than you'd have expected it to.

The door opened and shut, and you barely noticed. Eyes closed, you were trying to center yourself, somehow make the pain go away. Maybe if you focused, you would get used to it.

"Babe?"

You looked up, accidentally letting a tear slide down your cheek. It could have been mistaken for the other droplets on your face. Alex was standing in the bathroom doorway in his running shorts and shirt, earbuds and phone in hand. His collar was sweaty, hair sticking to his forehead. Seeing his furrowed brow, you had the urge to smooth it out with your thumb.

"I'm okay Alex, I just-" He was already coming over, setting his phone on the counter with a clatter and leaning over to examine your foot. The washcloth had a big red spot in it where the blood had soaked through.

He tried to be gentle as he peeled it away, but you whimpered, grabbing his wrist. "Don't."

"Shh, I know, I know it hurts," he soothed, voice soft. Alex very carefully removed the rest, your hand squeezing his wrist the whole time. You took in shaky breaths as he held your foot, lowering it from the counter as he knelt in front of you. His touch was so delicate that you almost cried for a different reason. When he looked up at you, blue eyes so worried, you did shed another tear and he lifted his other hand to your knee, rubbing gently. "What happened?"

Sniffling, you brushed away another tear. Somehow his presence numbed some of the pain. Or maybe it was your anxiety put at ease because he was here. Either way, you didn't feel as hopeless anymore. "I just wanted to go swimming...and when I got out...there was a sharp rock and I didn't see it..." You swallowed, trying not to cry more. "This is gonna ruin the rest of our trip-"

"No, no," Alex shook his head, his expression reassuring. "Sweetheart, it's not gonna ruin anything. This is just another adventure, okay?" His thumb drew a soothing pattern into your knee. "We're gonna laugh about this someday, right?" He was repeating something you'd said to him several times when something bad happened, and it made your lips turn up a tiny bit.

Alex reached for a clean washcloth, folding it over and holding it carefully to your wound. He leaned up, kissing your knee, resting his chin there. Your shoulders slumped and you smoothed back his hair, as a distraction. Leaning his head forward, he dropped his lips to your lower thigh, nose smushing there.

For a moment it was just that- his head on your leg, hands gently holding the washcloth to your foot. You breathed in softly, the weight of his head on your bare leg a comforting thing.

Lifting his head, Alex put one hand on your knee, scratching gently as he took another look at the gash. "Okay. It doesn't look too deep, it's just bleeding a lot." He reached for your hand, kissing the knuckles. "I'm gonna go see if the front desk has any bandages, okay? Will you be alright for a minute?" When you nodded, he tucked your leg back into its original position, making sure you were holding the washcloth before he let go.

Kissing you on the forehead, he left with the promise to be back soon. You breathed easier, leaning against the mirror again. It was miraculous how he could fix what had felt like the end of the world.

When he returned, bandages in hand, it was like your guardian angel had arrived. Alex stood this time, dabbing medicine onto the gash, wrapping your foot snugly and bending over to kiss it once he was done. "There. All better, cutie." He hooked his hands under your knees, sliding you forward so they were hooked around his hips. "C'mere."

You sniffled, leaning into him as he hugged you tight, hardly registering how sweaty he still was. With your head in the crook of his shoulder, you realized now it was less leftover from his run and more because he was worried. You clung to him tighter once you realized.

He pressed a kiss to your temple, rubbing his hand up your back. "I'm gonna shower really quick. Do you wanna go back to the bedroom or stay here?"

"Here," you decided immediately, crossing your ankles over his back.

"Okay." Alex squeezed your thigh, gently removing your legs and disappearing into the other room. He kicked off his running shoes on the way, leaving them by the door. You heard the drawers opening and closing, and then he was returning with clothes for both of you, underwear included. "Here, you can take your swimsuit off." He chucked you under the chin, thumb lingering. "It looks pretty, but I know you wanna get out of it."

Smiling lovingly at him, you returned his kiss when he gave it. While he stripped himself of his clothes, you worked your swimsuit off, replacing it with your underwear. He handed you your hairbrush when you reached for it, leaning over to start the shower. You pulled the brush through your hair, giving him a squinty-eyed smile when he kissed your cheek before pulling back the curtain and getting in.

He showered quickly, and when he got out, hair curly and sticking to his forehead, you were fully dressed, hair brushed out and drying. Alex toweled off and pulled his clothes on, reaching for you and murmuring, "Still hurting?"

"A little," you admitted, not wanting to make it seem worse than it really was. "Just...it's okay. I can probably walk on it."

"Uh uh." Alex pulled you forward and re-wrapped your legs around him. "You shouldn't have to walk at all right now." He lifted you off the counter, carrying you into the next room. When you opened your mouth to protest, he silenced you with a kiss to your nose. "I took my pills. It's fine."

Though the logistics were shaky, the walk was so short that you didn't say anything more. He set you down, easing a pillow under your foot and grabbing his laptop, starting to type with one hand while sliding his other arm around you. "We'll watch one movie and then we can try walking, okay?"

You cuddled under his arm, pressing a kiss to his chest and resting your head there. Already, your foot was starting to throb a little less. He kissed your forehead as the opening credits began to roll on his laptop, running his hand up and down your arm.

His skin was warm from his shower, and you inhaled softly, the scent of his soap only calming you further. And as he held you close, checking in every few minutes and looking over at your foot, you got the overwhelming sense that he would always take care of you.

No matter what.

[bunji-enthusiast]

Could you do Tristan Lancelot and nasiens jealousy hc thing where someone is jealous of there relationship with their s/o and tries break the relationship up

“What? Hell No!”

Jealousy can be quite the unhealthy thing sometimes, particularly within or toward relationships. Each section may vary on length due to how well I was inspired, I also just used a random name for the jealous person in question.

Anyway, hope this is to your liking! :)

𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧 𝐋𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬

A deep unearthly heart, cries to the walls that confined it. The deep gestures were rather wounding, royal and peasant. The little insipid peanut was touching Tristan! You had dared to touch the prince of Liones, when you were meant to be far away from the white-haired prince.

No wonder, that you had unwillingly earned the glares and discontent from unsuspecting onlookers whom deigned your affection from one another. It wasn't really that easy to simply shake off, way too hard to do so anyway. You just tried to stay calm, and smile like you always do when you were around your lover, but you couldn't suppress the chill up your spine you get when you even garnered an ounce of affection toward Tristan.

Surely though, you were bound to be casted with such glares, you were prepared an expected such a thing since it was known and obvious that your relationship with Tristan existed. Just more out in the open now.

Yet, within the days passing you were unsure if you could handle the unbearable extent of the pressure. But you didn't want to bring up you worries with Tristan, after all, he had enough on his plate as a knight of apocalypse. But it was then and there, that you wondered just how long this cold go on before the gaze of your jealous onlooker only remained that -- a gaze. You wondered if they were truly going to act on their intent.

Tristan Liones, the prince of Liones, was nestled in a secluded garden of the palace with you, his significant other, enjoying a rare moment of peace. The garden, lush and blooming under the soft golden light of the setting sun, provided a tranquil refuge from the whirlwind of royal duties and battles. Tristan, in his usual blue and gold attire with his long silver hair catching the sunlight, had his arm wrapped around you, his expression relaxed and his usual stern demeanor softened by your presence.

As you both laughed over a shared joke, the sound of footsteps on the gravel path alerted you to an unwelcome presence. From the shadows, a figure emerged—Elara, a once-trusted noblewoman from a neighboring kingdom with a burning jealousy in her eyes. She had long harbored resentment toward the relationship between you and Tristan, feeling that she deserved his attention and favor more than anyone.

Underneath her graceful exterior, a dark, scheming intent brewed. She approached with a false smile, her voice dripping with honeyed malice as she inquired about your plans for the upcoming royal event.

You had already stepped forward and began your conversation with Elara, leaving Tristan to watch the both of you as it went.

"So, what do you plan to do? I could help you pick out a dress," Elara said, grinning as she held out her hand toward you. You shrugged, somewhat deigning confusion.

"That's really nice of you, but I think I got it." You nodded, putting your hands on your hips. "But I'm happy to see you there, right?"

Beneath, her blood almost boiled with anger and resentment. Elara was oh so close to just merely getting rid of you, but she sighed, gritting her teeth through a forced smile.

"Yes, I do hope to see you there."

Tristan’s gaze sharpened, sensing the underlying hostility. He gently squeezed your hand, his protective instincts kicking in. You turned your gaze, albeit subtly as you had noticed the squeezing of your hand right as can be.

Unperturbed, Elara proceeded with her veiled threats and subtle manipulations, trying to sow discord and drive a wedge between you and Tristan.

Her attempt was not just about personal gain but also a strategic move to destabilize the harmony within the royal family, hoping to exploit any cracks she could create.

Tristan's blue and emerald eyes, usually calm, now glinted with a stormy intensity as he silently vowed to shield you from her venomous schemes. His resolve was palpable, a mix of fierce loyalty and the unyielding determination of a prince and Holy Knight, ready to confront any threat to protect the love that meant the world to him. It truly was quite the complicated world to be in, when it came to royal and civilian (albeit you being a fellow knight) relationships.

Pressure was something undoubtedly difficult.

𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐭

Honestly, it would be a rarity to figure out that there would be anyone that would hold any jealousy of your relationship together. There isn't a lot alive who know about Lancelot, as he doesn't hold a lot of popularity among being the prince of Benwick. But there if there is, it could be a few former fairy friends that Lancelot used to have.

Among the thresholds of cruelty and malcontent, he may as well have stopped being friends with the insipid fairies for good reason. At each corner, at each four ends of the world he could only find liars and cheaters. Which had, at least casted him as an outlier due to his high walls and blunt aspect of his personality.

When word spread to the tiny nestled kingdom, or perhaps even throughout the land where there is those whom know him. It is full of surprise, his parents were both surprised but happy for their boy, and there are those who are just very much cool about the news. A small speck of resentment and jealousy had sparked however.

You certainly didn't expect to have such chills washing over you, the rubbish goose-bumps appearing then leaving as they were. It had left you wondering for sure, and they had only happened whenever you were near or even close to Lancelot.

Even if you had known about whomever seemed to be jealous of you two, Lancelot had already handled and took care of the situation. Reasonably, of course, he wasn't ill-mannered after all.

It was apparently to your surprise Cedric, one of Lancelot's former fairy friends, if he could even call them that however. Though, he had calmly resolved the situation and heard out Cedric, and from there had managed to direct him to better people to help manage his issues.

Cedric was one of his old friends back before he disappeared alongside with his attendant Jericho, and in knowing how suddenly powerful and strong he's got, loosely in the know about the extent of his chivalry (even toward you, but you knew how awkward Lance could be sometimes) as well.. had made Cedric jealous. So the fairy ended up confronting the blonde prince.

𝐍𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐬

There really isn't an ounce of jealousy or resentment that could be felt from anyone around you, Nasiens couldn't feel anything about it. They simply felt nothing, otherwise they were pretty much happy and content with their relationship with you.

If there truly was any jealousy that could be found, it would probably be hints of envy from Nasiens' friends that they somehow had found a lover or had been far more established way before they all did.

[lorelune]

(a continuation of this piece)

"i was surprised that you were late today."

jing yuan says halfway through lunch. he speaks over the rim of his teacup. his lips are curled in an easy, gentle smile. his shoulders are relaxed, posture slack as he leans against his own bent leg.

he's barely touched his meal.

(you have a full bowl as well.)

"i got caught up with work." a lie. a blatant one. you're never late for lunches, and you always let jing yuan know if you even have an inkling of being a few minutes past your appointed time. you're careful about it. meticulous.

your visit to blade has made you careless. dulled you with a grief that is eating you alive.

jing yuan hums thoughtfully. you hope he won't press this. he's-- he's an unusually calm character when he wants to be. you're his lover-- dutifully, horribly reliable and loyal. he has no reason to doubt you.

(except, you'd spent the first half of the day in the shackling prison with its beau acratic hoops and horrors, all to see yingxing. to be heartbroken all over again.)

you thought it would bring you some closure. in retrospect, this was more wishful thinking. all its left you with is an hot, branding ache in your chest. a wound ripped open anew. it had already scarred over, albeit imperfectly healed.

(jing yuan never minded this. he could tell he carried things with you, he'd both told and shown you this. and truthfully, how could you not? being undying does not lend itself to happiness. it lends itself to an accumulation of sin that cannot be undone. cannot be lessened.)

"dear?" jing yuan asks, voice mirthful and sweet. "are you with me?"

"yes." you force yourself present. you hope your eyes aren't too puffy. "i am distracted. what did you say?"

"i asked you what kept you at work." jing yuan asks, so easy. so kind. "if lady fu is working you to hard, i am happy to arrange a few days off for you. is a vacation in order?"

"no, it's alright." you rush, stumble over your words. "i should've planned better is all. how is your lunch?"

jing yuan rests his chin on his palm, "i'm not very hungry today. i apologize, dearest."

"you don't need to apologize. it happens." you assure him. "i'll make you a meal tomorrow. just let me know what you're in the mood for."

"you spoil me."

"i simply treat you well." you tell him. you're grateful you're able to. that the general lets you close enough to cook for him and feed him morsels and lounge on his personal terrace in the artificial sun each day during noontime.

"you do." jing yuan says softly. reverent. he gets like this sometimes. moony and a little dumb about it. so genuine and earnest it breaks you.

(it makes your lie feel that much more sour.)

jing yuan opens his mouth to say more, but promptly redirects as yanqing arrives, swords floating around his back. he and the general talk, carouse for a moment. yanqing has had yet another day of sparring. that's good. that's nice.

(yingxing doesn't remember you. only you are burdened with this memory. will this feeling eat you alive? it's-- it feels worse than it did when you were younger. more naive. when things fell apart and you were burdened with standing by and watching the world you loved so much, with the people you loved so much fall apart. even jing yuan was away, making a name for himself. proving his worth.)

(you alone bear this.)

your chest aches.

jing yuan is at your side. you hadn't noticed him approach you so directly.

"dearest, walk with me?" jing yuan asks and offers you a hand to help you stand. yanqing is already tucking into his meal, waving goodbye.

the terrace is wide, and high above the rest of the luofu's structure. it's lush with plants. vining fruits, plump and ready to be picked curl along its railing. flowers bloom wide and bright.

