#watch dogs 2 x reader

[ashersarchives]

❝You Don't Have to Carry All of This Alone, Babe.❞

Pairing: Wrench x Female!Reader

Warnings: Wrench comforting the reader who is stressed, lots of kissing and a makeout session which, some suggestive computer innuendos, overall fluff.

﹂Author's Note: This is my first time writing for Wrench, so there will probably be a few out of character moments and I may have missed a few things about him, and I feel I could've added a few of the emotes from his mask, but I am happy with how this came out, considering it took 3 hours with no plan. But I hope my readers enjoy it!

Please comment any warnings if I did not state.

...

To say that she was angry would be an understatement. She was thoroughly pissed off. Brows furrowed forward, inwards towards her nose while her fingers worked quickly across the keyboard of her computer, lines of code opened to her, but not allowing her to go forwards into hacking what she was attempting to break into through the security of the firewall.

She had been asked by Marcus to attempt to hack into the system of a local hacking group that had somehow gotten way too close to DedSec, not into it, luckily. However, the crease in her forehead was displaying how her anger was like a full cup, only needing one more drop to over flow and cause a spill, which was where she was, seated by her work station and brewing dangerously close to the edge each time she inputted a piece of code only for it to reject it and display the red lined words that told her that it wasn’t working.

“Keep it together, (Y/N).” She whispered to herself, rubbing her hands over her face and cupping her hands over her nose and mouth as her tired eyes attempted to scan the many lines of code, looking for any mistakes or errors she could have imputed to result in the code not working, “We can do this, we’re the amazing (Y/N) that’s going to kick the ass of another hacker.”

Unfortunately, that wasn’t happening.

“You fucking piece of tech trash!” She yelled as she aggressively stood up and leaned on the desk with both of her hands, staring a hole into the computer that she was so ready to throw against the wall. Her yelling attracted the concerned faces of the others that were at the headquarters, while, at least the ones that were closest to her, “You know, there’s fucking computers in junk yards and here I am, stuck with you!”

Frustrated with herself and her code, she started pacing around the small area, attempting to stretch her fingers while also tugging them through her hair, mumbling to herself, mumbles that were inaudible to the others that sat by the couch, funny enough, Wrench and Marcus were nowhere to be seen, the both of them had opted to go pick up some drinks for the headquarters.

Things around headquarters had been making everything and everyone highly tensed ever since they found evidence of someone trying to hack into their system, how they got in, no one knew, but it was causing some of the members to reveal their more aggressive sides, so attempting to calm everyone down and simply enjoy the evening without fights, Wrench and Marcus went out to get some more energisers for everyone.

“(Y/N), maybe you should just calm down a little. Take a break, you’ve been looking at words and numbers since the time you woke up.” Sitara said over the couch that she had been occupying, "Which I believe was around four o'clock this morning."

“Take a break? For every minute—no second—that I take a fucking break, there’s some asshole behind a screen getting closer and closer to taking information that isn’t theirs and exposing us, as if being a heap of trash wasn't enough.” (Y/N) explains, her voice laced in irritation and exasperation, her index fingers pointing back to herself as she spoke, her eyes were starting to burn, tears hidden behind the mask she was trying to hold up, her breathing uneven and her figure shaking slightly.

Sitara and Josh could see that it had been taking a toll on her, and the one thing she was trying to hide was the fact that she thought it was running on her back, like a heavy burden. Sitara got up from her spot and walked close to the girl who was on the verge of a rage attack, she had even placed her jacket on halfway, the other half simply not on her arm and hanging off her back, a tattoo of Wrench's mask paining her shoulder blade, Sitara placed her hand on (Y/N)’s clothed shoulder, squeezing gently to reassure her.

“Just breathe. We’ll figure this out. Once the other two boys come back, we can all take a break, cool off, and then restart.” She told her, though her words were doing nothing to console her, and (Y/N)'s state only continued to get worse when the tears started pooling by her eyes, shrugging Sitara’s hand off of her shoulder as she retreated back to her workstation, her gaze fixed to the screen, her frown still imprinted on her face and her jacket swaying with her steps.

The clanking of glass bottles reached their ears when the door was opened to the awaiting two entering.

“We come bearing gifts.” Marcus said as he and Wrench placed the two bags on the table, Marcus was quick to get everything out of the bag while (Y/N) still had not acknowledged their presence, her gaze still fixed to the screen harbouring the cause of her frustration. Her jacket still hanging off of her shoulder, allowing the tattoo on the back of her shoulder to be out in the open, her fingers still twitching against the table, creating a ticking-like sound, something her mask-wearing boyfriend caught sign of.

Before he could move towards her, Sitara had caught his arm, “Listen, I don’t care what you do, but get her to take a break now before these headquarters get burnt down. Literally.” She told him, watching the emotes change on his mask from the default ‘X’s’ to the winking emotes ‘~  ^’.

“Don’t worry, I'll make sure she gets some energy into her system.” He told Sitara, giggling as he stepped close to his lover, wrapping his arms softly around her middle section and looking over her shoulder to see the computer screen filled with code, “What has you so worked up, my little pumpkin?” He cooed in her ear.

(Y/N) huffed an irritable sigh as she leaned back into Wrench’s embrace, placing her hands on top of his, ignoring the chatter going on in the background between the others. But before she would say anything, she had turned around quickly, grabbing Wrench by the front of his shirt and pulling him along to one of the rooms she had been occupying.

“I’m bloody frustrated and fucking horny, and you are going to fix it!” She told him as she dragged him to her room, Wrench holding his hands up in a surrender motion, yet his mask showed ‘^ ^’ emotes, as he happily let her drag him by the front of his shirt, because who was he to complain to a good time.

The rest of the group simply stared in confusion at the exchange that just took place.

“O-kay? I’m going to guess that she’s still worked up on the hacker problem?” Marcus asked as he had emptied the last bag watching Sitara sigh and Josh lean back in his chair, meanwhile Ray had been completely oblivious to the whole episode that had taken place.

“She does know that not everything is riding on her, right?” Josh asked as Sitara nodded to Marcus’s question.

“She’s been like that even before joining DedSec, taking on other peoples problems when she knows that help is available.” Sitara spoke, she had been friends with her since they were younger, so understanding her mannerisms was never a problem for her.

Meanwhile behind the closed door, lips were clashing in a fiery lock of passion. (Y/N) had situated herself on Wrench’s lap, her legs straddling him while her hands still grasped the front of his shirt, pulling him closer as if she was trying to mesh their bodies together, Wrench’s mask had been placed on the nightstand next to the bed that the two were seated on. His hands holding her hips down, gently brushing against the stiff boner in his jeans, their moans filling the room with each kiss becoming more passionate.

Although, the elephant in the room had still been on his mind, so he gently lifted his hand to gently grasp her wrist that had been leaving crinkles in his shirt from her tight grip, gently pulling her hand off, making her stop the lip lock and gaze into his blue eyes, the same eyes that had enchanted and hypnotized her the first time she met him, the same blue eyes that she found herself drowning in each time they were cuddling without his mask on, the same eyes she fell in love with the first time he had taken his mask off in front of her.

“Babe, as much as I would love for you to link in on my zip drive, I think there’s something bothering you.” He told her, watching as her expression fell and she relaxed a little bit, one hand still clutching his shirt.

“I’m fine, Wrench.” She told him, lying through her teeth and knowing that he could see through her like an open book.

“Babe,” He called, the sweet pet name still making her melt as the first day he called her it, “I think you’re trying to tell yourself that rather than me.” His expression was soft, he’d wait until she felt comfortable to tell him, and he could see how her eyes were slowly turning glassy, she tried blinking away the tears that were threatening to overflow from her eyes before her hands were reaching up to angrily wipe them away.

“I don’t know what I’m doing wrong, Wrench.” She told him, the tears breaking like a dam with a cracked wall, “That fucking code, it keeps on telling me that there’s an error and I don’t know why, when I checked, the code I inputted was clean and organised, and the stupid thing-” A sob escaped her mouth halfway through her explanation, making Wrench wrap his arms around her, holding her tightly as she sobbed into his chest. He knew that this problem was causing a toll on her, he could see it by the dark bags under her eyes and how tired she had been at the end of every episode where she got upset about it.

“You don’t have to do this by yourself, you know that, right?” He asked her as her cries died down a bit, “Everyone is working on stopping this, you don’t have to carry this alone.” He told her, pulling away to look at her face, eyes bloodshot and horrible attempts of her trying to hide her snot-filled nose. 

Wrench gently placed both of his hands on the sides of her face, pulling her to look at him, he smiled softly, placing a small kiss on her forehead. He knew how she had tried to carry the world on her shoulders and ever since she had joined DedSec, he noticed her determination to keep the ones around her safe, he had witnessed it first hand when she had gone with him and Sitara to the store to get something and when some asshole pulled up with a knife, she had been quick to make herself the centre of attention before knuckle punching the bastard until his face was a bloody mess. For her, she had only escaped with a punch to the face, which he tried to help her clean up back at headquarters but ended up getting help from Ray regardless.

Even the time when she had confessed that she had feelings for him, he remembers being a mess that night. He had been working, well more like using a sledgehammer, to retrieve a chip out from the toaster and she had walked up to him, starting a light conversation with him as he told her about his technology and other tech terms, which she found amusement in. She stood close to him but still gave him his personal space, but she had been lost in her head and when he had cussed out about how the sledgehammer wouldn't help, she had admitted that she would work if he smashed her with a sledgehammer. Upon realizing her mistake, she had covered her face with her hands, hiding the deep blush that had appeared there.

But he had to be an oblivious romantic because he simply replied with, “I’m sure that would be painful.”

However, when he relayed the conversation to Marcus, he had to hold his tongue not to laugh at his masked friend. Only when Marcus had explained that she had been keeping feelings for him, did Wrench finally realize her actions, why she had always stood close to him, why she smiled at each of his tech sex jokes, and why she looked at him with a certain fondness.

And he will forever remember how she reacted the first time he showed his face to her, she didn’t grimace at the red birthmark by his eye, or scowl or berate him. He had been nervous to show her but he wanted her to know that he trusted her, however when he had reached to grab his mask, she was quick to grab it before him, placing it behind her on the small table.

That night she expressed to him how handsome he was, that the birthmark didn’t define him or make her see him any differently. Even as he cried in her arms that night from how they made love to each other, how afterwards she had placed soft kisses against all the parts of his face and down his chest and back up to under his chin by his throat. That night changed a lot of things for him, that night had allowed them both to see each other deeply and bath in the love that so strongly connected the both of them.