(you wish you could focus on the beauty of it. how kind a place this is. how fortunate you are to have made it this far.)

"you're distracted today." jing yuan says, guiding you to a bench. his hand lays warm and firm on your shoulder. "are you sure the divination commission is giving you trouble?"

(no, the mutual past lover you both share is layers below you in the shackling prison. radiating an energy that feels astral and unholy. the kindness purged from him. yingxing really is dead, isn't he?)

"no, i promise." you give him a half-truth and a smile that you hope isn't as withered as you fear it is.

jing yuan looks pleasantly neutral. perhaps, if you were some foreign diplomatic or tourist you'd be charmed by such expression. the arbiter general of the luofu is known to be ruthless in battle with a lovely personal disposition. perhaps you'd see this moment as a reflection of that rumor.

you know, however, that in this moment jing yuan is frustrated. he will not treat you with the same firmness that he does his retainer or his subordinates, but you know the feeling is, perhaps, the same.

jing yuan doesn't like when you withhold information. he has always vocally appreciated your candor, with a sweet honesty that's disarming as it comes from a man who speaks in half-truths so frequently.

and now, you lie to him. your jaw is locked and your eyes still feel scratchy and swollen from your tears.

jing yuan begins to speak and you cut him off. grab his hand with a squeeze and pull yourself into his side.

"do you remember when you broke the first blade that yingxing made for you?" you ask.

jing yuan goes still for a moment. just a second of hesitation but you catch it. the feeling melts away as he laughs, tinged with melancholy. "i do. he was furious with me. and you had to collect new ore off-ship for a month for him to craft a replacement."

"i did." you whine with a laugh. "it was miserable. 'roid mining is awful. i was cleaning astradust from under my fingernails for weeks when i got back."

"but, you came back with the ore regardless."

"yes, and i never did again. no matter how much yingxing tried to bribe me."

"you were too busy entertaining the young lady fu to be his errand boy. i remember well."

"i probably could've made the time." you tell him. he knows this already. "i just didn't want to be away. i would've missed you both too much."

"is that why you so graciously eat with me each day?"

"i do that because i love you." you squeeze his hand. "and i enjoy your company. and want to be near you."

(you want to hold him until the last moment, however that takes shape.)

jing yuan hums. he fits you so your cheek presses against his collarbone, and his chin rests on the top of your hand. his arms wrap around your middle, squeezing and rubbing his thumbs over you. he holds you tightly to him.

"the feeling is mutual." jing yuan tells you, soft in a hushed voice only you get to hear.

you bear your weight into him. he catches you easily. holds you until yanqing calls for you both to stop being so 'gross' and to 'rate his form' on a new maneuveur he's been practicing.

jing yuan leads you once more, never fully pulling away from you. a hand on your waist, a palm over the small of your back. he puts you in his lap the moment yanqing excuses himself to flit about.

"you need to get back to the divination commission soon, don't you?" jing yuan asks, probing.

"i took the day off."

"you did, now?" jing yuan has already seen through you. this you know.

"yes." you tell him.

(you want to tell him more. you want to scream and beat the ground. perhaps you willl, later, in the privacy of your shared home.)

for now, you satiate the ache with the truth.

"i saw blade earlier. that's why i was late."

jing yuan squeezes you. it almost hurts as he curls over you.

"and?" jing yuan asks. there's a weakness in his voice that you seldom hear. "are you satisfied?"

"hardly." you tell him, turning his arms to wrap your legs around his waist. to drag him closer until your chest to chest and can hear the steady heartbeat thumping under his sternum. "i don't think i ever will be. i miss him too much. he's just gone."

"i know."

"it's awful, isn't it?"

"it simply is." jing yuan says. this is his way-- the way he has kept himself from being eaten alive by mara. you cannot be cannibalized by the thriving rot if you simply choose to let go of the awful, terrible things that would cleave another person in two. he look at the objective rationality of each situation-- this is why he is the longest-lived general. this is why he is a brilliant strategist, and a soft, grounding lover.

because, he reminds you that yingxing is dead, and any fondness you carry for the man known as blade is misplaced.

"do you not miss him?"

"of course." jing yuan kisses your temple. holds you tightly lest you plunge into the ground or float into the sky. "that does not change things though, does it?"

hope is a twisted thing, you think. in this instance, it's better to kill it. whatever mission yingxing-- no, blade has set out to complete should not concern you. there are greater crises. worse ills.

kinder realities that lay in front of you. at your feet. in your arms.

you nose into jing yuan's jaw. each shuddering breath he gives you, you savor. there's no use clinging, is there? but that doesn't mean you won't enjoy each moment you have with him. you'll be at his side until the divinations carve that that will no longer be possible. you will reminisce, however painful-- but aeons, you must refuse to let your past burden you.

so, you hold jing yuan like a lover does. cup his cheeks and kiss him until he's groaning against your lips, grinding you in his lap. he nips at your lips with a laugh as he pulls you flush to him. closer, closer, closer--

you will hold this in your cupped palms, as long as fate allows. perhaps, you both have earned that much.

[xoxoavenger]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!! 🎁🎈🎂🎉🎊 I loved Try Me (Matt Murdock x Reader), I was wondering if maybe you could write a sequel? I could see an intimate moment where she’s feeding him the soup she made and taking care of him, potentially with the hilarity of Foggy finding out he’s got two super powered friends

thanks! hopefully this is what you were looking for, I had fun writing it!

Ask Me

pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

word count: 1099

warnings: none

part 1

birthday masterlist main masterlist

"I can't believe you're Daredevil." She mutters as she ladles the soup into a bowl. She made a broth more than a soup because she didn't have time to cut the vegetables, but it'll do the trick. She also didn't know the extent of Matt's injures, and she didn't want him to have trouble eating anything. "Does Foggy know?" She asks as she brings the bowl over to the couch.

"Yes," Matt chuckles, but his teeth are clenched in pain. She kneels next to the couch and she is still shocked by his injuries, even though she's already seen them. He has a large cut across his chest, and resists the urge to touch it.

She watches Matt try to sit up, but he's clearly in too much pain. She puts the soup on the ground in favor of helping him up. She tries not to let her pulse rush as she touches his bare back and bicep, pulling him up gently until he is sitting up enough to eat.

"Here, let's get you some food." She tells him, spooning some broth and then carefully helping him eat some. It's so quiet in the apartment that she swears she can feel her own heart race as she feeds Matt. They're close, and her brain is reeling with the thought of how Matt, and blind man, can be a vigilante.

"I think that's good." Matt groans when they're about three fourths of the way though the bowl. She gets up to put the bowl away and grab a warm, wet cloth.

"How are you Daredevil?" She asks, sinking down to her knees again and beginning to wipe off the blood around his wounds.

"Are you asking if I'm actually blind?" He questions, but he's smiling, so she can tell he's joking. 

"I know you're blind, Matt." She says with a small sigh. She's seen his unfocused eyes too many times to think he was just preteneding. 

"All my other senses are heightened." He tells her, tensing as she begins to wipe a big, deep cut. She hopes that soon her healing food will kick in; she's never seen it help on this level, and she's worried it won't work as well as Matt is hoping it will.

"So, you can hear really good?" She asks, wondering what exactly that means. He shrugs, smiling a little bit.

"And smell, and taste. And feel. I have to have specific sheets because of how sensitive my skin is." He's feeling better, she can tell, and it makes her smile.

"How did figure it out?" She asks quietly. She's had these powers ever since she can remember, but she'd never told anyone and no one ever figured it out either. This is a first, sharing a gift, and she can't help but feel a little scared.

"That your food could heal people?" He clarifies. She almost nods, but then catches herself.

"Yeah," She confirms.

"You asked me what happened again the day after you first gave me the croissant, as if you knew it should have gone away. And I usually have accelerated healing anyway, but not that fast. You wouldn't have known that." He's starting to relax more, and she knows he needs to get some sleep soon.

"You wanna move to the bed?" She asks, putting the cloth down and preparing to move him. Before he can answer, Foggy comes stomping back in.

"So both of my best friends are super heroes?" He yells, throwing the drugstore bag in their general direction. Y/N's eyes widen as Foggy walks to them.

"I am not a super hero." Y/N clarifies.

"I wouldn't classify myself as one either." Matt interjects, a hand out to stop Foggy's rant. It does nothing, and Foggy soldiers on.

"You can feel, hear, and smell things no human should be able to feel, hear, and smell." He points at Matt, who raises an eyebrow. "And you can heal people with your food, that you've been feeding me for months!" Foggy moves to Y/N, and she just shakes her head.

"Have you ever wondered why you haven't gotten sick in months?" She asks, and he just scoffs.

"That proves my point!" He screams. Y/N and Matt shake their heads, Matt smirking.

"Foggy, neither of us are superheroes. You don't need to freak out." Matt tries to calm him down, but Foggy just gets more worked up.

"Are you kidding me? You could be Avengers for all I know!" Foggy grabs the bag that he had thrown and begins to get some of the bandages and Neosporin out to help Matt.

"Oh my God," Y/N groans, rolling her eyes and putting her head in her hands. Honestly, Foggy freaking out was kinda funny, but she isn't sure if he's being serious now or not.

"We're not Avengers, Foggy." Matt chuckles, and Y/N begins to put bandages over Matt's injuries.

"Well I just don't know that, do I?" Foggy looks over at the pot on the stove, walking over there quickly. "What did you make?"

"Just a quick broth. I wanted to get Matt something quick." She tells Foggy as she begins to focus on the task at hand.

"Is this why I haven't gotten paper cuts?" Foggy asks as he ladles a little soup out for himself.

"It doesn't make you skin extra strong, Fog." Matt tells him as she continues bandaging him up. Her hands brushing his skin make Matt want to crawl out of his skin in a good way, which didn't make sense until this very moment.

"Did I hurt you?" Y/N asks softly when he tenses.

"No," He mutters, putting a hand on her wrist to stop her. "It's okay, I think the big ones are taken care of." He just wants to lay down and sleep it off now, but he wants to ask her one more thing.

"Let me help you to your room." She offers, and together, with him leaning on her, they make it to Matt's room.

"What are you doing tomorrow?" He asks as they sit down. He can feel the heat begin to flush her cheeks, her heart beginning to race. He's worried still that maybe she feels uncomfortable until she responds.

"Working." She thinks she's funny, and Matt chuckles.

"Do you want to go to Josie's with me tomorrow night?" He asks, and she ducks her head and smiles.

"As long as my boss lets me off on time." She says, nudging him with her shoulder.

"I'll talk to him." He tells her, both of them smiling hard enough that their cheeks hurt.

//

tags: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187  @one-sweet-gubler @thefandomplace  @mcueveryday @icequeen1371 @kenzi-woycehoski @multifandom-boss-bitch

[rottenimagines]

NIGHTFALL WITH NEGAN

Summary: your first encounter with Negan in the Dead City universe. That tall, strange man walks into the abandoned library that has been your refuge for the past few months, in the middle of the night.

(Little disclaimer: English is not my native language, but I try my best, I promise♡)  

.

.

“Who are you?!” The girl points her gun at him immediately.

“Woah, woah, hold your horses, sweetheart”. Negan replies in good spirits and not even bothered by the fact the girl is pointing a gun at his face right now. He raises his hands with a small mocking smirk. “Just some guy figurin' a library's a better spot than a cornfield for takin' cover.”

He then leans back against the wall of the old library, “and who might you be? Besides the girl with the gun, of course.”

“I'm the girl who's gonna make a window in your forehead if you don't scram, asshole.” She shakes the gun to emphasize her point, trying to seem tough and imposing, but as she takes a step forward, the wound on her leg opens and her bandage begins to turn red. She winces in pain.

Negan lets out a friendly chuckle. However, when he notices her limping in pain, he starts to feel sorry for her and stops.

“Oh dang, seems like someone's dealing with a bum leg. Need a hand with that, instead of tossin' around threats about holes in my head, darlin'?” He asks her in the most charming voice he can muster in this situation.

She steps back without lowering the gun. “Stay away! Just… Leave. This is my place.”

“And who are you to claim an abandoned library like it’s your property?” Negan asks with a smirk, still relaxed and trying to charm her again.

“Besides…” he gestures towards her injured leg, trying to get closer to her, “your leg doesn‘t look so good, how about I take a look? Come on, you might just lose it if you don't get some help.”

She hesitates for a few seconds, but the pain is too intense to even think straight now. “You are a doctor?”

Negan slowly starts approaching her again.

“I can patch people up a bit, sure”. He looks at her injured leg then and his eyes soften, his grin is still on his face, but he has become more sympathetic in his tone and doesn’t look threatening anymore.

“Mind if I check it out? I swear I'll be easy on it”, he asks while moving closer to her.

“I swear to God, if you pull anything…”

Negan chuckles and shakes his head, still approaching her, but keeping a good distance so she feels comfortable enough.

“Relax, I just wanna lend a hand, that's it. I ain't a threat to you”, he tells her while finally standing in front of her and kneeling down. He looks up into her eyes. “May I take off the bandage? Then we can figure out if it’s bad or not first.”

She sighs, feeling the soreness from her wound, and discomforted by the unknown man kneeling in front of her. She lets him remove the bandage from her shinbone, but doesn't cease pointing the gun at him.

Negan takes the bandage off slowly and inspects her injured leg closely. He tries to be careful and gentle, but when he touches her skin around the wound he can feel how tense her muscles are.

“I can already tell it’s bad”. He mumbles, with a concerned look as he gently looks up in her eyes. “You didn’t disinfect it for some time, did you?”

she shakes her head no.

Negan sighs and then slowly starts to disinfect the wound himself, being as gentle as he can. While he’s treating her wound he still keeps her attention by talking.

“Do you have a name?” he asks her gently, “besides the girl with the gun, I mean.”

She shakes her head again, while still trying to stay stoic and still, despites the pain. Her lower leg looks really bad.

“None your business.”

Negan notices how she tries to stay stoic while he treats her, but he also notices that she’s in pain; a lot of pain. His expression softens even more and he tries to make it not so uncomfy for her.

“Hmmm, okay…” He murmurs quietly and tries to smile at her a bit. “May I just call you something then? Otherwise this‘ll get kinda awkward, you know.”

“It won't because you're leaving. As I told you before, this place is mine.”

Negan doesn’t reply and continues to disinfect her wound, ignoring her.

Finally, he’s finished with all the cleaning and disinfecting processes and stands back up while still smiling at her.

“Alright…” He says with his friendly tone, “can I check if you can at least walk properly?”

He seems genuinely more concerned for her well being than the fact she still wants him to leave.

“I can. Now, grab your things and go”, she points the gun at him again.

Negan just smirks and shakes his head.

“Let me ask you something, sweetheart…” he moves a little closer to her again. He still holds his friendly smile and his tone is still very calm.

“Where am I gonna go? It’s still the apocalypse outside and it’s the middle of the night. You really want me to just leave and die in the wilderness?”

“I don't care, just-” She barely has time to respond when he swiftly strikes her arm, causing her to release the gun, which falls to the floor. Observing her poised to retaliate, he preemptively lands a forceful kick to her already injured leg, making her to collapse on the floor. She groans in a mixture of pain and frustration.

“You son of a bitch!”

Negan just chuckles softly and slowly steps towards her, now towering over her.

“Now now, no need to act so violent, darlin', let‘s just behave like civilized people, okay?” He says while giving her an encouraging grin. “I’m not gonna hurt you. Hell, I even fixed your leg, so why don’t you let me stay here for tonight? Pretty please?”

She sighs and looks around, searching for a compelling argument that might convince him to leave, but she can't find one. Pain clouds her mind, and fear and the mistrust feeling aren't making it any easier either. She gazes into his eyes once more.

“I know who you are. I've seen the posters in the city. The asshole they're looking for... It's you, isn't it?”

Negan nods at her, still smirking and not looking worried at all. On the contrary, he even seems somewhat proud of himself.

“Oh yeah, that’s me alright.” He says in a friendly tone, still not trying to seem threatening at all.

“Name’s Negan”

[naomihatake]

In search of freedom (Ch. 7)

7. What do you wish for?

⠀⠀➺ fic masterlist

⠀⠀➺ Chapter 6 ; Chapter 7 ; Chapter 8

⠀⠀⠀⠀She's been searching for freedom her entire life and everytime she thought it was laying right in front of her eyes, she was mistaken. She was running around the East Blue, seeking herself and her dreams, meeting people she never forgot. No matter how much she traveled, she could only catch a glimpse of peace before realizing everything would crumble at her feet.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Maybe it was destiny that brought her on that ship with three strangers — foolishly, that's what she tried to believe when the moon shined beautifully and hope settled in her chest, squeezed by the same ribcage where feelings were blooming.

Pairing: female!reader x OPLA Zoro Roronoa

Warnings for this chapter: angst, graphic depictions of deaths and fatal wounds, self-harm, brief suicidal mention, canon-typical violence, tiny bit comfort at the end

Word count: 8,4 k

Theme song: fic spotify playlist (click on the link)

A/N: I'm glad I could finish the chapter so early and there are some scenes in here that I really loved writing. Also, I want you to pay close attention to the fight Witch has with the fishman. The anime watchers and manga readers that got far enough with One Piece will probably get it faster ;)

I'd be happy to hear your opinions on this chapter. Every interaction is appreciated and thank you so much for sticking to this story till now <3

The reader is referred to as "Witch" because I have no intentions of using "Y/N".

"What is your dream?"

While she would've rather expected that question to come from Luffy, the tipsy Zoro by her side, leaned against the mast, seemed to be rather intrigued by her reasons to remain with Luffy. 

When she turned her head towards him, one of her suppositions was proved to be right: the stars above shone beautifully, but nothing could compare to the swordsman's brown eyes. In the dark, his dark chocolate irises were swallowed by pupils dark as the depths of the oceans. No. Dark and beautiful as the night sky she teared her gaze away from. 

Her silence could've been interpreted in many ways and Zoro might become suspicious, but his already flushed state seemed to swallow everything in. He only looked back at her. 

The witch couldn't exactly spot the specific aura of his gaze. He wasn't only flushed because of the alcohol, no. He seemed… soft, even. His shoulders were relaxed and the grip on the empty bottle loosened up. 

His question was simply something she didn't expect, as he was always down to earth, similarly to Nami. However, there was a tiny difference — he proudly admitted he wanted to become the strongest swordsman in the world. 

"I—," the word left her lips like a mere whisper. 

Her determination faltered under the weight of the alcohol. Until that moment, after sharing some ugly parts of her past, his remarks made her laugh and chuckle happily. 

"I want to be free."

One simple wish that could have so many connotations. 

"I don't see any rope around your wrists."

His voice was like a low rumble coming from the depths of his chest, such a pleasant and soothing sound. 

Their eye contact didn't break. Their gazes were locked together and she couldn't bring herself to be mad about it, especially when she was drunk enough to let vulnerable sides of her poor soul see the light of the stars. 

Faint, shy, but it was there. 

"I want to be free from myself and the expectations everyone has of me," she clarified. "Free from the rules of the world, written or unwritten. Free from the Marines that are now on my tail."

"Why did you become a pirate if you wanted to be free from the Navy?" 

"The sea always looked like a place where I could be free," she admitted with a weak voice. The same tiny voice her younger self used to have when dreaming of a future. 

Zoro knitted his eyebrows together and blinked, staring at the small beauty mark on her face he just noticed. He seemed deep in thought or rather trying to figure out the meaning of her words. 

He was rarely so concentrated outside of critical situations like fights. 

"Are you free now, then?" 

With a gulp, she shook her head. 

"No." 

One word. One heavy weight on her soul. 

"How do you wanna be free?" came another question from the swordsman. 

"I have no clue."

The cage around her was a metaphor. She always felt like iron bars squeezed her tighter and tighter, until she broke down, a situation that occurred only a few times a year and was always hidden from prying eyes. 

Realistically, there was no free place in that world. The Marine wasn't by any means as righteous as they wanted to look like and they were certainly not saviors. Of course, there were plenty of pirates that did nothing else but harm everyone and everything they laid eyes on. Some of them had ugly souls, dark and dirtied by greed. 

However, there were plenty of people that were so-called pirates and yet never harmed unless they had to protect someone. Like Luffy or Usopp. They never took anyone's life. 

Like her father. 

She wasn't one of those pirates. The witch has killed people, even if never solely for blood thirst. Or, at least, not yet. She deserved to die, to never see the light of a new day. 

A personal justice system — that's what she's always had, that's what she grew to learn about from the crew she left barely a year ago. 

Deep down, she knew she would never be free. There was no liberty for a monster. 

When she looked at Zoro, she also wanted him to taste freedom on his tongue. Maybe he already knew what that felt like. 

If she couldn't find her own freedom, she could settle for protecting her friends' freedom. That would be more than enough, right? 

"Aren't you at fault for your own lack of freedom?" Zoro pulled her out of her thoughts. 

His question might've sounded as insensitive and accusing, but she was aware the swordsman didn't mean it that way. He always had his own way with words and, unfortunately, he got misinterpreted most of the time. 

He was simply stating a probable truth. 

Then I suppose I should get rid of my—

No. There was no time to think of such things, even if she was drunk and vulnerable. Admitting that to his face would be shameful of her. 

Maybe she wasn't that ready to share secrets yet, was she? 

"I most probably am," the witch whispered as she averted her eyes back to the sky splattered with stars. "At the end of the day, I'm the only one taking into account what others say and how they affect me." 

She didn't know exactly how to pursue freedom, but she was certain of something else: if that beautiful future stood in front of her, Zoro was probably one of the ways to find out. 

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•

The witch wasn't able to find freedom if she died at that moment, with the blue hand of a fishman gripping at her throat. There was a lingering ache at the crown of her head from when he pushed her against the wall. 

Her eyes squeezed shut while life seemed to slip from her hold, the same way her fingers lost their force while clutching onto the fishman's forearm. She had to find a way to get out of there, to breathe, because her lungs were already begging for some oxygen. Her vision was getting blurry and the pain in her entire throat spread like fire through her body. 

Maybe it was because of her hyper-aware state, but she could swear the wound on her bicep was bloody again considering the sharp pain shooting through her arm. 

No. There was no time to die and beg for forgiveness — and whose forgiveness could she ask for if she stays alive? Exactly. No one's. 

The witch didn't know if she breathed in air or it just felt awfully familiar to that sensation, but her lungs suddenly swallowed something fresh and powerful. It ate the pain hungrily, destroying every doubt in her mind the more she thought of her promises, of the corpse of a father who still whispered in her dreams "go find your freedom".

The grip on the fishman's arm grew tighter, stronger, until her nails dug into the scales and penetrated them. Her fingers ached, the skin around her nails scratched harshly by the sharp broken scales. Fresh blood surfaced. 

Her eyes opened up slowly, burning with each one of her promises, this time including her own — If I can't find freedom, I'll make it. 

Every nerve in her body burnt and she tasted drugs on the tip of her tongue, an addiction threatening to clutch onto her and take control. 

Power. 

The witch has never been one to love power, to ache for it and yet, there she was, with a devil-like grin growing on her face. 

Power. 

It ate her alive and she loved that sensation. The steadiness of her heartbeats, the cage of ribs that broke to make place for that overwhelming feeling. 

Power will never take control of me. 

Her eyes bore holes through the fishman's entire being. There was no need for her revolver when two shining irises had the same effect. 

Her vision and mind has never been clearer. 

The fishman was struck. A weight settled on his shoulders, pulling him down, doubts flickering in his head. 

Claws sank into his eyes, into his face and throat, clutching at his heart, threatening to pull it out of his chest. 

The fishman stumbled and dropped her. 

His strong grip on her throat left blooming red marks. They were ugly and her neck felt tender, but her nerves didn't register the pain properly because of the adrenaline running through her veins. 

The witch immediately took the opportunity, despite the lack of air in her lungs. She crouched down to take her gun, but before she could shoot again, a loud sound got her attention. 

The door of the restaurant broke at the floor underneath her when Luffy got thrown right into it by Arlong.

On the side of the stairs where Usopp crawled down was Sanji struggling to get back up after he cracked his back at the harsh contact with a table. 

People were hiding under chairs and bars from the fishmen's wrath. 

Her anger was fueled by each single detail. One of her shoulders felt light, while the other was heavy. The monster lurking inside her had one eye open — the same one that pushed her to cuss out Mihawk back when Zoro got a cut through his chest. The same monster she wouldn't trade anything for, because wrath has always been her forte. 

The small flame of revenge started burning in the pits of her stomach. Steadily. Still vague, easy to control. 

She ran down the stairs and passed by Usopp, who was at that moment helping Sanji get on his feet. The witch got out of Baratie, suddenly stopping in her tracks when she saw Arlong standing a few meters in front of her. 

That fucker—

Luffy shouted something along the lines of Gum Gum and she knew that was his fight to deal with. 

However, it was a fight she didn't know if he would win at that time, considering the way Arlong only turned his head to the side when he got punched in the face by Luffy's fists. The fishman spat blood on the wooden floor while he stepped closer and closer to the Straw Hat. 

In a fraction, the punch Luffy received sent him flying in the sails of a boat and he fell down with a thud, grunting. It was stupid of him to provoke Arlong further, but Luffy has never been to give up or let his enemies feel the satisfaction of a victory without a proper fight. 

The witch wondered if her captain didn't break a rib or two after being punched and thrown around for so long. He still had the energy to throw his fists into Arlong's face with all he's got, using his rubber arms to attack from meters away. 

His Devil Fruit powers were definitely the only reason why he was alive. 

But not for much longer. 

Arlong muttered something with a growl and once he sank his hand in the water, the witch knew it wasn't going to end well. 

The fishman didn't just splash Luffy; no, he soaked the Straw Hat to the bone and the hit with both sea water and brute force got Luffy to the ground. It was his biggest weakness. 

The witch's eyes widened when she saw Arlong grabbing at Luffy's shirt and lifting him in the air, opening his mouth to reveal razor-sharp teeth. 

Her feet carried her for only a second and she almost shouted out for Luffy out of despair — she would rather be stabbed in the stomach countless times than feel helpless again. Out of instinct, the hand holding the gun raised, aiming at—

"Arlong, wait!" 

Nami. 

The witch snapped her head towards her friend. 

The orange-haired woman stomped her feet and came, leaving the Going Merry behind her. The tank-top she wore exposed a strange old tattoo on her left shoulder. She was clutching tightly onto a thin and long cylinder. 

"I have it," she addressed Arlong. "I have the map." 

The map. 

"I got it for you, just like I said I would."

The witch blinked away the confusion that almost made her hazy and stepped in front of Nami, stopping her from moving forward. 

"Nami," the witch knitted her eyebrows together. "What's going on?" 

Nami's eyes held no clear emotion besides a flicker of anger. 

"Exactly what you knew all along."

It was one of those times when the witch wished her tarot was wrong. 

She shook her head, one of her hands gripping at Nami's wrist. 

"Nami," the witch squeezed her friend's hand tighter, scared it would slip from between her fingers. 

"Let go."

Nami snatched her arm out of the witch's hold and her jaw ticked. She wasn't only annoyed, there had to be more in her eyes. 

"You cannot possibly tell me you want to do this," the witch insisted, stepping even closer, until she was one breath away from the navigator. 

Their intense gazes clashed together and none of them let the walls fall. 

"But here I am, ain't I?" Nami cocked an eyebrow. 

When the orange-haired passed by, her shoulder collided harshly with the witch's who was still stuck in place. 

No fucking way. 

The witch needed time to think, she had to search for some clarification with her tarot cards. She needed more time to read the energy, to figure out the situation, to understand what, where, why and when. Nothing made sense and time passed by so fast she couldn't even process it all. 

Luffy was so disoriented he didn't even pour enough force in his hands to get rid of Arlong's grip on the collar of his shirt. 

"Nami?" he firmly spoke. "What are you doing?"

"I tried to tell you, Luffy," Nami continued walking towards him. "I was never on Your crew. I only joined up with you so I could steal the map." 

"I don't believe that," Luffy denied. 

"That's because you only believe what you want to believe. Doesn't make it true."

Nami, for fuck's sake, we both know you're lying—

The witch opened her mouth, ready to argue, to yell from the top of her lungs, but with one glance thrown to Arlong, she stopped. Saying the wrong thing might get Nami in great danger and she might lose credibility in front of him. 

"Sister Nami's a loyal member of the Arlong Pirates," Arlong started speaking, pointing with his chin towards the one in question. "She has been for years."