“I can’t let them break into our system, Wrench.” (Y/N) admitted to him, breaking him out of his memory moment. Holding her tighter to him as she placed her head into the crook of his neck.

“That won’t happen. You’ve got me, Marcus, Sitara and the other’s also working on the problem, they're not going to get one inch into our tight security.” He tells her reassuringly, “But the one thing you have to keep in mind is that you can’t do a five-person job by yourself.”

(Y/N) sighs into his neck, her warm breath sending a tickling sensation down his spine.

“Still, I feel so useless.” She says to him, it’s obvious that the problem is still weighing her down, causing a malfunction in her mind, so Wrench being Wrench decides that there is only one thing that he could do to cheer her up.

“Hey, why don’t I show you something cool?” He asks her, his hands on her waist allowing him to pull away to let her face see him again, “I know something that might cheer you up.” He tells her as he begins to get up, pulling her with him and grabbing his mask, placing it back on his face and clipping it. He gently takes her hand and leads her out of her room, passing the others on the way out and leading her to his station, where he usually smashes stuff.

She stands awkwardly next to his table, wiping the remnants of the remaining tears on her face as she watches Wrench bring some tech parts and dump them onto the table in a pile.

“Uh… Wrench, what are we doing?” She asks, curious to know what his plan was but also appreciating that he was trying to cheer her up. 

Wrench picked up the sledgehammer that was placed near his workstation and walked to her, getting on his knees and presenting her with the hammer which she found odd but knew that this was his goofy side coming out.

“Your weapon, my lady.” He said, changing his voice in a poor attempt of sounding, like a loyal knight giving his princess his sword, which had a small laugh come from her.

“But isn’t that your baby?” She asked him as she tried holding it up, expecting it to be heavy, which prompted the hammer to fall to the ground while she kept her hands by the hilt. Wrench got up from the floor and led her in front of the pile of unused tech pieces. She held the hammer hilt in front of her, but the bottom part of the hammer would prove a challenge.

“Not this little thing. Wrench Junior is our baby, and right now, his momma needs to release some tension, and a good smash usually helps with that.” Wrench explained, his innuendos making her giggle but also making her swoon at the fact that he said 'our' when addressing Wrench Junior, although this did make some of the other members groan at the way he phrased it.

“I don’t think I can even pick this up, Wrench.” (Y/N) tells him as she attempts to but only gets halfway with picking it up before it hits the ground, allowing Wrench to wrap his hands around hers around the hammer hilt.

“Here. Let me show you.” He tells her as he helps her to bring the hammer up until it’s behind their shoulders, close to Wrench’s head until it slightly rests on his shoulder. “Okay, don’t think, babe. Just bring it down, alright?” He tells her, she nods to show that she has heard him, his hand’s warmth leaves hers as he attempts to support the hammer near his shoulder. And with a long, hard swing, the hammer hits down hard on the tech pieces, making a loud bang reverberate from it, pieces smashed into smaller pieces, bringing out a smile to her face.

“That… Was so fucking good!” She sighed out, although a small moan slipped in there too.

“Can I do that again?” She asked her boyfriend, smiling at him, although she was ready to have a relieved laugh. Wrench nodded to her, the emotes on his mask forming ‘<3 <3’ from the love-struck expression he had on his face.

He helped her bring the hammer up again, standing behind her, but this time once he released her hands, he placed his onto her hips, rubbing small circular motions, allowing his eyes to gaze upon the tattoo of his mask on her shoulder that didn't have the jacket draped over it.

Oh, how he loved the tattoo when she pulled him aside because she had something to show him. When she revealed it to him, he was sure that his cables short-circuited and he just went into freeze mode, because she had to call his name a few times before he acknowledged her, what she didn't expect was how hard the tattoo would influence him, every chance he got after that he would be tugging down her jacket or shirt to catch a glimpse of it. Wrench swears that it was the hottest make-out session he ever had, and he wouldn't regret it for anything.

The hammer came down again, smashing more pieces into smaller ones, and again and again. After the fifth time of her doing it, (Y/N) found herself feeling a lot better and huffing a held in breath.

Wrench’s emotes stayed on his mask, “That was insanely hot, babe.” He voiced as he sat in the nearby chair, “We should do it more often.”

“And maybe one day it will be me instead of the hammer?” (Y/N) asked, sending him a wink and a roll of her butt, placing the hammer down onto the table. The smashed tech pieces could be cleaned another day.

As she turned around, she felt his lips on hers, his hands gripping her forearms as he formed a lip lock with her once again, his tongue exploring her mouth from her gasp of surprise when she had turned around and he was in front of her, she didn’t notice how his mask was held in his hand, but his hood at least blinded the others from seeing him as he gently pushed her down onto his table until her back met the hard material.

“Okay, okay, love birds. Do that in your own bedroom.” Ray shouted as they had turned their heads and to at least pretend like they didn't see them.

(Y/N) was able to break the kiss, staring into his blue eyes before he placed the mask back on. “You heard him, Wrench. Let's continue this in a more private setting.” She giggled as she grabbed his arm and pulled him around again, the same way she had done previously.

Once they were back in the room, (Y/N) didn't hesitate to hug him hard. Repeating the words ‘thank you’ over and over. Wrench placed his hands around her, his chin resting on her head as his hands drew small circles on her back, the two stayed in that embrace for a short while before breaking apart, Wrench taking his mask off and placing it onto the night stand, cupping her cheeks and pressing kisses to her lips.

"I... Fucking... Love... You.” He told her through kisses, his hands moving down her sides and latching onto her hips, “Fuck! You don’t realize how hot that was.” He told her as his head moved to her neck, placing kisses up near her jugular before sucking on the juncture between her neck and shoulder, bringing a small moan out of her.

Pulling his head away, he picked her up under her thighs, her arms coming up to wrap around his neck, not for fear of falling but because she knew that he loved it when she clung to him in moments like this. He walked with her in that position until he reached the bed and gently placed her down, hovering above her while her hands still stayed behind his neck, her hands playing with the shaved blonde hairs behind his neck, she smiled as she looked at his dopey expression, pulling his head down until his lips touched hers, his elbows situated on either side of her head.

“So, I’m guessing your soft drive is now a hard drive?” She asked, attempting to make it sound sexual but realizing how cringy it sounded after she had said it, but it brought a laugh out of her blond boyfriend.

“So hard, babe.” He replied, his breathing getting short and laboured.

“Then, let this be a thank you present, from me to you.” (Y/N) told him as her hand drifted lower, touching his stomach from under his shirt and loving how his muscles flexed when her hands touched him.

“Only you know how to get me like this.” He told her as her hand continued on its path, “So, let me show you how much you mean to me.” He said as he leaned up to remove his jacket and shirt, “Now I’m going to show you what my sledgehammer can do.”

That night had ended with the other DedSec members going out to a nearby restaurant as soon as the door closed to avoid the intimate moment of the two dorks that they associated themselves with, but for said two dorks, that night ended in passionate love making and a proper display of what a sledgehammer could be used for.

...

©ASHER RITSUKO/Companion-of-The-Night ─── I do not give permission to having my works plagiarised, copied, modified or translated onto any other platforms, including Tumblr. On Tumblr, my works are allowed to be reblogged, along with credit back to me. My works belong to me unless stated otherwise.

©Ubisoft | Creator(s) of Watch Dogs 2. (Correct me if I'm wrong, but please do it in an appropriate and kind manner.)

[ginnsinabin]

Wrench when you’re sick headcan

+gen neutral

(Yello im sick as shit and found motivation after doing nothing for three days)

-Wrench as strange of an entity as he is actually gets pretty soft when your sick

-He goes into a full blown mother hen mode and in his mind is scared you’re dying of the plague

-No matter how small of a cough or sickness you have, he’s secretly scared that itll claim your life

-He haphazardly comes with various soups, electrolytes and at least half of the med isle from the convenience store

-The second he breaches the door his mask is coming off to show a permanent worried face, nearly sick looking himself cause poor man is so concerned

-Man has absolutely no care about dirty tissues or how sickly you may look wanting to do everything to ensure your health doesn’t plummet

-He will however get weird if you puke tho, might even join you

-You have to remind him to keep back and not get too close but barely registers your warning cause hes busy changing the wet rag on your forehead

-Nearly kills you with the amount of medicine he tries to give you at once, youll have to force him to actually look at the directions

-He will calm down a bit once your snuggled in bed after taking your meds and finally take a breath

-If you’re feverish he will refrain from climbing in bed to cuddle you to not overheat you but will hold your hand and fall asleep with you after setting alarms for you to take more medicine later

-Dumbass 100% got sick so yall get to switch roles

(Not very long but hey its somethin. As per usual there are no mistakes because I said so, dont get sick it sucks <3)

[tempestuous-tempest]

Romancing Reginald "Wrench" Blechman

I've gotten an informal request for more Wrench headcanons this time, Romance ones. I have done romance in the past with one that was for more than just Wrench as well as one for an astronaut s/o. Here are my other Wrench headcannon lists; 1, 2, 3, 4.

Dates:

Improvised more often than not. He doesn't think to plan them out most of the time and so they are often spontaneous.

Going shopping at a Walmart just to get kicked out from riding shopping carts around the store or playing basketball in the toy isle or sword fighting with wrapping paper or sticks from the arts and crafts section.

Spray painting curse words and middle fingers all over bloom buildings and Haum. Hacking Albion drones and using em and cause some havoc.

Watching new action movies like Deadpool and Wolverine.

Scaling the Golden Gate or the London Bridge and harrassing locals by hacking their radios and changing their music.

Racing. Obviously. Especially if it ends up in a high speed chase.

Love Language(s):

Physical Touch is his most primary form of showing affection. He's clingly as all hell. Hand holding, hand around your shoulders, little sweet mask kisses that kind of hurt. Of course when you're in private the mask comes off a bit.

Quality Time is his secondary form. Spending time with you is something he enjoys. It can be as much as taking you on a date or as little as just standing near each other at his workshop.

Acts of Service falls in the middle. He likes pretending he can be a gentleman. Opening doors for you with a little "My lady/dude", fixing something you broke and put on the waiting list of things you need to fix later, and/or buying donuts and coffee for you in the mornings for breakfast. Be careful though, if you sleep to late, he'll sit there and eat em all himself.