The witch didn't know why she still protected Nami, but she was certainly not going to give up on her friend at that time. 

Nami shoved the map in Arlong's nose to get his attention to her — or maybe the witch has gotten to another level of delusion. 

"Why waste your time killing a Devil Fruit eater?" Nami reminded the fishman as if it wasn't a death sentence. "Let the sea do it for you."

"Nami, this is too far, cut the crap—" the witch revolted immediately. 

Before she could make any step towards Luffy, she was grabbed by the back of her neck and launched into the wall of Baratie with sheer force — it was one of Arlong's asshole crewmates. She groaned in pain and squeezed her eyes. The shoulder she fell on sent sharp spikes through the entire left side of her body. 

She cussed out, struggling to get back to her feet when Arlong let Luffy drown in the sea. The witch let out a shout of the Straw Hat's name and one of her knees betrayed her, resulting in another unceremonious fall to the ground. 

Lucky for her, an arm curled around her front to help her up, a silver ring resting on the finger of the man. 

"Luffy fell in the water, go now!" she didn't even wait to be properly raised to her feet to urge Sanji to jump. 

Her aching body and the lack of strength wouldn't help her get Luffy out of the sea. She didn't even clearly notice when the cook left her side and jumped into the sea, too caught up in the agitation inside of her. Events passed by her faster than light. All she saw was a discarded shirt. 

She wasn't sure because of what powers she managed to walk on the deck, at the edge where the other two should appear from under the water. Her head turned when she recognized Usopp from her peripherals.

"Luffy?" he asked, panic building up as his hands shook. 

The witch would have responded if not for the answer to appear right under their noses. Sanji held Luffy tightly by the collar and pushed him on the dock with Usopp's help who dragged him. 

The witch extended her hand to bring Sanji on the dock with them and since then, things turned blurry despite her open eyes. 

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•

Now the only woman in the crew, the witch sat on the floor in the room that used to be Nami's, her back leaning back against the wooden wall. With eyes devoid of life, she stared up at the ceiling while pulling her knees closer to her chest, once again trying to hide herself from everyone. From everything. 

On Nami's bed there was still an inert swordsman and he didn't even flinch when she tentatively said his name after entering the room. 

"Fucking dammit," she squeezed her eyes shut. 

Nami left. Zoro was unconscious. Luffy almost drowned if not for Sanji. Usopp was bluffing about how "everything has to be alright". 

She didn't know if he was trying to convince himself or her. 

Because everything was wrong. It felt wrong. 

The witch took in a deep breath, but only half of the oxygen she inhaled got to her lungs and brain because of her constricted throat. Tears were sitting on her waterline for the fourth time that day. 

Too much happened since the crack of dawn and it wasn't even sunset. 

Exhaustion made her look years older than she was. Her head fell forward, forehead hitting her knees before the light sneaking through the windows could fall on her face. 

Tears filled with anguish ran down her cheeks and it was the first time she allowed herself to let at least an ounce of the weight on top of her body dissipate. The droplets of pain melted down her cheeks and sank into the material of her shirt. 

The witch sneaked her arms around the back of her thighs and squeezed herself tighter in a ball, lips trembling. Her breathing was ragged not only because of the lump in her throat, but also because of the firm grip that fishman had on her neck. The skin was sensitive to the touch and it hurt to swallow. 

Every event of that day got added one on top of another. Her fight with Zoro, the fact that he was unconscious after that dwell, Nami leaving just like the witch expected to.

Betrayal. Maybe I was a fool for trusting her. 

Or am I? 

Teeth sank so deeply into her lower lip it drew blood and she tasted copper on the tip of her tongue. 

Pain. That was right. 

The only right thing happening that day was the physical pain. Palpable, real, bringing her back to earth. 

Except that time it failed, because the tears didn't stop. She squeezed her eyes shut as sharp pain traveled through her body, from her chest into her limbs, puncturing each nerve, shaking her to the core. 

Her soul screamed, caged by sorrow, an ugly animal that sank its fangs into her flesh and ripped from the inside. Blood was pouring from her heart, soaking organs and bones, melting into the skin like acid. It burnt so fastly, yet it never seemed to end. With a throbbing head, she couldn't hold the pain back anymore. 

However, no sound ever left her lips parted in a silent scream. No whimper, no sob, no cry for help. The room was filled with silence as a heartbeat drummed in her ears in an agonizing rhythm. 

I shouldn't have come on this ship in the first place. Only if I had been wise enough to leave when I got the chance. Syrup Village was a perfect option, I could've gone on another ship and continued my mindless traveling. Why did I bother myself with this? Why did I suddenly decide it was a great idea to be part of another crew when this only has brought me suffering? 

With each second, she willingly aimed the gun at herself and every word was like a bullet. 

I should've left. I would've been happier. I should've left it all behind when I realized this won't go well. Fuck the premonitions, fuck the destiny, damned be the world. 

A body stripped of clothes and skin, only burnt flesh left behind the monster's bites. Broken ribs and a shattered heart pumping a meaningless life. 

As seconds passed by one after another and her tears came to an end, the gentle swinging of the ship pulled her into a half-asleep state.

She noticed when Luffy came into the room and she was aware of his position on Zoro's bed — the cracking of the wood gave him away. As the Straw Hat talked, she only heard the swordsman's name being spoken, some words here and there, but most of his monologue was muffled. 

He probably thought she was asleep because of her slow and steady breathing. 

Exhaustion was clawing at her muscles and brain, but something kept her aware of the surroundings for a few more minutes. 

Everything turned pitch black in her perspective. A husky and deep voice made her believe she was dreaming, the tips of her mouth curling shily upwards. 

Only if it would've been reality. 

"Zoro!" 

Her entire body flinched and she raised her head, wide eyed. If she didn't know any better, she would've said her soul jumped out of her. 

"Luffy?" she whispered, confused on why he yelled the swordsman's name—

"You're not dead!" Luffy shouted again, loud enough for everyone in Baratie to hear. 

He's alive? the witch thought to herself. I really heard his voice. 

Luffy crawled on top of Zoro and squeezed the life out of him. Literally. 

"Now I wish I was," she heard Zoro mumble between grunts. 

He was alive. 

The witch's lungs filled with fresh air for the first time that day. Relief washed over her and her body relaxed, shoulders deflating as some of the weight sitting on them fell into the sea below. 

While leaning her body against the wall, she managed to get up just to get a better view of the swordsman who was squinting his eyes at the ceiling. A heavy sigh escaped her lips, head falling forward. 

At least one thing went right, didn't it? 

After Luffy got up from above Zoro, the swordsman managed to take some deep gulps of air, chest raising up and falling rhythmically. 

"I had the strangest dream that Nami left," he said with a frown on his face as he closed his eyes. 

"She did," the witch responded faintly. 

There wasn't enough courage in her to look at him as she said that, instead choosing to glance at the window. 

Zoro looked again at the ceiling and realized her voice was too faint for all of that to be a mere joke, a prank thrown at him for staying unconscious for… for how long? 

"It's my fault," Luffy said with his chin lowered.

From the corner of his eye, Zoro saw the witch place a hand on their captain's shoulder. 

"We'll find a way."

There was a promise etched onto her fragile smile. As if a simple brush of air or one wrong world could make her crumble. 

But she didn't. Instead, she threw a knowing look to Zoro and silently told him to talk with Luffy. She knew the Straw Hat needed his first mate's support at that moment. 

What confused Zoro the most was watching the witch get out of the room without too much of a word. Her hair bounced as she stepped further away from him and their friends. Even as his ribs and body hurt at every inhale, he wanted to understand the real reason for her leaving. 

Last time they talked, she expressed worry. What happened in the meantime? What the fuck went wrong? 

There was a fat chance she was still mad at him for whatever reason. Sure, she was calm, collected, but he could swear he's seen fire burning in her eyes more than just once and a grin splayed on her face at the thrill and adrenaline of a fight. She snapped at him when they fought and he had to admit it would've been sadder if she treated him with silence. 

However, he didn't know if that was silence or something more. 

Weird, he concluded. 

His attention went back to Luffy. The swordsman couldn't manage watching the ever happy-go-lucky captain speak like a ghost. 

"You didn't do anything wrong." He seriously hoped he could find the right words to bring Luffy back to reality. 

There's no way that crew would fall apart without a proper fight. What has been was just the beginning. 

"You acted like a captain."

"But the crew is falling apart," Luffy pulled his lips in a tight line. 

"No, it's not," the green-haired firmly affirmed. 

Maybe a lot more than Zoro thought has happened, but that was definitely not the end. 

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•

Before the sun could set and hide in the sea, they gathered some supplies for their new journey. They found out from the clown head — who they found out told Arlong where to find the Straw Hats — that Nami was most probably heading to Conomi Islands, specifically Cocoyashi Village. Sanji joined their crew, which made Luffy jump in excitement for the second time that day. 

Luffy's folded arms were resting over the railing of Going Merry while he stared down at the water splashing against the ship. 

"Does it always take so long?" Luffy spoke so softly. 

Sanji chuckled with the fishing rod in his hand as he waited for a fish to catch the bait. 

"We've only been here for two minutes, be patient," the cook reminded him. "Some days, they bite as soon as you drop the line and some days, it takes hours."

Then, he threw a knowing glance towards Luffy with an arch of his eyebrow. 

"But we're not talking about fishing, are we?" 

"I highly doubt it," the witch mumbled as she curled her fingers around her tarot deck. 

She didn't dare to shuffle through the cards again, a side of her afraid of what was waiting for them. It felt uneasy everytime she got the impulse of taking the cards out and finding out which one of them holds the truth. 

The witch was leaning with her back against the railing, not so far away from the Straw Hat, pressing her fingertips into the old box made of cardboard that fit perfectly in her hands. 

Luffy smiled towards Sanji before he stared into the horizon with hope. 

"I just want to know if Nami's okay."

"A beautiful, talented woman does not choose to ally herself with a pirate like Arlong," Sanji said firmly, convinced of his beliefs. "Nami clearly needs to be rescued." 

The witch breathed in deeply and widened her eyes, trying to find the right words to tell them what she knew. A pair of heavy steps caught her attention and she immediately recognized the chiming filling the air. 

Zoro. His hand was resting on his Wado Ichimoji — his only sword now. 

"Her tattoo says different," he said. 

The way he looked at the witch was bringing back to life some shattered pieces of her soul. He might look serene when sleeping, but he was better that way — wide awake and an asshole. 

Also, he noticed something she couldn't pinpoint. There must've been a scar on her face, most probably. At first, he only stared at her face, just to lower his gaze. Oh. She didn't sleep for two days and got in a fight with a fishman, which left some nasty bruises on her bare neck. 

"Well," Sanji argued, "tattoos don't tell the whole story. And like any woman, she's a mystery to be unraveled."

"Am I supposed to feel flattered?" the witch arched her eyebrow at the cook after she turned her head towards him. 

Right at that moment, Zoro stepped between her and Luffy, restricting her view. All she could see was his chest, bandaged and with a red patch in the center. 

"You should change your bandages," she looked up at him. 

However, the witch was hesitant when she did so. As if the man in front of her could vanish in thin air. 

Zoro turned to Sanji and decided to completely ignore her comment. 

"Nami made her choice." 

The cook immediately frowned, creases appearing on his forehead. His scowl was deeper than Zoro's.

"You don't know why," Sanji retorted. 

As if getting snapped by Usopp, Zoro scoffed: 

"The only thing I want to hear from you are dinner specials. You don't know Nami."

"Sounds like you don't know her either, Mosshead," Sanji spat with a taunting smile on his lips. 

"Oh God, stop, you two," the witch sighed heavily, annoyed. 

Just to get the swordsman's attention to her, she poked his back with the tip of her finger, digging deep enough to receive a light flinch. It seemed like she took him by surprise. She bent her back more as she continued resting her elbows on the railing to glance at Luffy over Zoro's shoulder. 

"I'm sure Nami has her reasons," their captain nodded. 

"I know Nami's reason."

All of their heads turned to the witch. 

Usopp was just walking up the stairs of the forecastle when his eyes sparkled curiously.

"What are you guys talking about?" 

"Nami," Zoro said quickly. "Why didn't you say anything until now?" that time, his sharp words were directed to the witch. 

The witch shot him a glare, displeased by his reaction. However, she would've acted the same if someone was to hide something so important. 

"It would've felt unfair to tell you before talking with her," the witch clarified. 

"You talked with her about it?" Usopp suddenly intervened, surprised by the news. 

The witch gripped at the tarot deck in between her hands tighter and clicked her tongue, trying to find the best words to explain. 

"I did. Somehow," uncertainty latched onto her voice. 

None of them rushed her anymore so she took her time. 

"Listen, this isn't as easy as it seems to be. Yes, Sanji, she didn't willingly get into Arlong's crew."

A snarky remark sat on the cook's tongue and he wanted to throw it Zoro's way. 

"But," the witch continued in order to stop an eventual argument, "she's fully aware of her actions. She was forced by the circumstances to do what she's doing, but it doesn't mean she likes acting like Arlong's crewmate. Nami certainly hates him from the bottom of her heart. He did something. Something that forced her to act like she's a friend just to protect something or someone. Or both. She's not only protecting herself, she's protecting what's most dear to her heart."

It wasn't the witch that spoke, but the gut feeling she had. Her thoughts didn't seem so clear in months, since her last successful tarot reading. Now, as the significance of each card sank into her brain, she knew what everything meant. 

It wasn't her that spoke, but her intuition. 

"She's keeping us away because she's scared we'd get hurt, not only because we would get in her way. Nami cares about us and that's exactly why she's pushing us away."

"Who does that?" Zoro wondered out loud. 

Maybe he should've kept that to himself. 

"You do that," the witch's head snapped towards him. "I do it. And Nami does. She said she tricked us — which was true. At the same time, she's tricking Arlong. He isn't her crewmate, he's an asshole that stole something from her—"

The witch got so carried away she didn't even realize what she just said. She suddenly furrowed her eyebrows into the void and received confused looks from her friends. 

"He stole something. Her freedom."

Those words were said as she actively figured the details out, staring into the void. 

"Witch?" Usopp nudged her. 

"Yes?" she turned towards him. 

"Did she tell you all these things?"

There was a light chuckle that left her lips at that question. 

"The cards did. Her reactions just gave her away and answered my doubts." 