Gift Giving. He'll probably tinker with some things and make a gift for you every once and a while. Gives him something to do. With his hands when you're not around and he cant just hold you. Sometimes he'll buy you things or if you

Words of Affirmation dont exactly stick with him. Anyone can say they love another and the words can be as hollow as bird bones. He doesnt like how empty the words can seem even if spoken with real love.

Bonus:

Expect pranks. Nothing harsh like "Oh I'm breaking up with you". Just something actually funny. Prank wars between you two are inevitable.

Absolutely throws a fit when he can't have your attention like a two year old in Walmart being told he can't get something he wants. He pouts when ignored.

[swanimagines]

Watch Dogs: Imagine being an ex-employee for Blume, working for DedSec and Wrench asks you out.

requested by anon

Note: nowadays all requests are done straight to asks, this is my old template of posting and I no longer have their asks!

A/N: I had a blast writing this <3 I hope you like it too!

Young you walking through Blume’s gates for the first time, lured in by your ex, had felt amazing. You had graduated from college with excellent grades, and working for Blume, the “better future”, held all your dreams together. You had imagined helping to build assets that would assist those in vulnerable positions, and changing the world into something better.

But then you first got introduced to how exactly ctOS worked, and everything you had believed in came crumbling down. Now, you truly saw what Blume was doing, gathering information about people without them consenting, behind a veil for a better future. It was sickening to see, but you were too deep to get out without anyone suspecting anything.

So, you moved out of the city you had lived all your life in, you lied to your boss that you simply need to take a break from work. You and your ex had separated a few months before that, so leaving him behind wasn’t a problem — especially when you weren’t even sure if he’d be accepting of Blume’s ways. He was more in the office and not really in the technical field like you, he may not even know what Blume is doing. But you wouldn’t be able to risk it, if he ever told Blume that you’ve told him about secrets they had made you vow never to tell outside that room with towers of data… you didn’t want to find out what would happen. It could be possible that they’d silence him too.

Your journey eventually brought you to San Francisco, where you got yourself a little apartment downtown. You knew you probably would be wiser if you just left the USA altogether, somewhere where Blume wouldn’t be able to find you and you could try chipping on them remotely, but… you couldn’t run and hide in another country you didn’t know. So you set up your computers and tried to find a way to help… but then, one day, you got a bag in your head and you got dragged somewhere. And your first thought was that Blume had found you, found out you were trying to sabotage them, and now they would silence you for good.

So when the bag was taken off your head, you assumed to see Dušan Nemec in front of you, accompanied by some Blume security guards. But instead, you saw four people around you, and it didn’t take long to figure out who they were – DedSec. A woman, a guy with a mask, a dark skinned, sturdy man, and a young man in a green hoodie, slightly turned away from the rest of you.

Your mouth opened and closed a few times, before you shook your head. “I’m not…”

You didn’t know how to finish the sentence. Your attempts to breach Blume’s network, you had occasionally come across another foreign signal while probing through their systems. You had collided with it a few times, but now it made sense. It should have made sense at the start. It had been DedSec, and now they probably thought you'd been trying to sabotage them.

You sat there frozen, your eyes jumping between them. But then the woman who stood closest to you huffed with a slight smile. “Relax. We’re not here to hurt you.”

You swallowed, a small hint of relief washing over you. “I wasn’t targeting you, I’m sorry if it looked like that.”

The guy wearing a mask snorted. “Yeah, we get that. If you were targeting us, you’d have done a pretty bad job, even for a Blume counter hacker.”

“Wrench,” the woman sighed, shooting a glance at the man. He shrugged and fell silent.

The dark skinned man stepped forward. “You’ve done a pretty solid job, considering you’ve done everything alone. But you know, it won’t take long before Blume will track you down. They’ve already found the area the unwanted signals are coming from, and in a few hours at most, your apartment will be raided. It isn’t safe for you to go there anymore.

You shot up to stand. “But my whole life is there, all my—”

The man held up a hand. “All your equipment, all your data, all your personal belongings. We know. We already retrieved them. And we also wiped your info from the housing database. 

Wrench snickered. “And the database will tell them that the apartment was rented by a giraffe-crocodile named Fuck Off.”

You blinked. “You… how?”

The man in a green hoodie finally turned towards you. “You only had a mattress without a bed and a few laptops, and some food. It wasn’t hard to get them out.”

The woman cleared her throat. “We’ve had you on our radar ever since we first noticed your signal a few days ago. Not because we think you’re a threat, quite the opposite. You could be useful for us.”

You frowned. “You mean… you’re trying to recruit me?”

The woman nodded. “You have the freedom to choose, of course. If you say no, we will prepare a burner phone for you with a few contacts so you’ll be able to disappear. But there’s a chance Blume will find you again unless you get out of the country, and even then it’s possible they’ll keep chasing you if there’s even a slightest doubt on their end that you’re the one who sent that signal.

You sighed. “So, my options are joining DedSec or running away and pray Blume won’t find me. Splendid.”

Wrench put his hand over his chest. “You make it sound like working with me wouldn’t be an opportunity of a lifetime.”

“The thing is,” the woman spoke again, “that you’ve already started fighting back. You clearly have a desire to bring Blume down, but you just don’t have resources for it. If you join us, we will have your back, we will teach you to hold the ropes and show you how exactly you help.”

You looked down at your hands, and your fingers twitched slightly as your thoughts fought with each other. What other choice did you have? 

The woman stepped closer. “Listen, we’re not here to pressure you. We just wanted to give you the chance to make the call before Blume does it for you.”

“And they will,” the man in the green hoodie added. “Blume doesn’t let loose ends walk free. You’ve seen what they do. You know too much now.”

You turned your head and stared at the wall. “If… if I do this, there’s not going back.”

You saw from the corner of your eye how the dark-skinned man shook his head. “Not to your old life, no. But the life waiting for you with DedSec? It’s worth it.”

Wrench suddenly jumped in, throwing his arms wide. “Yeah! You get to hang with super cool hackers! What’s not to love?”

You felt everyone staring at you, and then you carefully nodded. “Okay. Okay, I will join. But I won’t be doing anything crazy, alright? At least… not at first. I need time to learn.”

The woman smiled. “Welcome to DedSec.”

Wrench whooped, slinging an arm over your shoulders. “You’re gonna love it here! First mission: pick your hacker name. And no, you can’t steal mine, but I’m open to inspiration.”

—

A lot had happened during the past year. For the first three months, you had a hacking bootcamp held by Josh, and you ended up becoming pretty good at it. And now, you were doing just some checkups on your firewalls even though it wasn’t really necessary but it was a good way to pass time. Wrench sat by his workbench, you had noticed he was quieter than usual. When it was just the two of you, he wouldn’t shut up. He’d swing jokes and stories your way, but now he was just sitting there, fidgeting.

But then, he spoke. “Uh… are you finishing up soon?”

You snorted. “I’ve been finished for about an hour, just passing time for now.”

He turned on his stool. “Oh, cool. That’s good.”

He stared at you for a moment, and you stared back. You caught his mask showing heart eyes for a fraction of a second, and you frowned. “What?”

“Um, I was thinking… we’ve worked together for a long time, right? And… I think you’re cool. Really cool. Coolest person around. And uh…” he stammered, his mask displaying a heart again for a moment before disappearing. “I was wondering if… we could go out tonight? Not as DedSec partners, nor really friends either. Or I, I mean if you want to go as friends, that’s cool too, but… I was thinking of like, a date. With me?”

You froze, staring at him in turn. His mask flickered between three different emoticons, and you held back a smile when you realised he was panicking.

“A date?” you echoed. You wanted to make sure you heard right, understood right. Maybe his mask glitched somehow, it was so not like Wrench to panic like that.

He nodded while wringing his hands together. “Yeah, a date. Like a dinner, or a movie, or just a walk in a park I guess. I just… I want to get to know you better, beyond uh… friendship. No pressure! If you aren’t interested, we can pretend this discussion never happened, and I can go back to just being friends, or colleagues, or—”

“Wrench,” you interrupted, unable to hold back a smile now. “I’d love to go on a date with you.”

He froze for a moment, then jumped up, his mask displaying fireworks. “Yes! Okay, awesome, cool. Cool, cool, uh. What do you want to do? I’m going to make something amazing, like movie-level amazing. But not like, cheesy rom-com amazing,” he babbled, then froze again, looking at you. “Unless you like cheesy rom-coms. Do you like cheesy rom-coms?”

You laughed, standing up and walking up to him, before you took his hand into yours and squeezed. “Relax, Wrench. Anything we will do is fine, as long as you’re there.”

He was quiet for a moment, and his mask went through multiple emoticons again. Heart eyes, blush, joy… before he lifted his other hand to the side of it, resetting it to those default X’s. “You’re going to make my mask short–circuit if you keep my heart rate jumping like this.”

You laughed again, bringing his hand to your own chest so he could feel the rapid thumping of your own heart. His mask settled into heart eyes again, and you looked behind you. “Do I need to dress up for where we’re going?”

He was quiet for a moment, then shrugged. “If you want to. But you look gorgeous either way.”

You felt yourself blush again, and you knew Wrench was also bright red behind his mask. And you knew that this date would be amazing either way.

Requests are open! FANDOM LIST | PROMPT LIST(S) | RULES (READ!!!)

[the-abyss-of-fandoms]

John huffs as his hair falls into his face for the 5th time as he digs for his S/Os soon to be garden: For the last time….

Dog looks at John every time he huffs and mumbles:

Y/N notices John getting irritated with his hair as he works leaves the kitchen heading towards John

John notices their approach: What’s wrong

мое сердце? (stops moving their head as Y/N moves his hair back and puts something in his hair)

Y/N smiles happily at their work: There you go now you look cute and your hair won’t get in the way.

John looks at Y/Ns phone as they take a picture of him to see what they had done to him:

[stillnotyourmusebitch]

Imagine being able to crochet/knit really well to the point that one day in the hackerspace you tell Wrench to close his eyes and open his hand and you place a little octopus that you made for him in his favourite colours.

That man would be so happy and that tiny octopus you created would be on his person everywhere he would go. He'd name it and protect it because it's his child now.

(my bestie crocheted me an octopus and I keep sending her images of him in random places)

[renhaswritersblock]

hi, can you do C, G and V with wrench pls? :)

Wrench - NSFW ALPHABET REQUEST (C, G, V):

A/N: No thoughts...just a chunk of the brain that held all my motivation vanish without a trace.