The witch knew what games she was playing. She's been doing these things for years and not only — she trusted her gut feeling above everything else. 

She received an especially confused look from the cook, who had no clue why she was called a witch. He probably supposed it was because she was beautiful or maybe secretive. 

He should've taken that nickname literally. 

"What do we do then?" Zoro turned his head towards their captain. 

Luffy listened intently to everything the witch had to say and he made up his mind since long ago:

"I want to hear her decision for myself."

"That's for the best," the witch nodded. 

There was more she would've liked to say, but speaking from the gut was both easier than usual and harder when tired. Considering the last time she got some proper sleep was before they got attacked by the Marines, she could say it's been long enough for her mind to get clouded. 

Stuck in her thoughts as she was, the grip on her tarot deck loosened up and the object fell from her hold on the wooden floor. The witch's exhausted brain registered that too many seconds later. 

A deep frown appeared between her eyebrows, blinking in an attempt to clear her vision while she bent down to take the deck in her hand. 

Obviously, she failed. 

When her back was straight again, her vision went pitch black and a heavy throbbing settled in her temples. The ship swayed worse than a second ago. She groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose, eyes closed. 

The witch has been in that situation before. She stood still, because attempting to walk would've ended in a passionate kiss with the floor. 

When the sensations dissipated little by little, tiredness was everything left behind. 

"I'm gonna get some rest," she mumbled, the words a little slurred. 

With her eyes now opened wide enough to see where she's heading, she walked towards the stairs and cussed them out one by one. 

Falling like an idiot wasn't on her to-do list for that day. 

By some miracle, she managed to walk all the way into the galley. The room she shared with Nami was hers, but it was too far away. Her feet barely carried her to the dark red sofa she let her body fall on like a sack. 

She didn't care about the clothes she hasn't changed from, too caught up with everything that has happened. There was enough time for a shower later, when exhaustion wasn't seeping into her bones. The only thing she had the decency to do was to take her boots off. 

She stretched her legs and put an arm under her head, resting on her side to face the room. Not the most comfortable place to sleep in, but after all of that tumult, nothing mattered anymore. 

The sweet sound of jingling disturbed her again. 

Oh, god dammit. 

She was one breath away from cussing Zoro's ass and his earrings — despite being in ecstasy that he woke up. The witch, as if expecting his next move, bent her knees to make space for him. The swordsman plopped himself down with a grunt at the other side of the sofa and her bare feet touched his thigh. 

She didn't dare mutter a word about his presence. Zoro could stay. Gosh, as she was thinkingln about it, she could only believe it was a blessing he wasn't only awake, but also throwing remarks her way. 

It was so much better than telling stories of her past to an unconscious Mosshead. 

Right. 

The edges of her mouth curled in a smile. 

"What?" 

"Mosshead," she chuckled, eyes still closed. 

Zoro let out a scoff and she could imagine him rolling his eyes to the ceiling. 

"Didn't you say you were going to rest?"

His voice was unusually low and even soft, pulling her towards the dreamland. 

"I'd say this place is perfect," she mumbled.

The witch didn't bother to explain she was tired out of her mind or that her feet would most likely betray her if she dared to get up. 

The silence was filled with their breathing and the sounds of the water splashing against their ship, the cracks of the wood. She remembered the times when she traveled with her father's crew and she would many times fall asleep curled next to a barrel while the vice-captain was still singing sea shanties in the middle of the night. 

"Zoro," the witch whispered. 

She was too weary to care about what left her mouth. It acted like alcohol — it clouded her mind and she felt shameless. 

"What if I wouldn't have stepped on this ship?" 

That question plagued her mind and she finally said it out loud. 

"So the last ship was more to your taste?" he snickered. "It almost sank in the sea." 

"You're such an ass," and while that phrase might've sounded harsh in the past, at that moment it was filled with fondness. 

"Been told that before." 

I really missed that voice. 

"For someone with a big ass bruise on your neck, you sound more like a coward than I thought."

Maybe she deserved that serious tone thrown her way. Was he right? Only halfway through. 

"No," she was stubborn enough to fight the sleep for a few more minutes. "What if I would've been happier? Y'know, less worries, no people to haunt my ass. No anxiety."

No crying over you for being almost dead. 

The continuation sat on the tip of her tongue and got swallowed back with a gulp. Was there really a need for an admission? Puffy eyelids and dark circles under her eyes, chapped lips and bandages around her forearm soaked in blood. Those details were enough proof. 

"Do you hate us that much?" his low voice sent shivers down her spine. 

"It's not about that. Just…" she gulped and curled her fingers around the tarot deck she was still holding onto. "I want some peace."

"I say you should get some sleep." 

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•

Standing on the deck felt right, even if the witch doesn't remember why she was there. She can't point out the weather clearly, it feels blurry. Seconds ago she was in the kitchen talking with Sanji about some unusual topic she couldn't remember. 

Then why was she suddenly on the deck, face to face with a kneeling Zoro who had two swords piercing through his upper body from behind? She didn't only know it was him, she felt like it was him, as if the pieces connecting in her head were just right. However, it horrified her. Everything around him was blurry except for him. 

Him, whose essence of life was pouring down his body, creating a puddle under him, sinking into the cracks of the wooden floor. The crimson liquid melted into his white t-shirt. Now that she was looking better at it, she noticed the sharp point of a sword penetrating all the way through his stomach to the front side of his body. 

He was looking up at her, despite the way his chin was tilted down. Those sharp brown eyes were boring holes through her. His beautiful irises painted with the warm nuances of chocolate and coffee were scary, like no other time. 

Was Luffy next to her? It feels like it was him, even if she can only distinguish a silhouette in the corner of her right eye. 

Why was Zoro looking at her like that? She couldn't move, as if her feet were stuck in place. She didn't know if she was breathing or if she was alive anymore. She didn't know why she was on the deck, why those swords took his life away. It barely made any sense that he had enough energy to stare at her. 

He didn't falter once. He didn't beg for help, her name didn't come out of his mouth, no groans, no nothing. 

She couldn't move. As she stood in the same place, her anxiety was rising up, up, up, until she felt like panicking despite the lack of reaction. She felt like exploding, but she couldn't express those horrific feelings. 

She couldn't help him. Her arms were stuck by the sides of her body, as if someone had put a spell on her. She had the will to move her legs, to get closer to him, she wanted to, but she remained glued in that spot. She couldn't feel her body. 

She had to do something, but she was trapped inside an unmoving object that was her own body. Why? 

Everything snapped. 

The smallest hope towards an escape woke her up. Her eyes opened instantly and she raised up in a sitting position, eyes frantically searching for more clues, for answers about the horrifying images she just saw before her eyelids. 

Her heart was beating so fast it made her wish she didn't have it at all, a deafening ba-dump repeating in her eardrums over and over again. 

Unfortunately, she was face to face with the swordsman she dreamt of. Instantly, as if she was shot, she looked at his upper abdomen. For no more than two seconds, she saw a big black patch on his bandages. 

She inhaled deeply and her heart was beating faster, suddenly unable to release that breath of air. Her eyes widened and her hands shook, chest tight. 

"Hey," she heard more of a background sound. 

She blinked countless times, until her tired brain figured out that it was just her imagination. It was so dark in the room and her nightmare was a shock, the reason why at some point the patch started blurring out, inviting her to blink until it turned to be one small spot. It has been there since he woke up from his slumber. 

When the realization sank in, she let go of that breath and let out a pitiful whimper. Deep inside, it felt like relief, her eyes now squeezed shut. 

This time, he clearly called her name after his fingers securely gripped at her shaking shoulders, avoiding her wound. Her hands were trembling, her entire being disturbed. 

Zoro said her name, not the nickname she got so used to hearing on that ship. Not the usual Witch, a word that sounded so endearing coming from her crewmates; no, it was her name and it was spoken so softly she could've confused him for someone else. 

She had a poor attempt at recalling those images in order to figure out the reality, but it backfired. The bloody scene stuck before her closed eyes pushed her to open them up again. 

Thankfully, his dark gaze was warm, filled with unspoken worry. For a brief moment she wondered how he woke up, since he slept like the dead sometimes. 

"I'm surprised I managed to wake you up," her voice trembled. 

He didn't joke back at her. Instead, his thumbs started rubbing slow circles into her shoulders in order to bring her back to earth. Or, better said, back to the ship that was peacefully sailing on the sea during the night. 

"I think you should correct your breathing," he pointed out. 

Once she changed from autopilot breathing, it felt like her throat was tight. 

"Breathe in."

Blindly, she trusted his instructions. That mere breath shook her again, feeling shivers when she allowed the oxygen to sink into her lungs, the same way his voice sank into her being, in the cracks of her soul. 

It took a few minutes until that normal bodily process didn't seem like an impossible task. Her muscles were tense until Zoro squeezed her shoulders again. 

She could distinguish more of his face than just the warmth she noticed not long ago. His expression seemed pained with worry and not from a wound that could kill him, even if there still were bandages wrapped around his torso. Maybe it was also fear that made him look so different from usual; or was it confusion? 

"I'm sorry for destroying your sleep."

It was half a lie. She wasn't sorry about the touch keeping her afloat, about how she managed to breathe again only because of his presence, because he was clearly awake and alive. At the same time, she knew he needed to rest so his wound could heal properly. 

"Be serious," he huffed in a lower voice, clearly displeased. 

"I am. You should sleep."

"Just like you should, but I doubt you will."

"I'd argue about that."

She was still tired, even if her shock from earlier struck her like thunder. Her eyes could close at any moment, which she feared, because another nightmare didn't sound good even for how stress resistant she became. 

Since he heard her soft whimper when she was still sleeping, he had no clue what to do, how to act. One thing was clear: it was better to wake her up, despite the possibility she might get defensive and attack. 

Alright, now what the heck do I do? He's had nightmares before, he's seen horrendous things during his sleep countless times, but he didn't have any idea about what to do for her. Was he even supposed to do something? She didn't like being pampered — maybe he should act like nothing happened. However, the fear coloring her face earlier shocked him as well. The witch has always been collected, she had such a firm grip on her reactions it was annoying sometimes. 

The swordsman shook his head, but didn't let go of her. Instead, he leaned against the cushions on his side, while his hands fell down to her forearms to get a comfortable position of his limbs and upper body. The wound on his chest sent daggers through him at each movement. Barely a day of consciously dealing with it and he's already got annoyed. 

The witch looked down at where their bodies were connected. His long calloused fingers were securely wrapped around her arms, close to her wrists. When did her legs end up in his lap she didn't know. Her bare knee tingled with warmth — why? 

"You had a weird reaction after you woke up," his whisper stirred something in her heart. 

"What do you mean? I had plenty of reactions."

Are you playing the idiot with me? Zoro thought. 

"You were more scared of seeing me than of the nightmare."

"Oh."

Why did the Mosshead have to be so observant? It was one of the reasons why she was attracted to him, evidently, but sometimes he exposed her too easily. 

She dropped her chin and looked down at her own hands. Admitting that she feared his role as the main character of a tragedy for the second time felt embarrassing for some unknown reason. She's been in enough humiliating situations and he never ridiculed her. 

Zoro was utterly stuck. Was he supposed to move away? His body felt too heavy to get off the sofa and go to his room. It wouldn't be alright leaving her alone with her crippling anxiety either, considering she was prone to overthinking. 

He wanted to do something, but what? 

He let out a long sigh and rested his head against the cushions, his fingers still curled around her wrists. Her pulse was fast, but as seconds passed by, it slowed down under the weight of his thumbs. 

The witch became hyper aware of the situation, but it felt too good to move away. Her tired brain entirely registered his presence and her eyes closed. She breathed in the chill air of the night and, while focusing so intently on Zoro's presence, she fell into a deeper state of mind, half asleep. 

He was disturbed from his own journey into the dream realm when he felt a light weight on his shoulder. Once his eyes opened, he saw the cause: she leaned in closer to him, clearly unaware. 

He smelled like the sea and the familiar scent of soap clung to the unbuttoned blue t-shirt he wore. With her forehead resting against his neck, the witch could vaguely point out his pulse. The safety of his embrace lulled her into a dreamless sleep while she focused on his slow breathing and the secure grip he had on her.

Zoro filled her senses so fiercely it was impossible not to melt into him, inhaling and exhaling in sync with him. 

The swordsman had different sentiments about this and they were all confusing. 

What am I doing? he scolded himself.

He moved his head and angled his face so he could look at the right side of her sleeping face. With long eyelashes resting over her soft cheeks, she looked like she didn't have a worry in the world, even if he knew better. Her shoulders would rise and fall rhythmically in such a slow pace, making him wonder what exactly exhausted her so much. 

Then, his gaze fell on the purple marks on her neck and his jaw clenched. If he would've been awake when Arlong appeared at Baratie, maybe none of them would be like that. Maybe he would've had enough stubbornness to get answers from Nami and maybe Luffy wouldn't have been so close to drowning. Maybe those marks on her neck wouldn't have been there in the first place. 

What the fuck am I doing? 

Giving up, he rested his head back against the cushions with a scowl. He didn't understand himself and it was even harder to understand the woman sleeping so peacefully, too close to him. 

Zoro let out a low displeased sound and closed his eyes, deciding to rest for a while. He didn't dare move away or wake her up either. 

First and foremost he was displeased about the fact that he liked the proximity. 

I wonder what that fishman's face looks like. It'll surely be a pleasure to slice him in half.  

Tag list: @emelia07 @dimplewonie @tfamidoingwithmylife @murnsondock @the-skys-musical-echo @conspiracy-crows @hallow33nz @ramae17 @gaslysainz @bunntsu @katt58 @katiemrty @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad @freyademartel @boofy1998 @ponyboys-sunsets @melsunshine @loveyluv7 @waddlingwanderer @jesssssmaybankk @nadlx33333 @yoong1c0re @untoldshortsofthefandoms @mizzy-pop @zoromyluv

[x-press-it]

What Loneliness Craves

One touch might be all it takes to feel whole again 🎞️🖤🌹❤️‍🔥✅

Worshiping!Logan Howlett x shy!fem reader

Summary: After a long mission, all you want is to sleep for a week. But Logan, determined to keep tabs on you, makes you realize just how lonely you feel in his absence.

Content Warnings: Smut 18+ Explicit scene (Fingering - F receiving, unprotected p in v, multiple orgasms) - Worshiping!Logan - Pet Names (Kid, bub, sweetheart, darling, baby, goddess...) - Reader Notes: No Y/N, no physical description of the reader, no mention of powers, reader is shy and feel emotional hypersensitivity - Emotional Intensity and Mental Health: strong emotions, including moments of vulnerability and anxiety, deep feeling of loneliness and exhaustion, mutual pining, self-worth struggles, overstimulation, worship - religious imagery and reverent language - Mention of alcohol - Fluff - Angst -Trope: Coworkers to lovers I'm back after 10 years of iatus and fairly new to how things are done on tumblr now, so sorry if I missed any warnings. Also english isn't my first language so there might be typos/weird sentences...

Notes: Worshiping!Logan is leaving rent free in my head since I opened the door for him ^^" - Cover made with canva from an idea I got from this post, Art by me, don't steal and don't forget to credit if you share/reblog - Click on the dividers to find the creator - Need a song to go with it? Don't worry, I got you.

Word Count: 9K (Sorry, not sorry and you're welcome 😜)

The knock at the door is soft but unmistakable. Part of you wants to ignore it, to sink deeper under the covers and hope whoever it is just takes the hint. But then you hear the voice—low and rough, that familiar rasp that somehow feels more comforting than you'd ever admit.

"Hey, kid. Just checkin’ in. You alright in there?" His words float through the door, muffled but distinct.

You blink, processing the last few hours of frustration: the long mission, the awkward trip back with Scott and Jean, the eternity of the debrief, and now Logan standing in the hallway just as you were finally, finally about to get some rest. All you manage is an exasperated sigh.

After a couple of seconds, you call out wearily, "Obviously, no. I just need some damn sleep, and everyone seems dead set on preventing it." Your tone is sharper than you intended, but exhaustion has frayed your patience to threads.

There’s a pause, then Logan’s voice comes again, softer this time, "Mind if I come in?"

With another sigh, you check yourself, making sure your t-shirt and sweatpants are at least somewhat presentable. "Yeah, sure," you reply, sounding resigned.

Logan cracks the door open and steps inside, his gaze immediately finding you sitting on the edge of the bed, a mixture of irritation and weariness etched on your face.

He studies you, eyes narrowing slightly as he takes in the tension that’s all but wrapped itself around your shoulders, the deep fatigue that’s visible even in your posture. His mouth shifts, a faint tug at one corner, almost a smile—maybe even a touch apologetic—before he nods.

“Right. Didn’t mean to add to the racket.” He sounds sincere, like maybe he gets it, more than most would. “But… you’re wound up tighter than I’ve seen in a while. Don’t reckon you’ll relax anytime soon unless someone helps you out with that.”

You look up at him, caught off guard by the unexpected warmth in his tone, not sure what he is hinting at. But before you can respond, he jerks his thumb toward the hallway. “Look, just stay put, alright? Be back in a minute. Promise I’ll make it worth the wait.”

Before you can answer him, he’s already turning away, leaving you with just enough curiosity—and exhaustion—to keep you on the edge of the bed, wondering just what he has planned.

True to his word, he returns just a few minutes later, carrying a worn leather pouch. There’s a small smile—almost sheepish—as he steps inside and closes the door with a quiet click, muffling the mansion’s constant hum. Crossing the room in a few easy strides, he gestures for you to lie on your stomach, his gaze softer, more intimate.

“Trust me on this,” he murmurs, as he settles on the edge of your bed. He pulls a small bottle from the pouch, uncapping it to release the soft, calming scent of soothing oil. “Didn’t figure you for the lavender type,” he says, pouring some oil into his hands and rubbing it between his palms, warming it, “but it does the trick.”

Before you know it, his strong hands slides beneath the collar of your t-shirt, finding the tight muscles of your shoulders. His fingers, precise and steady, easing the tension out of muscles that have been screaming for relief since the mission began. His thumbs knead into the knots at the base of your neck, his touch deliberate as he shifts the fabric, lifting and tugging gently so his hands can reach every bit of tension without asking you to expose yourself. He’s quiet, focused, his touch somehow both grounding and gentle, guiding you toward a feeling of calm you haven’t felt in a long time.

You exhale slowly, the last remnants of frustration beginning to melt away as his hands move with that practiced touch into the tense muscles along your neck and shoulders. Each press of his fingers feels purposeful, as if he’s intent on unraveling the weight of the week with every stroke, and the sensation of his warm hands just beneath the shirt’s collar brings a kind of quiet intimacy that stirs a few butterflies in your stomach.

“Just relax,” he says quietly, his voice softer than usual, as though he’s speaking directly to whatever’s gnawing at you from the inside. “No one’s bothering you for the next while. And if they try… well, I’ll deal with ’em.”

There's a pause, and you’re almost certain you catch the slightest shift in his tone, something gentler, almost… tender.

His hands finally comes out from your shirt’s collar, leaving a cold emptiness, and a shudder shakes you at the thought of him pulling away from you. But he doesn’t. Not really. Instead he clears his throat, his fingers finding your waist, sliding just under the hem of your t-shirt, and he lets his hands drift along your back.

He never asks you to take off your shirt, never even makes a move to remove it himself. There’s something surprising in his restraint, the way he carefully works around it, as if respecting a boundary he somehow senses. Or maybe… maybe he just isn’t interested in you that way. But before you can dwell on the thought, you find yourself adjusting, lifting the hem just a little, almost without realizing it—just enough for him to reach the places that need his touch the most.

He takes it in stride, his hands gliding down your spine with more intent now, applying a gentle but firm pressure that works through the aches and pains buried there. “I read the report. You did good out there,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper as his hands trail along your lower back, slow and sure. “Hell of a job, bub.”

His words are simple, but somehow they reach into that part of you that’s been neglected for so long, easing a sense of loneliness you didn’t realize had settled in. Logan’s touch, his voice, the weight of his presence—all of it feels like the kind of comfort you’ve been craving, whether or not you’d admit it out loud. And maybe it’s the exhaustion or the way his words eased the ache of your heart but you feel yourself drifting slowly as the warm press of his hands continue to work over your shoulders blades and down your back, coaxing you closer to the edge of sleep. Another deep sigh escape your lips and just as you’re about to give in, you feel him pull back the hem of your t-shirt and settle beside you, still watching, as though he’s making sure you’re okay.

“Get some rest, sweetheart,” he murmurs, low and close, his voice a quiet promise that you’re safe—wrapped in his presence, shielded from the world, if only for a little while.

The room is still as you blink awake, the quiet pressing in around you. The sheets beside you are cold where he once sat, his warmth replaced by the chill of an empty bed. The softness of his hands, the scent of lavender oil—fleeting, half-faded memories slip through your mind, dreamlike. If it weren't for that faint trace of him clinging to your skin, you'd almost think you’d imagined it, that it was a dream.

But it wasn’t.

The thought should bring you comfort, but instead, it cuts deeper, the hollow ache in your chest growing sharper with each breath. Your hand clutches the sheets, fingertips brushing over the fabric he’d left behind, but there’s no warmth to hold onto. The room feels heavy in his absence, the silence thick and pressing down around you.

Finally, you pull yourself up, feet meeting the cool floor as you wrap your arms around yourself, your chest tightening against the urge to cry. You don’t even know why you feel this restless ache—just that something inside you feels cracked, raw. And the only one who might know how to put it back together… isn’t here.

The room feels stifling, a heavy weight pressing down on you. You need to escape, to breathe. Unable to stay still, you slip out of your room and into the shadowed hallways of the mansion. Your bare feet tread quietly over the carpeted floors, the vast, darkened hallways swallowing each step. The silence settles in, but it doesn’t bring peace; instead, it pulls you deeper into the emptiness he left behind. Even Scott and Jean, even the tense missions and the unspoken glances, had felt less draining than this—the feeling that all the calm he’d left you with, all that gentle ease he’d brought, had somehow vanished into the air the second he left. Now, it’s just you… and this hollow, aching quiet.

In the stillness of the night, your restless feet carry you down the hall without you fully noticing where you’re going and before you realize it, you’re standing in front of his door. The sight of it jolts you out of your haze, your hand already lifted to knock before you even register the decision to come here. Your knuckles brush the wood, a hesitant noise that barely breaks the silence. The second the sound leaves your hand, a thousand doubts surge up, freezing you in place.

What are you doing? It’s the middle of the night. You should leave, before you ruin everything—before you make a fool of yourself, before you shatter whatever gentle thread connected you two in the quiet of the evening. You feel your heart tighten with regret, and you take a shaky step back, cursing yourself for even letting yourself hope for something more.

Then, the door swings open.

Logan’s sharp senses had picked up your approach long before you’d even arrived, and the soft, hesitant knock felt like a whisper of your heartbeat reaching out to him.

When he heard your footsteps retreating something had stirred in him—an instinct, a need. Before he could think it through, he was already halfway across the room, hand on the doorknob.

As he pulls the door open, you freeze, just a few steps away, caught in the soft glow spilling from his room.

God, you’re breathtaking.

For a moment, neither of you moves. His clothes mirror your own, but his eyes feel sharp. Wasn’t he asleep despite the hour? His brows furrow slightly, and a glint of worry twists something deep in your chest as his gaze takes you in—the loose shirt, bare feet, the lingering haze in your eyes from interrupted sleep. You can see questions flickering in his expression, a quiet alertness that wasn’t there a moment ago. But when your gaze lifts to meet his, the sadness there hits him like a punch to the gut. It’s raw and vulnerable, tugging at something deep within him, squeezing his heart until all he wants is to close the distance, pull you in, and promise that everything will be okay.

“Everything alright, bub?” he asks instead, his voice low, but laced with genuine concern. It’s not like you to come to him, especially not like this, and the worry behind his words—the way his hand almost instinctively moves to steady you—makes your heart stutter.

The surprise in your eyes fades, replaced by something softer—something that almost makes him forget to breathe. He lets the silence stretch between you, his eyes searching yours, trying to grasp all the unspoken emotions lingering there. You open your mouth to respond, the words catching in your throat as his gaze waits, steady, braced for whatever brought you here. You shrug, uncertainty settling in as you look away.

There’s no good reason you can find to explain why you’re standing here in the middle of the night outside his door—except maybe that you need him. But you can’t say that. The words are stuck in your throat, leaving only the weight of the ache you’d been trying to stifle. The smell of lavender clings to you, a reminder of his hands easing away your exhaustion, his voice quiet, and his presence just close enough to hold you steady. Somehow, that only makes it harder.

But Logan doesn’t press. It doesn’t matter; you sought him, so there must be a reason, even if you’re the only one who can grasp it. He’s no stranger to struggling with complex emotions that simmer under the surface, knowing the words are there but unable to bring them up, caught somewhere just out of reach.

You shift awkwardly, vulnerability clawing its way up. You try again, opening your mouth once more to say something, anything, but he cuts you off gently. “It’s okay, bub. Don’t have to explain yourself.”

There’s no judgment, no questions. Just him. “Come on in,” he says as he opens the door wider—a silent invitation—and the warmth from his room spills out like an embrace. It looks like the simplest thing in the world. And maybe it is, for him. Stepping back, he gives you the space to step in if you want. In that moment, all the restless ache, all the sadness, begins to fade just a little, as if his presence alone eases the pain.

You hesitate, but in his eyes, you see nothing but quiet understanding laced with concern. He knows you’re holding back and offers a safe space without a word. Finally, your feet move on their own, and you step forward, crossing the threshold. He closes the door softly behind you. The dimly lit room feels smaller now, but not stifling like yours; it’s like stepping into a cocoon of warmth and cedar and him, wrapping around you, steadying you in a way that nothing else could, chasing away the shadows that cling to you.

You’re still a little unsure, your hand nervously playing with the hem of your t-shirt, feeling like one wrong move will shatter whatever delicate balance is holding you both together right now. He doesn’t say anything else, just gestures to the edge of his bed for you to sit, and the unspoken trust between you is almost tangible.

And for now, just this—just him—is enough.

Logan watches as you settle yourself at the end of his bed, your fingers still fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. His gaze softens even more, that raw edge in his eyes easing into something you almost don’t recognize—like he’s trying to shield you from everything weighing on you in that moment.

He doesn’t sit, though. Instead, he steps over to the small cabinet by his bed, pulling out a bottle and pouring a measure into two glasses. With a gentle smile, he presses one into your hand before taking his place on the chair across from you, facing you. “Maybe this’ll help,” he says, his voice soft, lightly clinking his glass against yours before taking a sip.

The whiskey is warm, smooth, chasing away the lingering chill and melting some of the stiffness that’s been weighing you down. You drink in silence, your gaze on the floor, until you feel his hand come to rest over yours, warm ad reassuring, without expectation.

You try to keep your composure, but his touch—solid yet gentle—dissolves what little is left of your resolve. And before you realize it, the tears you’ve kept at bay pool in your eyes, catching you off guard. But Logan doesn’t pull away.

“You know,” he begins softly, his voice as gentle as you’ve ever heard it, “you don’t have to handle everything alone.” His thumb brushes gently over your knuckles, and for a moment, his words reach the ache in your chest, like he’s giving you permission to let your guard down. “I’m here whenever you need me.”

The words burrow into the ache in your chest, breaking something open inside you, and a tear slips free. Logan doesn’t look away. Instead, he reaches out, his calloused thumb brushing it from your cheek with a gentleness that makes you feel fragile, breakable, and yet somehow, like you’re the safest you’ve ever been. His gaze is soft, unguarded, none of his usual rough exterior, and the dam you’ve been holding back finally breaks, tears spilling down your cheeks before you can stop them.

Logan, still holding your hand, doesn’t look away. Instead, he smoothly sets both glasses aside on the chair he’d been sitting on, his movements unhurried, while he takes a seat next to you.

Before you know it, you’re wrapped in his arms, his solid warmth softly eroding the loneliness you hadn’t realized had settled so deep. His free hand rests at your back, drawing soothing circles as he murmurs, “You’re alright, sweetheart. I got you.”

And right now, with him holding you like this, you almost believe it.

That makes the tears come harder, raw and unbidden, and as you rest your head against his chest, Logan’s hold tightens, anchoring you in a way that makes you want to stay right here forever. Each wrenching sob feels like it shakes you both, echoing through the stillness, and in his arms, you sense the way he’s taking in every tremor as though he can shoulder it, piece by piece, with you. The emptiness you’ve been carrying slips free, finally heard and understood without the need for words.