I didn't know if you wanted WD2 Wrench or WDL Dilf Wrench, so I wrote mostly WD2 Wrench. I do hope you enjoy reading this, and like I said, Ima just taking my time writing these requests -- but not too much time.

WARNING: Mentions of the hot dog wiener going into the donut hole, slight cum, lil' bit of angst

Lemme know what you think. You can always ask me any other Request in the ask box.

Happy readings!

===

C: Cum (Ah, shit. Here we go again.)

Wrench will quickly cream his pants at literally anything. Going from committing violent acts, explosions/fireworks/arson, technology, his personal arsenal, glancing in your direction, staring at you sitting in the lounge part of the hackerspace, your smile, the slightest touch from you, a fantasy about you being on his workbench sprawled out barenake–

*COUGHS COUGHS* 

Basically, Wrench can easily break and sometimes gets embarrassed when it happens or simply just doesn’t care.

His load is pretty average – if you get what I mean – and is ok with cumming both inside or outside. But keep in mind, you’ll never stop hearing the shitty one-liners every time he shoots his “love snot” all over your body.

G: Goofy

Come on, this is Wrench we’re talking about. The guy is a figurative ticking time bomb full of the dirtiest jokes and remarks known to man. One little word that comes out of either you or any of the DedSec member's mouths – Wrench will emerge from the dark corners of god-knows-where and say the worse shit possible that’s gonna earn a few annoyed groans or snickering. Yet regardless of his goofy behavior, he also has a serious one too. 

Initially, Wrench fucked you with his mask on. One time, you mindlessly raise your hand to try lifting his mask off, causing him to seize and stop completely. Haphazardly jumping off the bed to grab all his clothes and rush out the door, leaving you with a perplexed look on your face. Although you both talk it out in the end, Wrench didn’t want to do anything intimate or sexual with you for nearly four months. 

Gradually, he slowly returns to doing more coitus acts with you, along with opening up about his issues and the importance of the mask. Even going as far as kissing you for the first time. He’ll still feel iffy about crossing his boundaries, but when he does, the room will be pitch black for you too see his face. But you don’t mind the long progress he’s making.

V: Volume

He is absolutely, without a doubt, totally the loudest guy to have sex with. Doesn’t matter if he’s groaning, moaning, growling, whimpering, huffing, or muffling – everyone can still hear him shout out and swear every cuss word in the book while pounding you. Leading to him getting kicked out of every hackerspace in the Bay Area and sneaking back in, and everyone putting on earbuds and trying to ignore whatever is going on in the next room.

===

A/N: Hope you enjoy, and lemme know what ya think!

[kachuuyaa]

𝐁𝐀𝐘 𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 / bsd smau

a nikolai x reader smau !

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ; romance was never your forte. naturally, you're afraid of commitment and more so the hurt your heart will potentially experience while being in a relationship. so once you were greeted with an opportunity for one, your first instinct is to run away. however, it seems the gods blessed you with friends whose motive is to keep you grounded in this experience for the first time.

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 ; smau. no abilities au. fluff. angst. crack. gn!reader strangers to lovers. romance. uni au. slice of life. (kinda slowslow) slow burn.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ; reader is a big big overthinker, slight miscommunication, unhealthy coping mechanisms (avoidance, isolation, etc.), everyone but a selected few are stupid, confusion, burnt out reader, mentally challenged characters, kys/kms jokes, mentions of sensitive topics! (mental illness and such), feelings get in the way sometimes, chuuya and dazai’s petty banter, mentions of consuming alcohol n cigs slight crossover (genshin)

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒 ; sporadic uploading

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 ; kunikida is the only rational person here i fear (he doesnt even have twitter) timestamps do not matter unless i say so! everyone is 18+, sideships included (but not explicitly implemented)

written portions are indicated using ❖

𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐋𝐔𝐃𝐄𝐒 ; zesty bitches ℘ whorehouse asylum

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 ;

𝐀𝐂𝐓 1 ; foreign idiosyncrasies

001. calm down

002. second yr

003. 4real

004. when i

005. kitty kitty!

006. who even r u

𝐌𝐀𝐈 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 ; HEYYYYY its been a year im so fucking sorry but i promsie i’ll do this. ill actually commit to this there was actually somrthing i had in the works but i had to abandon it fkr a year cuz of school…. there has been a lot going on and im graudating this year so UM… yea theres that… how is tje bsd anime btw… love all of u soso much <3 take care of urselves mwamwa (also dont ask mw about the event reqs theyre there id otn think ill continue it) also when i mean slight genshin crossover ull see ull see :3

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ; @iruc @celestair

2023 © kachuuyaa. do not steal or claim my work as your own.

[saphhhiree]

i’m so happy, i’ve gotten so many reqs!!! please give me a bit to get them out, life can be stressful sometimes so it might be a little bit 🙏🏻🙏🏻 but a few abed fanfics are in the works, a korra and wrench one too ! thank you to everyone who req!! i’m so glad that you like my writing :)!

[grave-z-boy]

⚝WELCOME ⚝

✭ Requests are open! ✭

✮ Rules

✮ Characters/Masterlist

✭ Oc Side blog

[xoxo-sarah]

My Wife

↝a/n: 2,605 w/c... I like this one, guys.

↝pairing: Season 1!Daryl x wife!reader

↝warning: usual walking dead stuff, angst, animal death (mentions blood. No details), reader being sexualized?, creepy men, harassment, the creepy guy getting punched (he deserved it), cursing, protective Daryl, Merle (ew), crying, moody and soft Daryl, sassy Daryl (it's season one, what do you expect?), slightly proofread

|| Disclaimer: I do not own Daryl Dixon, or any character from The Walking Dead. I only own y/n and any characters I create with my own brain. ||

↝⎙ 10.2.24

Daryl Dixon masterlist

Before the apocalypse, you'd say your life wasn't bad. You had a decent job that paid well. A husband, a dog, and a house you owned all on your own, without any help from your parents.

You had met Daryl fresh out of college. He was staying with Merle at the time. In a rush to get away from your parents, you found a rent-to-own house on the outskirts of Atlanta. It wasn't extravagant, only having 2 beds and one bath. It was still a house-your house.

The first time you went to the grocery store to stock up before you started work since the big move, an old man had hit on you. Daryl listened from afar, not wanting to cause any more trouble for you. He knew you hadn't been in these parts of town before, he hadn't seen you before.

After many attempts at shooting the guy down, Daryl had to intervene. The guy had grabbed your arm, and before you knew it, the guy was backing away from you.

“She said she's not interested.”

“My bad, man. Didn't know she was yours.” He raised his hands, grin still on his face. It was a game to him.

“So you only take no for an answer if I 'belong' to someone?” Venom laced your voice, disgust painted into the wrinkles between your eyebrows and frown lines, glaring through the guy. A chuckle rumbled out of his chest, followed by a smoker's cough that told you he had more tar in his lungs than he had sense in his brain.

“Ma'am, will all due respect-”

“I doubt anything respectful comes out of that raunchy mouth of yours.”

His grin dropped, eyes slanting in your direction. “This one sure has a mouth on her,” his attention moved back to Daryl. “She have that mouth in the sack?”

You scoffed, glancing down at the floor, collecting the words you wanted to shoot back at him.

In the time you looked away, Daryl had put the 12-pack of beer down and swung. You snapped your head up at the sound of a fist colliding with a cheek. Daryl glared, spitting at the man as he held his cheek in shock. “Give the lady some respect, prick.”

“Damnit, Dixon!” An elderly man came running down the aisle, a manager tag clinking against the pins on his shirt. Safe to say both men had been kicked out.

After checking out, you caught sight of Daryl hunched over, looking at his bruising knuckles.

“Here's for helping me.”

Daryl's head shot up, eyes flickering to the 12-pack in your outstretched hand. “Ya didn't have to.”

“You didn't have to.” He shrugged, taking the box from you.

the rest was history.

You eventually got together, then, moved in together. He supported you in your job, making jokes about you “bringing home the bacon”. The only downside was his brother.

“Damnit, Merle.”

An intoxicated Merle flopped on your couch, cackling up at Daryl. You watched from behind the couch, arms folded across Daryl's shirt draping over your form. Daryl's own top half was bare, his muscles flexing when he folded his arms in disappointment, glaring down.

“What? Did I interrupt you 'n your housewife duties?”

You scoffed, turning around to walk back to your room, the dog Daryl had gotten you for your birthday following after you. Merle watched your movement, lowly whistling. “I'd be a housewife for that piece, too.”

Daryl grabbed the collar of Merle's shirt, bringing him to eye level. “Don't talk about my wife like that.” He threw him back against the couch, “You're out by the mornin'.”

The world had gone to shit right in the middle of your workday. Everyone was running around, yelling and panicking. You tried making a beeline for your car, getting pushed and pulled every which way. The traffic was the worst you had ever seen, when you had finally made your way onto the road.

When you finally got home, the door was open.

You rushed in, looking in every room. There was no sign of Daryl besides the place being completely trashed, in a rush to leave. He wasn't there. You had no clue where he was, if he was safe, if he knew what was happening.

You cracked the backdoor open, nearly falling to your knees. A body laid on the back porch, blood dried on its way down the person's forehead. A lump of fur and blood was right beside it. A sob racked your body on your way back to your car. Your knuckles were ghostly white as they gripped the steering wheel, as you made your way out of town, away from the life you worked hard to get and worked harder to keep.

You eventually got stuck in even more traffic. Everything only got worse when your car ran out of gas.

You had to hide in the city, which was run with zombies. Luckily for you, you had found a few bodies that hadn't turned yet, stealing anything that could be used as a weapon. You were able to stay safe, hiding in an empty office building. Living off of the vending machines and what was left in the break rooms.

You regularly walked up to the roof, getting fresh air, wondering where Daryl had gone and if he was thinking of you. Sure, a part of you wanted to be mad at him for leaving without you, but you knew he had to have his reasons. Merle had to of made him run away with him when the news first got out.

While you looked over the edge, watching as dead bodies herded together, feasting on whatever had run into the city on your way up here, you saw quick movement to your left. Swirling around, you held your gun up, pointing it at the kid in front of you.

“Woah, Hey! I'm alive- I'm alive! Not going to hurt you.” The poor boy might as well have been shivering in his boots. His hands shook in the air. He was probably the third person you've seen, alive, since you squatted in the top floor. He didn't seem like the guy to kill you just to take your stuff. “Look, there's a guy in the tank down there. I'm just trying to help him.” You thought back to the sounds of pained neighing you heard when you first stepped onto the roof, but you had shrugged it off, figuring you were going insane already. No sleep and being isolated will do that to you. “C'mon, dude.” He was practically begging you to not shoot him in the head.