You lean into him, letting everything go, letting yourself be vulnerable in a way you haven’t let yourself in a long time. And he doesn’t shy away—he’s solid, present, his hand still rubbing slow, steady circles at your back, each one easing the ache just a little more. The weight of his head rests against yours, and he lets out a quiet breath, one that feels almost like it’s unraveling along with you. It’s as if your pain, your loneliness, is something he’s felt in his bones too, something he understands as deeply as you do.

Your breathing finally starts to steady, the silence folding around you both, and you become aware of how close you are, how easily you fit against him. His hand is still on your back, his fingers gentle but firm, keeping you grounded, safe.

He doesn’t let go, not yet. He keeps holding you, like he knows just how fragile the moment is, how much you need this. And maybe he does, maybe that’s exactly why he’s here, still holding you as if to say that he’s not going anywhere.

When you finally pull back, his hands linger a little longer than necessary, brushing along your arms before he lets them fall away. You look up, meeting his gaze, and the softness there—the warmth that you almost never get to see—is so clear it nearly takes your breath away. There’s something in his eyes that’s raw, unguarded, as if he’s letting you see right into him, the way he’s been letting you into his heart all this time, even if neither of you realized it until now.

“You good?” he murmurs, voice hushed in the quiet, but there’s a hint of a soft smile tugging at his lips, the kind that makes you feel a little lighter.

You nod, and his smile grows just a bit, a spark of something warmer, softer, flickering between you.

“I’m sorry, I…” you start, but he cuts you off with a gentle shake of his head.

“Nothin’ to be sorry for, sweetheart,” he says quietly, and his hand reaches up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, lingering just for a second. “Sometimes it’s just… better not bein’ alone with it, y’know?”

His words settle into you, and once again, you feel the ache ease, a peace seeping into the hollow spaces.

You both sit there in the quiet of his room, comfortable in a way you never thought you could be, the space between you feeling less like a distance and more like something shared—something solid, something real.

And with Logan there, his warmth close enough to feel, you almost start to believe that maybe you don’t have to carry everything alone anymore. The thought gives you just enough strength to voice what you need, a soft whisper leaving your lips before you can second-guess it.

“Can I… spend the night here?” The words are barely more than a breath, and you almost want to take them back, worried he’ll say it’s not a good idea. What you really want to say is, With you. In your warmth, but the words catch, too vulnerable to release.

But he doesn’t hesitate or throw up any walls. Instead, he just nods, voice soft, a steady warmth in his eyes. “’Course you can.” He gestures to his desk, then adds, “I just gotta finish up something, but make yourself comfortable.”

Relief floods you, and you nod shyly, barely believing he’d let you stay. He offers you a soft smile and as you settle onto his bed, you watch him put away the glasses before returning to his desk, the quiet sounds of him flipping through papers filling the room. You take in the comforting familiarity of his place, the faint scent of cedar lingering, grounding you, and his calm presence nearby.

The warm light of his lamp casts a soft glow, creating a rim around his silhouette that makes it nearly impossible to tear your eyes away. As he grades, he asks you about the mission, his voice a low, comforting rumble that eases the tension knotted up in your chest. You tell him about the contact, the files—how it took some time to track them down, but everything went smoother than expected when you finally met them; perhaps even too smoothly. He listens with that rare focus of his, asking about Jean and Scott, prompting an involuntary frown to tug at your lips.

“Jean and Scott are fine,” you say, a hint of frustration threading through your voice. “Though Scott could probably learn not to glue himself to her side every five minutes.”

Logan lets out a quiet laugh, finishing his last mark on the page. Then, with a stretch that pulls his folded arms above his head, you catch the faint shift of muscles beneath his shirt, the strength and ease in his posture.

But he doesn’t let the silence linger long, rising from his chair and making his way to the bed. You feel every inch of space tighten as he stands beside you, his expression unreadable, though his eyes hold a softness that makes your pulse race.

“Alright, scoot over,” the words are a gentle rumble that makes you shiver.

Your heart hammers in your chest, louder than you’d like, but you shift over, trying not to look too eager, as he settles beside you. Gently, he pulls the covers over you both, his arm coming around your shoulders, drawing you closer with a tenderness you hadn’t quite expected. The warmth seeps into your skin, anchoring you, yet leaving you a little breathless all the same.

“This okay?” he murmurs, his voice low, almost like it’s more than just a question—it’s the quiet way he’s asking if this is where you want to be, if the trust you’re giving him feels safe.

You nod, barely managing to find your voice. “Yeah… yeah, it’s perfect.” You can feel the tension melt from his shoulders, and he draws you in just a little closer, his fingers brushing gently along your arm, reassuring you, steadying you.

You let yourself lean into him, feeling the comforting weight of his arm, the steady beat of his heart, and something inside you loosens. In his warmth, you finally start to feel like you can let go of the weight you've been carrying alone.

"Want to talk about what made you cry this much, sweetheart?" His voice is so gentle, it stirs a thousand butterflies in your stomach, soft wings fluttering wildly.

You hesitate, the words lodged somewhere between your mind and heart, tangled up in a mess you’re not sure you want to unpack—not when he’s holding you this close. What if he pulls back? What if saying it out loud makes him realize that the walls you’ve built around yourself are too heavy to break down? So, instead, you give a small shrug, gaze fixed anywhere but on him.

He’s not letting that slide, though. His fingers find your chin, lifting it so his eyes meet yours, and the look in them is something that cuts straight to your core. He’s searching, looking for any hint of understanding on your face, any clue to ease the worry etched into his own.

“Talk to me, darlin’.” His voice is barely above a whisper, warm and rough all at once, a touch of desperation woven into the words. “I hate seein’ you so raw. Tell me how I can help you… Tell me how to make you smile again.”

It breaks something in you. His voice, so soft, so full of a care you’re not sure you deserve, leaves your heart aching in a way you can’t put words to.

“I…” Your voice trembles, and you drop your gaze, the heat of emotion rising, cheeks flushing. But finally, you look back up, letting your eyes roam over the details of his face—the lines of his jaw, the warmth in his gaze, the way he’s watching you so intently. “I felt… empty.” The words come out, quiet, as though admitting it might make it more real.

He nods slowly, waiting, giving you the space to open up. But when you don’t say anything more, his eyes don’t waver, the silent question hanging in the air between you both.

“Is there a way… you could fill up that void?” he asks, voice low, like he’s afraid of breaking the moment.

You shrug, feeling the vulnerability creeping up, the fear that if you answer, if you tell him everything, it might somehow shatter whatever’s here between you two.

“Can I?” His words catch you off guard, a question with a weight you can feel pressing down on your heart, and your breath hitches, your pulse thrumming just a little faster. You try to look away, but his hand shifts, moving from your chin to your cheek, cradling your face in a touch that feels almost reverent.

“Would you… allow me to?” he asks, and for the first time, there’s a raw uncertainty in his voice that you’ve rarely heard.

Your eyes widen, snapping to his. Is he serious? Every inch of you feels frozen, the words lodged somewhere deep, caught in the shock of realizing what he’s asking.

“Do… do you want to?” The words are barely a whisper, breaking in the middle, your voice unable to keep up with the weight of what you’re asking.

“Of course I do.” His voice is soft, steady, like he’s been waiting for this moment, his thumb brushing against your cheek in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. “Been wantin’ to for a long time now.”

Your heart skips, and you finally let it slip out, the confession that’s been haunting you all this time. “Me too.”

A small smile curves his lips, warm and tender, and you feel the heat in your cheeks spreading, creeping up to the tips of your ears. You watch as he leans closer, his gaze steady, the closeness making your pulse thunder in your ears until it feels like this one moment is going to consume every heartbeat you have left.

And maybe… maybe if you did, if you spent the last of your breath in his arms, it would be the perfect way to go, the only place where you feel you truly belong.

You close your eyes just for a second, and then his lips brush yours, soft and tentative, and your breath catches, your lips parting instinctively, inviting him in. The kiss is gentle at first, careful, and it feels like both of you are slowly pouring everything unsaid, everything you’ve held back, into this single moment.

“Damn,” he whispers against your lips, voice rough, his breath mingling with yours. “How am I so lucky?”

As your eyes flutter open, you’re met with his gaze, heavy and full of wonder, like he’s trying to memorize every inch of your face. You give him a small, shy smile, feeling a bit too seen under the weight of his gaze.

“Maybe…” You hesitate, warmth flushing your cheeks as you search for the words. “Maybe I’m your lucky charm?”

The line is cheesy, and you feel heat rushing to your face, fighting the urge to bury yourself against his chest just to hide the embarrassment. But he just chuckles, low and warm, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek as his eyes roam your face like he’s drinking you in, committing each detail to memory.

“That you are, darlin’,” he murmurs, leaning in again, voice like gravel softened with something sweeter. “That you are.”

His lips find yours again, slow and unhurried, tasting, savoring, like he’s taking his time with his favorite indulgence. The heat between you flares, your body instinctively arching toward him, pressing your chest to his as if they’re two pieces meant to fit together. Your hands find their way to his shoulders, fingers curling into his shirt as the world narrows down to this—just the two of you, here, together.

Your legs entwine with his, pulling him closer as he keeps kissing you, each touch lingering, like he’s trying to make this last forever. There’s an intensity to it, a quiet desperation, like he wants to remember everything—the feel of you, the taste of your lips, the warmth of your body against his. And you know, somewhere deep down, he’s making a promise he can’t quite say, a vow wrapped in every gentle, fervent kiss.

His hands roam gently, as if they can’t bear to leave your skin for more than a heartbeat. Every touch, every kiss, feels like he's staking his claim, like he’s savoring the feel of you under his hands, the softness of your skin against his lips.

“I remember…” he murmurs, his voice a rough whisper between kisses trailing along your neck, each one setting a spark to life. “…the first day you came here.” Another kiss, and you shiver, feeling the warmth of his breath on your skin. “How the sun played in your hair…” His words feel like a prayer, spoken in a reverent hush against you.

Your heart hammers as he continues, his lips brushing your collarbone. “How your eyes shined under it.” He breathes you in, and the tenderness in that single moment makes your heart ache. “And how your lips seemed so soft, so perfect…” His voice dips, roughened with memory and desire. “I wanted to taste them.”

A shudder runs through you, and as his arms tighten around you, it’s like every crack, every empty space inside you, is filling, piece by piece. The walls you built around yourself feel like they’re crumbling, and in their place, there’s only him—holding you close, grounding you, making you whole.

A flood of tears blurs your vision at his words, the intensity of his affection almost too much to bear. Your heart feels like it might shatter, overwhelmed by the rawness of his attention. You want to ask him to pause, to let you catch your breath, but a deeper part of you needs him to keep going, to pull you under until you can’t feel anything but him.

Your fingers slide into his hair, holding tight, and you’re both so entwined that it’s impossible to tell where you end and he begins. His solid thigh presses between yours, igniting a heat that settles low in your core, and the ache becomes an insistent, undeniable need.

"I want you," you murmur, your voice trembling with the weight of it, as if just speaking those words could release the ache, the longing that’s gripped you for so long.

His lips brush along your neck, sending another shiver through you. "You already have me, darlin’," he murmurs, his words laced with a gentle finality. “Ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

A soft whimper escapes you as your hips press against him, the friction driving you deeper into the haze of want. A flush of embarrassment runs through you, but your body has a will of its own, hungry for him, desperate to drink in every bit of warmth he’s offering.

“Shhh…” he whispers, his voice a calming balm, “don’t rush this.” His lips find the line of your jaw, brushing a trail of warmth as he presses you closer. “We got all the time in the world.”

He slows you, anchoring you in this moment. His touch, his steady breaths against your skin, gently pull you back from the edge, letting the need pulse just below the surface, allowing you to feel—truly feel—what it means to have him right here, as close as two people can be.

But even as the urgency eases, a deeper ache remains, simmering low but insistent, drawing you to him.

“Please, Lo…” Your voice is raw, your eyes glazed, pleading. “I need this.”

He lets out a low chuckle, his arms tightening around your waist as he studies you, his gaze soft and unreadable. "Alright, darlin'," he finally murmurs, a spark in his eyes. "Anything for you."

His hand slips beneath the sheets, his touch warm as it traces along your waistline, sending shivers under your skin, then dips under, finding the heat between your thighs. A reverent “Damn…” escapes him as he discovers just how ready you are. One of his finger slips into you, slow and steady, as he shakes his head with a dark smile. “Look at you, darlin’… all set for me.”

Your breath hitches as your eyes meet his. The way he’s watching you, so focused, as if he’s memorizing every expression you make, every soft sound—he’s completely lost in you, his gaze heavy with both desire and adoration.

You can’t hold back; your hips move, seeking more, and he obliges, adding a second finger, building a steady rhythm that has you panting. The friction of your clit against his thigh adds to the rising pleasure, making you gasp, “Oh, god…”

“For you, it’ll just be Logan,” he teases, the corners of his mouth quirking up. You let out a soft laugh, your body shuddering with pleasure even through your chuckle.

And then it hits you—the realization slipping in alongside the mounting pleasure. You love him. This never was just a fleeting crush or harmless infatuation; it’s deeper, the kind of ache that takes root, the kind of feeling that leaves marks.

His fingers keep their pace, curling just right, and he leans close, voice a murmur against your ear. “But you… you’re a hungry little goddess, aren’t ya?” His words make you shiver, your heart pounding with a desperate, heady ache. No one’s ever spoken to you like this, made you feel this way—like you’re both worshiped and needed all at once.

Tears fill your eyes as you hold onto him, fingers tangled in his hair. He captures your mouth in a slow, tender kiss, pouring everything he feels into it, and when the tears finally slip down your cheeks, he doesn’t let go. He just holds you tighter, kissing you as if you’re the only thing he’ll ever need.

“You’re so damn gorgeous…” he whispers, his breath warm against your lips. “The things I could do for you, darlin’…” His voice dips low, almost reverent, each word soaked in devotion. “Anything you ask.” It’s a promise without conditions, the kind that sends a shiver straight through you. You can feel your body teetering at the edge, aching for that final release, and he can sense it too, his fingers curled inside you, urging you on.