What would Daryl do in this situation? He wouldn't just trust anyone when it comes to survival. You reluctantly put your gun down, watching as he sighed in relief. You hid the shake in your hands when they fell to your sides, not wanting him to know you didn't want to kill him even if he were dangerous.

“We have to get down there to help him.” The boy leaned over the edge, at the tank and the 'geeks' that surrounded it.

“We?”

He looked back at you, then to the tank. “The extra help would be appreciated.”

Somehow, you followed after him, climbing down fire escapes and counting the amount of bodies in each alleyway. He was quick, but you kept up with him with ease.

He led you down the alleyway, hiding behind the trashcans and gate separating you and a painful death. “You have good aim? I need you to shoot that big guy closest to the tank.” He whispered, fixing the hat on his head.

You glanced at him, watching as he awaited your next move. You whispered back, “it's empty.” You held the gun up in emphasis. You weren't going to tell him that when it was pointed at him. He huffed, throwing his head back. “I only have a knife.”

He shrugged off his backpack, grabbing the empty gun and throwing it in there. It was useless with no bullets, and it only took up a hand, making it harder for you to climb.

“Alright, change of plans.” He grabbed the walkie, bringing it to his mouth before pressing the button. “Hey, you alive in there?”

A frantic voice broke through the static, “Hello? Hello?!”

The next thing you knew, you were running downstairs with the young boy, Glenn, you had figured out, and the guy you nearly died saving, Rick. Glenn led you two to another alleyway, before the door to the building in front of you busted open, 2 people filing out with gear and helmets on, attacking the walkers wondering in front of you.

“Lets go!” Glenn jumped over the bodies on the ground, running through the door, you and Rick following. As soon as you were through the door, you were pushed to the other side of the wall, before Rick was pushed back, a gun aimed at his face. “You son of a bitch! We ought to kill you.” A blonde woman was seething, ready to put a bullet in Rick's head.

“Just chill out, Andrea. Back off.” One of the guys who bashed the walker's head in pulled off the armor, glaring at the blonde.

“Come on, ease up.”

“Ease up? You're kidding me, right? We're dead because of this stupid asshole.” The gun was pointed at you next, “And her.” Her finger twitched on the trigger, but you were at a loss of words.

“She helped.” Glenn was ignored.

“Andrea, I said, back the hell off. Or pull the trigger.” The same guy from before stepped forward, closer to Andrea. It was silent for a second, before Andrea dropped her hand, lips quivering with oncoming tears. You took a breath, having the room to do so when a gun isn't pointed at you.

“We're dead,” Andrea sobbed, “All of us.” Her gaze moved back to Rick, “Because of you.”

You wondered after everyone as they walked through the old building, listening as they scolded rick for firing his gun.

“No signal. Maybe the roof.” The man, who was introduced as T-Dog, said, holding the walkie. Before anyone else could reply, a gun shot fired, echoing from above.

“Oh no, Is that Dixon?”

“Dixon?”

Andrea stopped her movement, looking back at you. “Yeah. What, you know 'em?”

Sadly, you were met with a distasteful Merle on the roof. He refused to tell you about Daryl-about how Merle had to drag in out of the house. About how Daryl wanted to pick you up and take you with them. About how Daryl had gone back, against Merle's wishes, and found you nowhere in the house. But you weren't told that, so the nerves in your stomach still fluttered, making you feel like you were going to vomit any minute. The only thing he told you was that Daryl was with the rest of the group by the quarry.

The nerves still fluttered even on your way to the said quarry. The thought of Merle being trapped in the roof was at the back of your mind, the thought of seeing Daryl for the first time in God knows how long, being front and center in your mind. Your leg shook with nerves as you sat in the back of the van, hitting a bump every once in a while, and knocking into one of the other people.

The van pulled up to the quarry, people piling out of the back, running to their families.

You were introduced to a woman named Carol. She was surprised when you told her that you knew Daryl. The short time she had known the man, she couldn't think of him having a soft spot for anyone, but here you were. She told you that he had gone hunting and that he should be back before dawn.

You sat around, getting to know everyone. As soon as Carol's husband raised his voice to her, you had kept an eye on him, instantly feeling protective of the woman. As she silently did for you. She kept an eye on you, making sure you felt comfortable among all of the strangers.

Night fell and there was still no sign of Daryl. You distracted yourself by helping Carol with whatever, or Dale with lookout. You hadn't told anyone much about you and Daryl. Mostly because you couldn't form a coherent sentence with Daryl on your mind. Where was he? Was he okay? Why wasn't he back? The band around your ring finger became a fidget habit. You spun it around any time the thoughts got too much.

The crisp morning air did little to wake you. You might as well have been a walker with how you sluggishly moved around camp, helping with anything, wanted to be helpful and pull your weight.

Carol handed you another pair of soaked pants, to ring the water out and hang it up to dry. While doing so, your eyes caught sight of Rick and Lori. They had been reunited. When was it your turn?

“How did you and Daryl meet?” Glancing back up at Carol, you cleared your throat to speak.

Before you could utter a word, a scream echoed throughout the camp, followed by Carl's screams for his mother.

Everyone stopped what they were doing, a few running toward the screaming, ready for the worst.

You walked behind the group, watching as Rick, Glenn, Dale, Shane, and a few others beat the walker that had made it from the city.

Dale swung down with his axe, cutting the head clean off the walker's body.

“It's the first one we've had up here.” He heaved, “They never come this far up the mountain.”

“Well, they're running out of food in the city, that's what.” Another guy, Jim, said, wiping the sweat from his brow.

Branches snapped, followed by more footsteps. The guys with the weapons moved toward the sound, weapons ready.

Your breath caught in your throat.

He hadn't seen you yet.

Daryl stepped over branches, slightly taken aback with everyone standing in front of him, ready to strike.

Everyone took a step back, “Oh, Jesus.” Dale's shoulders released the tension.

“Son of a bitch.” Daryl cursed, “That's my deer!” He walked to what was left of the poor animal.

He looked how he did when you first met. Frustration clear on his brow. You had helped him get rid of the constant scrunch of his brow and frown on his lips, and here it was, making its appearance in a dramatic manner.

“Look at it, all gnawed on by this-” He kicked the headless body that laid on the ground, “filthy,” kick “disease-bearing,” kick “motherless,” kick “poxy bastard!”

“Calm down, son. That's not helping.” Dale peeped, infuriating Daryl more.

“What do you know about it, old man?” Daryl walked closer, getting in Dale's face. "Why don't you take that stupid hat and go back to “On Golden Pond”?"

“Daryl.”

Daryl paused, his face dropping. He turned to the voice, his knees nearly collapsing from underneath him.

Before you could say anything else, his crossbow was dropping to the ground, followed by the string of squirrels on his shoulder. He rushed over, his body colliding with yours. His calloused hands pulled your face closer to his.

He didn't care if everyone was watching. Or if the scene made them think differently about his tough-guy thing he had going on. His lips moved against yours.

“I didn't know where you were.” He mumbled against your lips. “I tried looking everywhere-”

“I know, I know. Doesn't matter.”

•2021-2024 by xoxo-sarah on Tumblr•

•My work is not to be translated, copied, modified, and/or reposted on any other site without my permission. [I don't give permission!]

[joelsgoldrush]

“crawl home to her” | 7.5k

old man!logan x f!reader

SUMMARY: Will he be able to control himself once he's near you? In this moment, he feels more animal than human. Creeping, on the verge of crawling, back to you. OR Like a sinner seeking absolution, he finds his way back to you after every absence, as if you're the only salvation he's ever known.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ cursing. drinking. dirty talk. some fluff. comfort. feelings. self-deprecation. miscommunication. sort of established relationship. age gap (reader's in her late 20s). petnames. religious imagery. logan's POV. chauffeur!logan. dom!logan. reader wears logan's dog tags and clothes. pussy pronouns. phone sex. oral sex (f and m receiving). 69. fingering. masturbation (he jerks off in the limo). one (1) single spank. sort of rough sex. unprotected p in v. creampie.

A/N: i wrote this as a part 2 of this story, but still, it can be read as a standalone (i'd recommend that you also read the first part as well 👀 you'll understand their relationship better). hope you like this one! <3

Logan is tired. Bone-deep, soul-crushingly tired.

He takes a slow, deliberate drag from his cigar, letting the smoke curl inside his chest, teasing his lungs. Doesn’t even bother to crack the window open—why would he?—before exhaling, the haze lingering inside the limo like a fog.

One quick glance at his phone screen just to make sure his vision isn’t screwing him over—no older notifications. A pang of disillusionment settles in his being.

Not only is he fighting to keep his eyes open, exhausted from driving the same family around for the past few days while they enjoy their quality time, but he’s also bored out of his mind. 

Where the hell are you?

He adjusts his glasses, pushing them higher up on the bridge of his nose, preventing them from sliding down to his lap. When his phone buzzes, he jolts, nearly hitting his head on the roof of the limo due to his excitement.

His poor heart gallops as he fumbles with the screen, unlocking it with the same urgency as a man starved for contact.

But it’s not you. It’s one of his passengers.

We’re getting out in half an hour, the message reads. By we, she means herself, her husband, and their two kids.

Logan can’t bring himself to type an actual reply, so he leaves her on read. She knows he’s not going anywhere, parked outside the arcade as if he’s rooted in place with no way out.

Family after family enters that hell on earth, kids of all ages bouncing on their heels, voices shrill with enthusiasm. He watches, half-heartedly, as parents get dragged by their little ones, who negotiate how much money they are allowed to spend tonight.

He almost feels bad for those parents. Almost. He hopes that at least they know how to say ‘No’.

All in all, he’s got another thirty minutes of solitude ahead. The radio has long since ceased to entertain him. He’s been parked here for two hours, and his mind is starting to drift. He could stretch his legs, walk around, or maybe grab a drink—but damn it.

He wants to talk to you.

You’d said he could call you after dropping the family off. That was three hours ago. The last message he received from you was still stuck in his head, replaying over and over like a lifeline. Logan knows you must be busy, probably taking care of Charles and—

Okay, he’ll get back to that later. 

You: Just got out of the shower. Call me in five?

Right now, he could die a happy man. Were he a dog, his tail would be wagging furiously, anticipation already building for the simple joy of hearing you.

Logan: Got it.

The next five minutes feel like an eternity. He finishes his cigar, flicking the stub beneath the seat without giving it a second thought. For now, he doesn’t care about being a messy fucker. He’ll deal with the mess some other time.

Priorities.

A quick spritz of some cheap air freshener he picked up from a gas station fills the car, masking the distinctive scent of smoke. God forbid the kids start whining about how ‘weird’ it smells in the limo.

With a grimace, he sprays a little more—floral, of all scents? It feels insulting.

How kind of him to still be this considerate.

His thumb hovers over your contact, and he presses the call button with an agility he hasn’t had in years (thanks to you).

One, two, three rings, and then—

“Logan,” you say softly, your voice a little breathless, like you’ve been hurrying all over the place.

He stops grinding his jaw, the tension in his shoulders easing. He unclenches his fists, fingers uncurling one by one, as if letting go of some invisible burden.

Outside the vehicle, people stop dying, babies stop being born, and the world itself pauses just for him to listen to you.

You can’t see him, but he smiles either way. “Hey, baby.”

“Gosh, I’m so sorry. I lost track of time talking to Charles. We had dinner, and then I just—I felt so gross, you know? From cooking and all that. Took a shower, and it got pretty late.”

You end with a sigh, and he imagines you rubbing a hand over your face. “Please tell me you weren’t sleeping when I texted you.”

“Not even close. Still waiting for them.”

“They’re really taking their time, huh?”

“You wouldn’t believe it,” he murmurs, his fingers drumming a soft rhythm on the steering wheel. “How was your day?”

“Great! I’m already in bed.”

“My bed.”

You laugh, that sweet sound making his heart stutter. “Well, yeah. Where else do you want me to sleep if I’m at your place? On the floor?”

If someone had told Logan a year ago that he’d let someone live in his space, let alone take care of Charles, he’d have scoffed. "Pathetic," he’d have said, rolling his eyes with that familiar growl in his throat. Pretty sure he’d also puffed his chest while saying so.

Because Logan Howlett wasn’t one for accepting help. He’s been on his own since the earth was still cooling down.

But for you? He made exceptions. Plenty of them. And if it weren’t for your altruism, he wouldn’t have accepted this job—a job that pays well enough to cover Charles’ meds and put food on the table. He needs this rich family’s money.

“You’ve got a girlfriend now?” Charles had asked, when Logan explained he’d be staying with you while he went away for a few days.

“Big word you’re using there,” Logan had replied, placing two pills into Charles’ palm. The old man gave him a death stare. “Don’t play dumb. It’s not like you don’t know the drill.”

Mumbling something incoherent before swallowing the pills, Charles had taken slow sips of water between each one, sinking back into the mattress with a weary sigh. “If she’s not your girlfriend, then what is she?”

“A friend.”

“That’s nice. Is that what they’re calling it now?”

He shakes that memory away, forcing his mind back to the call. “Try not to be so kind to him. What if he falls in love with you?” he inquires, a mocking tone weaving through his words. 

And that’s when you drop the bombshell. “You mean like you did?” 

You laugh, but Logan… doesn’t. He can’t do it. He makes sure he’s breathing on command: in and out, in and out, in and out. 

The mention of love unsettles him. He doesn’t feel safe anymore, doesn’t know what game you’re playing. Where’s the rulebook?

Is he—could he be—falling in love with you? Is that what you’re implying? And if so, do you feel the same?

In the long run, you mumble: “It was a joke.” Only then do his lungs fill with fresh air, untainted by the weight of his unease. But he can’t let it pass, the fact you sound disappointed. Defeated.

He promised himself he’d never hurt you. Though he doesn’t intend to, it feels as if he’s just stabbed you in the back, twisting the knife further into your frame—unwillingly.

“Remember the—” he pauses a moment, throwing his head back in frustration, silently cursing himself. “The pills. You’ve been giving them to him, right?”

“Yes, Logan.”

“Please, remember it’s only—”

“Logan,” you try again, cutting through the wave of his spiraling thoughts. He can picture you behind closed lids, looking at him through your lashes, your hand resting gently on his chest. “I have it under control, okay? He’s doing alright. I swear I’m taking good care of him.”

“I don’t doubt that, honey.” Casting a glance at the rearview mirror, he feels an unexpected sense of longing for your presence there, like a ghost haunting his every move, confined to the limits of his brain. “Can’t help but worry. That’s all.”

A soft hum reverberates through the line. He hears the rustle of sheets, the sound of you tossing around in his bed, and his pulse quickens at the thought.

“You said you’re sleepin’ on my bed.”

“Good memory you have.”

“You wearin’ my clothes as well?”

 Thick silence, the kind he relishes.

“Yeah,” you finally reply, shifting the phone from side to side. You take a deep breath, and add: “I forgot to bring mine.”

He hates how you easily find a way to get him riled up despite being miles away. It must be the power of words.

“I don’t believe you.” He knows he shouldn’t, hates himself for doing it, but one of his hands palms the half-hard bulge in his black slacks, suppressing a low groan. “Think you did it on purpose.”

A rush of heat, sharp and urgent, washes over him. Is he really about to do this? Get himself off in the very car he uses for work? Twisted, incredibly sick of him, he thinks.

Still, he craves more. “Tell me what you’re wearing.”

You laugh at his demanding tone, fanning the flames of his desperation. “When did you turn into a horny teenager?”

“Always been, baby,” Logan purrs, undoing the button of his pants, followed by the fly. His eyes flick upwards for just a moment—no cars, no one in sight. He’s presumably alone. It’s all the confirmation he needs to say: “C’mon. Tell your old man what clothes you stole from him.”

He’s never done this before—phone sex. He’s heard about it, sure, but never imagined he’d fall so hard for the idea. The thrill of it sinks into him, electrifying.

What are you doing? Is your lip caught between your teeth? Do your eyes wander down your own body? Maybe your fingers are already skimming over your skin.

“It’s just a random shirt,” you murmur. “Plain, white.”

“What else?”

“There’s nothing else.”

Logan’s breath hitches as his hand moves to his cock, spotting the damp patch on his briefs where the tip has already started to leak. The moment he slides the elastic down past his balls, he fists his shaft in a slow stroke, going from the base to the head. “No panties? And you expect me t’believe this wasn’t planned?”

Your muffled whimper is like molten lava spilling into his ear, bringing him to full hardness. More shuffling follows on your end, driving him wild with the anticipation. “Why do you do this to me if you’re not here?”

“‘Cause I want you touchin’ yourself just like I’m doin’.” He thumbs the head, hips jerking involuntarily at the sensation. He aches to feel your mouth there instead. “Bet that pussy’s been cryin’ out for me, huh? Must’ve got used to me fillin’ her every other night.”

Your breathing grows more uneven, small gasps filtering through the speaker. “I need you here with me. This is—ugh—not enough.”

“What’s not enough, sweetheart?”

There’s a pause as the sound of your phone shifts again, and then he hears it clearly—the wet, needy sound of your fingers working between your legs, filling the silence with the loud squelching of your cunt. “My fingers,” you blurt out, more distant than before, like you’re merging with the bed, dissolving with every touch.

Logan spits roughly into his palm, the slickness of his saliva easing the drag of his calloused hand along his length, good enough to make the movement more satisfying.

He moans aloud, eyes shut tight, your name slipping from his lips, a whispered prayer, as if saying it could somehow summon you to his side. “I spoil you too much,” he rasps, wedging his phone between his ear and shoulder, using every resource available to him, anything to feel something real. “Seems like you’ve forgotten how to make yourself come.”

Your moans follow his, the breathy sounds a clear sign of how close you are, hanging on the edge, your release just a heartbeat away. But it’s not enough, and you need him. He wonders if you can feel his thoughts from miles away, because— “Want your cock so bad, Lo. I m-miss you.”

He has to stop jerking himself to hold off his orgasm, stomping his foot against the pedals. “Fuck, darlin’. You keep sayin’ those things and I swear I’ll be back with you by morning.”

His sole focus now is you—getting you to come. Driven by his growing frenzy, it’s the only coherent thought that claws through the haze in his mind. “Keep talking, please,” you plead, fingers still lost in the heat of your body. “Tell me what you’ll do to me when you see me.”

Logan picks up the rhythm again, his movements faltering as his chest heaves, ragged breaths spilling out while his hand works faster. “Gonna fuck you slow and deep, just how you like it. Face to face, so you can kiss me as much as you want, ‘cause I know my girl loves that, am I right?”

My girl. He’ll regret that one the second the high fades and clarity sets in.

Word after word falls from his lips without thought, uncontrollable, as though he’s surrendered to the storm of desire raging in his being—a storm in which your name is the eye of it all.

You are everywhere, and you take up all the empty spaces he thought were impossible to fill, sinking into the depths of his unconsciousness.

Not a single part of him is left untouched by you, by the power of your presence in his life, consuming him in ways he never imagined.

Your airy mewls ripple through the line, feeding his ravenousness, adding to the tightening knot of pleasure coiling low in his abdomen. His muscles strain, thighs tensing. Each stroke of his hand prolongs this sweet torture. 

“Come for me, princess. You’d make me so h-happy if you came right now.”

And you do, because it’s not just his touch anymore—it’s his voice, and the way he commands you without force. How you’ve become accustomed to him, nodding along to each instruction he mutters.

Beneath your fingers, your swollen clit pulses, and though he can’t see it, he imagines it perfectly, having spent enough time worshiping it.

He knows, even from a distance, what your body must be doing. Your back arching off the bed, thighs quivering and clenching tight around your own hand. Those perfect legs of yours trembling as you reach your so-desired climax.

Loud and unrestrained, you moan, and for a moment, he wants to be with you so badly that he ponders if the theory of traveling across time and space sounds that far-fetched after all.

Logan doesn't need much after that for the thread to snap at long last, his groans dying on his lips as he stares in awe at the spurts of his seed landing wherever his eyes fall: a bit on the top of his pants, on his hand, his briefs. His cock twitches in his grip as he continues stroking himself through the aftershocks, gulping when it becomes too much to handle.

So phone sex is off the list now. Great.

“Miss you, too,” he mumbles once he’s caught his breath, tossing his glasses onto the passenger seat. His forehead feels damp to the touch, and he contemplates when was the last time he came this hard.

The elephant in the room hasn’t been addressed yet. He knows you expect him to say more, something deeper and rawer, but that’s all he can force himself to spit out.