“Come on, goddess,” he murmurs, his tone coaxing, steady. “Take that leap. I’ve got you, darlin’.” The words settle over you like a safety net, and all you can do is hold onto him as your body finally lets go, every muscle tightening before the wave of pleasure crashes over you, leaving you breathless, clutching him like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered.

“Logan…” His name is a whisper on your lips, barely a sound, but he hears it, feels it. Your body trembles, and he doesn’t stop, guiding you through every second of your high, his quiet voice a thread grounding you, keeping you anchored. “That’s it, darlin’. I’m right here… All yours.”

You melt against him, laughter spilling out, soft and blissful, until your breath slows and your limbs relax. And then, as the high fades, reality sharpens around you—What have you done? The thought hits hard, like a jolt, and your face heats as you come back to yourself, feeling the full weight of your own boldness. Yet there he is, watching you with that gentle smile, utterly unfazed, as if he’d been waiting for this all along.

“Is my goddess’ hunger finally satisfied?” His hand slips from you, resting on your hip as he pulls you close, like he’s sealing you to him.

The weight of his words, the way he says “goddess” with such warmth, makes you shrink a little in embarrassment. You nod, unable to do anything but smile, a whispered “thank you” escaping as he watches you with that familiar, affectionate gaze. His smile deepens, a hint of pride there, as if he’s just as grateful to be here for you, to be whatever you need.

“Do you want me to…” you fumble with your words, your hand finding his length under the sheets.

His breath catches in his throat as you touch him, and for a moment, he closes his eyes, like he’s savoring every second. When he opens them again, you can see the desire flicker in his eyes. “Only if you want to,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble, lips grazing your temple in reassurance. You can tell he wants this—you can see it in his gaze, in the tension held in his body. But he’s holding back, leaving the choice entirely to you, and that makes your heart ache with the depth of his care. You offer him a soft smile, feeling your confidence build.

"Of course I do," you say, your words barely above a whisper as you grip him a little more firmly, feeling the way he pulses under your touch through the fabric of his pants. His eyes flutter shut for a handful of seconds, a deep groan slipping from his lips, and it sends a thrill through you. You want to see more of that side of him—the one that unravels under your hands.

“You deserve it,” you say tentatively, and the way his pupils dilate, the sudden, open look of vulnerability in his face—it leaves you breathless as you contemplate the power your words, your voice, holds over him. “You served me well,” you continue with a teasing smile, testing the waters, emboldened by the way he craves your touch. “You deserve a reward for your devotion.” Your words are shaky, but he doesn’t seem to mind; if anything, he seems to fall further under your spell, watching you with a look of pure reverence.

A blissful smile, like you’ve given him a gift he’d only dreamed of, blossoms on his lips, igniting a warmth in your chest. You lower the waistband of his pants along his hips, and he helps you, propping himself on his elbow to create space for his pants to slide down. With a shared sense of urgency, you quickly follow suit, shedding your own pants, feeling a thrill in the closeness and vulnerability.

For a moment, you pause, breath mingling in the space between you, before he reaches for the hem of your shirt, his fingers brushing your skin as he lifts it over your head. You follow, slipping his shirt over his shoulders until he’s bare beside you. Exposed and unguarded, your bodies mirror each other, every inch shared with nothing between you but a deep, unspoken trust.

“God, you’re stunning,” he breathes, his voice low and reverent, the admiration in his gaze making you feel cherished.

“Lie down,” you order, cheeks warm as you push against his chest with a finger, your voice still shaky yet inviting. He holds your gaze, a spark of warmth and willingness in his eyes as he murmurs, “Yes, goddess,” his tone layered with a promise that he’d do anything you ask, gladly. He sinks back into the mattress, anticipation and excitement radiating from him as he watches you push back the sheets. Your heart races as you straddle him, your core pressing against him, feeling the heat radiate from his skin.

As you settle into position, you reach for his hard length, guiding it towards you, a rush of electricity coursing through your body as you align him with your entrance. His breath hitches, and his hands instinctively settle on your hips as you lower yourself onto him, inch by inch, until you’re both tangled together, bodies fully aligned, savoring the stretch and warmth as he fills you completely. For a few seconds, you both go still, reveling in the sensation.

Logan’s hands grip your sides, fingers pressing into your skin with just enough firmness to keep you close. His chest rises and falls with a shaky breath as his eyes, pupils blown wide, never leave yours, darkened with longing and something deeper, reverent, like he’s been waiting for this, for you, longer than he can say.

“You sure know how to make a man feel lucky,” he whispers, hands trailing up and down your thighs with a gentleness that sends a shiver down your spine. His fingers press into your skin, tethering you both, as if he’s afraid you might disappear.

You can’t take it anymore and start to move, slow at first, testing the waters, rocking your hips in a rhythm that has him groaning low in his throat, the sound vibrating through you. His hands travel to your waist, tightening their grip, encouraging yet still letting you take control. You set the pace, finding your rhythm, feeling every reaction, every ripple of tension in his muscles, the way his mouth parts as he lets you take him, guiding him. You revel in the exquisite blend of pleasure and fullness that makes your heart race.

The friction, the closeness—everything feels overwhelming yet so right. His eyes flutter shut for a heartbeat, but he forces them open again, locking onto you like he doesn’t want to miss a single moment. With each roll of your hips, his breathing quickens, and you can feel every shudder, every quiet murmur he lets slip.

“Damn, you’re everything, darlin’,” he whispers, a mix of awe and reverence in his voice, as his gaze locks onto yours, filled with desire. His words wrap around you, the steady warmth and adoration anchoring you as you ride the waves together, each breath, each movement bringing you closer, binding you tighter, like he’s willing to worship you, soul and all.

“Logan,” you breathe, your voice barely a whisper, and he responds by brushing his thumb over your cheek, drawing both of you deeper into the moment as you keep moving, the intensity building stronger between you.

He groans again, low and guttural, the sound vibrating through you and encouraging you to press on. His hands travel down to your hips again, his grip tightening as he urges you to keep going. You can feel the heat building in your core, a delicious pressure that you both chase.

“You’re incredible,” he breathes, his eyes filled with admiration, and you find strength in his words. The connection between you deepens with each movement, each gasp, each whispered encouragement, making you feel as though you’re lost in a world of your own, where nothing else exists but the two of you.

“Just like that, goddess,” he whispers, his voice hoarse, and you shiver at the praise. You continue to ride him, feeling the tension in your body rise, both panting as you approach the edge together.

“Come on, let go,” he encourages, sensing how close you are, his words a plea, like a prayer, each syllable pulling you closer to that edge. Every muscle in your body tightens, as if you’re standing on the precipice of something divine. You clutch his arms tightly, anchoring yourself to him in the overwhelming storm of pleasure.

“Lo…” your voice is breathless, a whisper that speaks of need, and he responds by grounding you, coaxing you further into ecstasy. “I’m right here, darlin’,” he murmurs, his words an unbreakable promise that fills you with warmth and security.

And then, the rush of pleasure bursts through you, overwhelming your senses as you seize against him. Every gasp, every moan is a testament to the depth of what you share. “Oh fuck…” The words slip from your lips, dissolving into soft laughter as the world fades, leaving just the two of you, bodies entwined in bliss.

You feel him tensing beneath you, his breaths coming in heavy pants that send a thrill through you. “May I come, goddess?” he asks, his voice thick with need.

“Yes,” you reply, still riding the waves of your own release. “Come for me.”

He grips your hips hard, his fingers digging in, and you know it’s going to leave bruises, but you don’t care. You relish the thought of him marking your flesh, each pressure heightening the sensations coursing through your body. With a few more thrusts of your hips, he joins you in rapture, emptying himself within you, giving you everything he is without holding back. You feel the warmth spreading inside your core as you watch him come undone under your gaze, a sight so beautiful it sends another wave of pleasure crashing over you.

It’s a strange thing to tower over him like this, to have the Wolverine at your mercy, to command the beast in him with a simple word or glance. But you love it; no, it’s more than that—it empowers you in a way you’ve never experienced before. As he loses himself to you, you feel another ache building inside, an insatiable hunger that suggests you could easily go another round.

But just as you prepare to move again, he stops you, grabbing your hands and pulling you to his chest. “Shhh,” he soothes, kissing your knuckles, his voice a low rumble. “Please, let me have this for a sec.”

You smile, leaning in to kiss his chest before settling there, your fingers playing with the soft hair beneath your fingertips. It feels warm and comforting, a safe haven that makes your heart race with a mix of excitement and tenderness. “Okay,” you whisper back. “You can. You earned it.”

A deep sigh escapes him, one filled with a sense of relief and belonging. “I dreamt of this so much,” he confesses, his hands brushing through your hair, tender and reverent.

In that moment, as you nestle against him, you can feel the weight of his words, the vulnerability wrapped in his admission. It feels monumental, the connection deepening with every heartbeat, every shared breath.

You still feel him rock hard inside you, promises of more pleasure lingering between you, but you don’t move. You’re just content to be here, to enjoy this shared moment.

“I imagined it so often too,” you say, comforted by his words. “But I thought… I thought you didn’t…” Your voice breaks under the emotions and tears well up in your eyes again, a mix of relief and vulnerability spilling over.

He senses the hint of despair in your voice, and he sits up, pulling you closer with a gentle hand on your back. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” he soothes you softly, his voice wrapped in warmth. “It’s over now. I’m here.”

It feels as if all the pain and fear were just a distant nightmare, and you’ve finally woken up in his arms. You kiss him, desperately, as though it’s your last day on earth, and he leans in, his hands wrapping around your waist, anchoring you in the warmth of this reality.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs as you part slightly, your foreheads pressed together, his breath mingling with yours. “I’ll always be here to care for you, my goddess.”

His words resonate deeply within you, filling you with an overwhelming sense of joy. You can feel the reverence in his tone, the way he honors you, making you feel like the center of his universe.

With trembling hands, you hug him back tightly, tears sliding down your cheeks once more, a testament to the joy he brings you in this instant. He holds you firmly, and in that embrace, everything feels right—safe and cherished, as if you’ve finally found your home in each other.

You stay in that tender embrace for a few moments until he pulls away, his thumbs gently drying your cheeks. “You good?” he asks, worry flickering in his eyes. You nod, feeling the warmth of his concern wrap around you like a comforting blanket.

Shifting your knees, you wrap your legs around him, your ankles crossing at his back. “Still hungry?” he teases, a playful smile spreading across his face. You respond with a low laugh, feeling a rush of warmth at his question.

“Just a little peckish,” you admit, shyly biting your lip while your gaze drift away. But he chuckles, his arms around your waist pulling you closer. “Then I should feed you properly,” he replies, a hint of humor dancing in his words.

Your breath catches in your throat as you feel him moving inside you, the new angle bringing a fresh wave of sensation through your body. The shift sparks a thrill that sends a shiver down your spine, and you chuckle softly, matching his own low laugh. He buries his nose in your hair, inhaling deeply, and something primal flares within you, urging you to start grinding against him once more.

“Yes, darlin’” he murmurs, his voice low and sultry. “Use me to satisfy yourself.”

In the crook of your neck, you can feel how much Logan is lost in you—in your warmth, the love he feels for you, and the pleasure that pulses between you, a beautiful cycle of give and take. You feel overstimulated, but stopping now feels impossible, as everything—the heat of him inside you, his skin against yours, his hair tangled in your fingers, his breath hot on your neck—drives you crazy.

With each thrust, you get closer, faster, to the edge once more. His movements quickens, each thrust more desperate, more consuming, stoking the fire between you to a near fever pitch. It’s as if he’s lost control, chasing something unspoken, a force that drives you both to the breaking point. Every motion sends a jolt through you, a spark that ignites in sharp, dizzying bursts, each one building, spiraling higher, until it feels like you might shatter and fuse together in the same breath. The intensity crashes over you, drowning everything but him, the world narrowing to just his heat, his touch, his name on your lips.

“You close?” you whimper, voice breathless, and he nods in the crook of your neck, breath hitching. “Me too, baby,” you reply, heart racing. “Let’s come together.”

“As you wish, goddess,” he breathes, his panting matching the tightening tension between you. Pressing your ankles in his back, you lock your arms behind his neck as he draws you closer, his embrace grounding you both.

It doesn’t take long—just a few more deliberate, powerful thrusts, each one pushing you both closer, the pleasure cresting like a tidal wave poised to crash. You can feel him trembling against you, the last of his restraints slipping, and the anticipation is almost unbearable.

“Yes…” you cry out, your head tilting back as laughter bubbles up, spilling into a gasp. “Yes, baby. I… I’m—”

Coherent thoughts slip away as a low grunt escapes his lips, the two of you riding the wave of pleasure together. The intensity, raw and pure, consumes you, and tears prick at your eyes, spilling down your cheeks in the blissful haze.

“Oh, Lo… I love you so much,” you blurt out, unable to contain the overwhelming emotion filling your chest.

“I love you too, darlin’,” he replies through gritted teeth, his voice hoarse as you both come down from the height of sensation, holding each other close.

Finally, the world blurs and fades around you, leaving only warmth, your breaths mingling, and the erratic rhythm of your hearts beating as one as you rest against him. Logan cradles you, his arms enveloping you as if you were always meant to be right here, with him. The thumping of his heartbeat slowing beneath you becomes a cocoon of safety and love, a silent promise that feels like forever.

“I didn’t know you were that hungry,” he finally says softly, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head as his breathing steadies. You bury your face in his chest, feeling warmth rise in your cheeks.

“Sorry,” you murmur, voice barely above a breath. He chuckles, the sound like a warm embrace, wrapping around you.

“Don’t be sorry, love.” He cups your cheek, turning your face toward him, his eyes a tender blend of love and understanding. “I’m here now, and I’ll always take care of you.”

Taking a deep breath, you try to gather your thoughts. “It’s just… it’s been a while since I felt anything close to satisfying that… hunger I had for you,” you admit, voice tinged with embarrassment as the words slip out. “Nothing and no one ever came close.”

His lips curve into a small smile, a knowing glint in his eyes. “I get it. But you don’t have to hold back anymore. I’m yours—fully, completely.” His thumb brushes the lingering tears from your cheek, and the sincerity in his gaze makes your heart swell.

“Just tell me what you need, and I’ll make sure you get it,” he adds, his voice low and steady, a solemn promise between you. You nod, feeling a deep sense of relief, knowing you’re safe, cherished, and free to explore every corner of this love together, without fear.

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