Sometimes, he forgets that you can’t read him all the time. Although you know him better than anyone else, there are certain thoughts and memories locked tightly inside him, things you'd never discover on your own. Secrets he admits he should share with you, but he’s at a loss for how. Words aren’t doable when he needs them the most.

Maybe it's a matter of age—you’re a natural at voicing your feelings.

At some point, you ask: “When did you say you were returning?”

One thing’s clear: he can’t afford to lose you. He’d be an idiot if he let that happen.

“In five days, I think.” Were he with you, he'd hold you in his arms, kissing your lips. God, how he misses kissing you. All of you. “I’ll keep you updated.”

“It’s okay,” you respond, and in his mind, a blank canvas fills with the familiar image of you lying on your side, curling into a ball the way you always do. “I should go to sleep. Talk to you tomorrow.”

“Sure.” Thank you for everything. “Get some rest.” Are you still in love with me? “Bye.” I’m coming back. You know how I feel about you, do you?

So much left unsaid, words he lacks the strength to speak. That, along with his come-stained clothes. And, of course, the limousine now perfumed like a flower shop.

Exhaustion clings to him again.

His luck has never been this good.

The next afternoon, one of the couple’s kids falls ill. Must be something he ate, the woman tells Logan, her voice light, though he can hear the shuffle of urgency behind her words.

Her husband packs their bags in the background, the muted thuds of luggage hitting the floor. You know how children are. Their hands are always filthy!

What she doesn’t realize is that Logan, in fact, doesn’t know how children are, because how could he?

He’s holed up in the hotel across the street, his only responsibility being to wait on their call, ready to drive whenever they needed him. Needless to say, his accommodations are nothing like theirs. Not that he minds it—he’s not one for luxury, has never needed it.

Truth be told, he’s no stranger to beds that groan if you shift slightly, clogged toilets that spit back water like they’re alive.

Joy rushes through him when he hears the news. He’s coming back earlier than expected, a thrill building in his chest. Twelve days he’s been away, his greed growing with each second in that desolate hotel room.

Now, the beating of his heart quickens, a faint thrumming as he stares out the window. He debates whether to let you know about his early return or keep it as a surprise. Would it be better if he just showed up?

How would you feel, knowing that, by the time the lights are out, he’ll be yours again?

He knows he should feel sorry for the poor kid, but all he can muster is a look of concern that barely reaches his eyes. Each time they pull into a gas station, he listens to the hurried slap of footsteps as the boy rushes for the bathroom to empty his insides.

He watches in the rearview as the kid’s father shakes his head, clicking his tongue with disapproval. “Do you have kids?” he asks, his voice forced into a casual tone, like he’s trying to break the silence that’s settled between them. 

Logan’s only response is to turn up the radio, some pop song he’s never heard spilling from the speakers. The lyrics are a blur of nonsense to him, but it’s enough to drown out the man’s words and the boy’s misery.

Some things never change.

As the sun dips below the horizon, he’s finally free, no longer at anyone’s beck and call. He contemplates the possibility of getting a speeding ticket, weighing his options. It hardly matters. The pull to see you, to feel you, is stronger than anything else.

Even though he tries to think of another time in his life when he felt such a raw need, no memory comes close.

When he does pull up to his place, he does it quietly. Parking the limo, he doesn’t honk, doesn’t announce himself. Fumbling with the keys ever so lightly so as not to wake you up, fitting them into the lock.

His wrist twists, and the door gives way with a soft creak.

Anxiety ripples through him as he steps inside. The smell of freshly cooked food hits him, but it only tightens the knot in his stomach, reminding him of how long it’s been since he last ate.

Later, he tells himself. After. Once he’s sated his true hunger—the kind of hunger that can only be satisfied by sinking his fingers into something real, fleshy, malleable. 

Hunger—yes, it’s animalistic, feral even. Will he be able to control himself once he’s near you? In moments like this, he feels more animal than human. Creeping, on the verge of crawling, back to you.

His feet take him to his bedroom, knowing the path to it very well. Fingers hovering over the knob, he takes a deep breath.

It’s already late, past midnight, yet energy courses through his veins as though he’s just woken from a long, ethereal dream.

He finds you asleep, your body wrapped snugly in the sheets, clutching a pillow close to your chest. Your cheek is pressed into it, breathing soft and steady, lulling him in. Kneeling on the edge of the bed, he kicks off his shoes, then slips in beside you, mirroring your position. 

A lamp sits on his nightstand, one that isn’t his, and he figures you must have brought it from your apartment. There has to be a symbolism for that.

It’s incredible how his entire world can fit into such a narrow bed.

The smart thing would be to let you sleep, to simply watch you for a moment longer. But he can’t help himself.

His thumb lingers near your face before gently cupping your cheek, and the very first contact with your skin sends a shudder through him, the warmth of your skin grounding him. He trails his fingers down to your chin, holding it with just enough pressure to remind himself that he’s here.

Leaning in, he presses his lips softly against your forehead, your typical perfume wrapping around him like a welcome.

Welcome home, Logan.

For the first time, he feels that someone’s been counting down the minutes until his return. He’d always believed a person like him didn’t deserve this. That he just wasn’t built for it.

Countless years had he spent convincing himself he’d never be the kind of man who could inspire love. His life had already been written long ago—predetermined by some cruel hand in the sky.

Destiny, fate, call it what you want—once the cards are laid out, there’s no escaping them. Or so he used to think.

You had taken that pen into your own hands, rewriting his future. You, of all people, had changed his life. No matter what the future held for the two of you, he’d always be grateful. Grateful that you’d seen the dim spark in him that others had chosen to ignore.

Thoughtlessly, his fingers continue their gentle strokes along your cheek, your hair. You stir beside him, shifting in your sleep. Your eyes flutter open, close again, and then open once more, blinking in confusion.

“Logan?” you croak, voice still groggy and thick with sleep, coming to your senses. Before he can respond, you throw yourself on top of him, smothering his face with kisses. “Why—how—”

“Sweetheart,” he says, attempting to hide his grin, but failing when your kisses shift to his neck, your nose nuzzling against his skin. A laugh slips out, warmth flooding his chest.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming home early!”

Home. Had he heard right? Had you used that word knowingly?

Peering into your eyes, he catches his reflection in your pupils, tiredness etched into his features. “Wanted it to be a surprise.”

“You could’ve told me,” you reply, fingers threading through his greying locks, massaging his scalp. You place a tender kiss on the tip of his nose. “I would’ve waited up for you at least.”

“Well, I’m here now,” he whispers back, gaze drifting to your lips, and you close the space between you, his sigh mingling with yours as one hand cradles the small of your back, fisting the fabric of his shirt. His other hand tilts your head, inviting your tongues to greet each other in an unhurried dance.

You move languidly on top of him, and he notices, breaking the kiss and pulling back. “You’re gonna fall asleep on me, are you?”

The way your lashes flutter in response should be illegal. “I could use a human-size pillow.”

“I should shower first.”

“No.”

“Baby, I smell like gas.”

“So?”

A smirk tugs at his lips at your insistence, and he gently lays you back against the mattress. Drawn to your charm once again, he licks into your mouth, mentally scolding himself when he gets carried away, letting the kiss linger longer than intended.

“I’ll be quick,” he promises, pulling the sheets over your body. Resigned, you simply nod, settling on your side.

Ten minutes later, you’re dozing off, teetering on the edge of unconsciousness when he slips into bed, wrapping himself around you from behind. One arm drapes over your waist, the other cushions your head, and there’s not a patch of skin between you left untouched.

Fatigue begins to delve deeper into his bones the longer he stays curled around you, but before the weight of sleep takes him, and the silence steals his chance, he huffs: “I missed you.” His beard grazes your skin in a soft, unintentional caress.

You pull his wrist to your lips, pressing a short-lived kiss to the inside of it. “Missed you, too.”

How the roles have reversed.

In the quietness of this starless night, you leave him no other choice but to believe you.

3:34 a.m. Still hostage to the lack of light outside. The world remains submerged in the gentle tides of sleep, undulating between dreams, except for him.

Logan wakes up at 3:34 a.m. because he’s rock hard, and being flushed against your back wasn’t helping him with his situation at all. If anything, it only heightened it.

He sits at the edge of the bed, his mind running in circles, debating whether he should jump to his feet and head to the bathroom for another shower—this time, a cold one. Returning to sleep, at least in this moment, is not a viable option.

His gaze drifts to the moonlight spilling through the window, casting its pale glow across the room. Is this your doing? The question lingers, unshakable, in his thoughts. It remains as just that: a question.

When you quietly rest your chin on his shoulder, he stifles a sigh, biting the inside of his cheek. Your voice breaks through the quiet.

“What’s wrong? Can’t sleep?” Wrapping your arms around him from behind, you circle his frame, in an effort to persuade him to sink back into the mattress.

“It’s nothing,” he says, pulse accelerating. Please, don’t look down. “I’ll be back in a second.”

“But what is—”

He doesn’t get to hear the rest of your sentence. You do look down, finding the outline of his hardened cock straining against his briefs, stealing your full attention.

“Wow.”

“Go back to sleep.”

“And leave you like this?” One hand creeps toward his waistband, your breath warm against his ear. “Wouldn’t miss this for anything in the world.”

Your nails trace a path through the coarse hair at his navel, and Logan tenses. His legs feel like jelly as you cup his balls, fondling them gently between your fingers.

Behind him, your low chuckle stirs something primal in him, making his blood thrum hot beneath his skin. He should be the one doing this to you, not the other way around.

“Darlin’, I don’t—” He’s cut off by his own guttural groan when you fist his length, pumping him in rhythm with his uneven breaths. “I don’t need this.”

“Seems like you do,” you whisper, momentarily halting your ministrations to place your palm in front of his face, hoping he takes the hint. You kiss his stubble, pausing just short of his mouth. “I want to take care of you. Always do.”

Your palm hovers before him, inviting. Grabbing your wrist, he licks it, coating it in his spit and guiding you back down to him. Together, your hands glide along his length, and his gaze locks onto yours, the intensity of it making his neck tense.

You beam with delight under his stare. That red organ caged within his ribs—a blood-pumping machine of passion—surges back to life as he sees you.

He had won the battle. He had triumphed over his past; had lived enough lives, endured enough years, to arrive at this moment.

This had to be the purpose of his existence: to share this part of his stay on earth with you.

“You’re so hard,” you say, twisting your wrist at the tip of his cock, reveling in every buck of his hips, each movement a reflection of his exaltation. “Guess you did miss me.”

With a quiet growl, he reaches behind, nudging your thighs apart until they find your mound, cupping you through your underwear. “I’m not the only one who’s been missin’ someone.” He pulls the fabric aside, sliding his fingers through your wet folds. His nostrils flare as he feels how ready you are. “Why am I not surprised?”

Your breath hitches, and you press yourself closer against him, your tits against his back, mouth teasing at his neck. “That’s what happens when you’re gone.” Another kiss on his nape. “You could take me with you next time.”

“Can’t do that,” he answers, teasing your entrance. “No work would get done.”

His movements cease to a stop. Yours do too. Turning his head just enough to glance over his shoulder, he scrutinizes your expression, pride swelling in his chest as he takes in your affected state.

“You’re not goin’ back to sleep, are you?”

There’s the shake of your head. A single word escapes your lips, imbued with pure fervor: “Please.”

He captures your mouth in an ardent kiss, tugging at your shirt (which is, in fact, his) to undress you, his wandering hands roaming beneath it.

As his mouth meets your neck, something cold brushes against his lips, drawing his gaze down to what’s hanging from your neck.

His dog tags. The ones he had given you before leaving for that job, as his way of telling you I’m coming back without having to say it aloud. And you, as always, understood; had even promised to keep them safe, though he hadn’t expected you to actually wear them.

Now, with your shirt discarded, they lay against your bare skin, his name resting in the valley between your breasts.

“You like ‘em?” His fingers grip the chain and give it a gentle tug, drawing you closer so he can breathe over your lips, his breath mingling with yours. “Like knowing you’re mine? You get off on it?”

You nod in agreement. Of course, you do. Though emotionally constipated and not the most expressive, Logan is a lover who knows how to awaken desire—a good lover, indeed. A decent one.

Which is why he agrees to any idea that crosses your mind, like the one you just whispered in his ear.

He may be older than you, but he’s always been more on the traditional side. You, on the other hand, are continually searching for new ways to innovate.

The round globes of your ass jiggle over his face as he spreads you apart, entrenched by how your skin moves above him, your glistening hole clenching around nothing, as if your body itself is calling to him.

With his head propped against the headboard, he watches you take him deeper, your saliva dripping down the wiry hairs of his cock. The slick heat of your tongue traces over his slit, back and forth, driving him to the edge.

When he hears you gag, it stirs something inside him—a deep need to return the favor, to match your devotion.

At the end of the day, he’s a man on a mission, and right now, that mission is you.

Right there, with his nose and mouth buried in you, he wonders why he hadn't thought of this sooner. If he could choose a natural end like any other man, he'd wish for it to be by suffocation—your body his last breath.

Logan inhales deeply, like a man starved, working two of his fingers inside your throbbing center, his tongue flicking relentlessly over your clit, punching moan after moan out of you. Each thrust of his fingers, each stroke of his tongue, sends waves of pleasure coursing through you.

His beard, streaked with gray, leaves a trail of fire wherever your hips meet his face, pushing back against him. Every so often, you pull off his cock just to ramble, panting, about how good he's making you feel.

From where he lies, you’re a sight to behold, nothing short of divine. “Just what I needed, doll. You taste so fuckin’ sweet,” he blurts out, your frantic cries pouring into his ears as he sucks the swollen bud between his lips. “Can’t believe you let me do this to you. You love makin’ your old man happy, don’t you?”

He used to think he'd burn in hell for indulging in the desire to know you like this—raw, ungraceful.

His judgment must be fucked up, because now, all he sees in you is heaven incarnate. You must be the closest thing to it he’ll ever find.

“Shit, I…” you trail off, gasping as he replaces his fingers with his tongue, drinking from your arousal and tasting every bit of you. “I thought about you every day.”

“Bet you did, just like that night I called you. You know how I felt when you told me you were wearing my clothes?” His hand comes down with a firm slap on your right asscheek, drawing a whine from you as your movements falter. “Can smell you all over these sheets. Makes me wonder how many times you made yourself come while I was away.”

You slip the tip of his cock back in your mouth, your hands and lips working in sync. His nose brushes against the plush skin of your thighs before his teeth graze your flesh, biting down just enough to leave a sting. His fingers curl inside you, hitting that perfect spot again and again, and you moan around him, your throat vibrating against his length.

He makes you come like this, knuckles deep inside you while his thumb circles your clit. Overwhelmed by pleasure, you let go of his dick, and it hits Logan’s stomach with a wet pop. His strong arms tug you closer to his face, eyes falling closed as you ride the wave of your orgasm against his mouth, palms pressed flat on his chest.

For a brief moment, he can’t breathe, can’t feel anything but you, your scent, your taste filling his senses.

Later, he rolls you onto your back and climbs on top of you, uncertain of how much time he has spent lapping at your wetness. His hard length glides along your folds, and he lines himself up without pushing in, looking right into your eyes. 

“Remember what I told you that night over the phone?” he asks, his breath coming in quick bursts, and you nod, head lolling back as he pinches your lower lip between his fingers. “Repeat it.”

“Logan—”

“You say it, and I’ll make it happen.”

Perplexity clouds your features. “You said you’d fuck me slow and deep, just h-how I like it. Face to face, because—”. The words escape you, a sob tearing through your throat as he eases the first few inches of himself inside you, your walls instinctively making space to wrap around him.

He’s home.

“Go on. What else did I say?” he teases, relishing in it. He’s guilty as sin. “Or were you too lost in thought touchin’ yourself?”

“F-face to face,” you slur, nails digging into his scarred back, and he keeps plunging his length into your interior to the hilt. Your lips part slightly, craving the kiss that only he can give you. “You said you’d do it face to face so I could kiss you whenever I wanted.”

He hums, low in his throat, as he gives the first thrust of the night, taking great pleasure in your expression: open-mouthed, eyes scrunched, and a slight crease forming between your brows.

Smoothing his thumb over your forehead, he tsks, pausing his movements. “None of that, princess. Look at me, c’mon.”

You obey, forcing your eyes open, and in that instant, he swears he can feel every tremor coursing through you. “Logan,” you coo, your voice aching as you stretch your neck toward his mouth.

The way you say his name—seductively, charged with a fascination that riles him up—manages to ignite a fire only you can kindle. It’s all the invitation he needs.

“I know. Too much, huh?” His tone drips with condescension, teasing in a way that feels almost cruel. He can’t help it, though: it’s in very his nature. “Need to hear you say it. Need you to tell me how much you want this.”

Like everything else in your world, your patience begins to wither, hips instinctively bucking beneath him, seeking even the slightest bit of friction. But he still withholds the kiss you long for, dangling it just out of reach.

“Please,” you beg, voice breaking as you plead. “Fuck me, baby. Missed you so much while you were away. Please, please, please—”

Logan enjoys hearing you beg. He won’t pretend otherwise. There's a satisfaction in knowing he holds this power over you, that he's the only one who can unravel you this way, your body splayed open beneath him.

The thought of others who may have once been in his place, making you fall apart just like this, sets his blood on edge.

Jealousy, sharp and corrosive, crawls up his spine, and it spurs him on, guiding the tempo of his thrusts.

He wonders if he’s ever fucked you this fiercely before, with a passion that pulses from every part of him. You’re given no space for thought, no moment to catch your breath—just his unforgiving pace and the sounds spilling from your lips.

He has a way of breaking you down, turning you into a trembling, whimpering mess beneath him, and you surrender willingly, craving each second of it.

So fuckin’ tight. Can y’hear her? How badly she needs me?

Sex had never felt like this before. He’d grown accustomed to quick, meaningless fucks in poorly lit bars, fleeting encounters that left him questioning if this was all there was. If this wasn’t the best he’d ever know. 

For a while, he’d tried to solve that emptiness, searching in nameless lovers and hollow hearts for the very thing he feared most: love.

And yet, he wanted it, yearned it, guarding his desire like a secret he barely admitted to himself. Until one day, you stumbled into his life, and all the strength he thought he had wasn’t enough to push you away.

He presses deep into the back of your thighs, bringing your chests so close they're nearly brushing. Claiming your mouth in a maddening kiss, all teeth and tongue, leaving no space for softness. As he nibbles at your bottom lip, he feels you tighten around him, your cunt pulling him under, clouding his thoughts.

“Close?” he murmurs, hips snapping against you with an utterly obscene rhythm that drowns out the world, better than any song ever made. “Such a good girl. Gonna come, sweetheart? Let me see how gorgeous you look when you fall apart, making a mess just for me.”

The constant, steady drag of his cock doesn’t seem to get old for you. He’s leaving his mark within you, inside you, carving a space for himself. His tip keeps hitting all the right spots, prompting you to tilt your pelvis to meet him halfway, telling him there, yes, there. More, please.

His hand slides down, rubbing your clit with his fingers. Doesn’t need any extra help when doing so, your arousal providing all the slickness he needs. He feels like a runner on the final stretch, the finish line within reach, so close he can almost touch it, savoring the euphoria and bliss of crossing it.

The way you sing his name never loses its allure, despite all the times he’s heard it spill from your lips. Especially at this moment, with him buried deep inside you, every thrust a promise to make you feel good.

You shamelessly come while he keeps driving into you, vigorous and untamed—like a caged animal unleashed, tasting freedom for the very first time.

Ankles digging into his lower back, a trail of persistent kisses along his beard. You want him inside, that much he can tell.  It’s not like he ever finishes anywhere else, but the reminder doesn’t bother him. It only serves as a reassurance: that you still want this, want him. You haven’t changed your mind.

He sinks his teeth into your neck the instant he feels his orgasm tearing through him, hips stilling and sagging as a string of grunts abandons his being, dampening your skin even more.  He loves to fill you up, it consumes him entirely.

Such an intimate, visceral act, and then he gets to see his seed trickling down your thighs. He realizes that he doesn’t need much to be happy.

You keep kissing him, his neck, his face. It may seem absurd to say that every kiss feels like the first, yet it’s true.

Even after he’s traced all the contours of your mouth and committed every detail of your body to memory, he can’t help but feel that same thrill of excitement he experienced months ago when he dared to push beyond the boundaries he had set for himself.

Staring at each other, naked, all the love in the world seems to fill these four walls. The compassion and tenderness in your gaze remain unchanged. You’re a dream come true.

It can’t end like this. He can’t allow you to drift back into sleep without saying what needs to be said. Something has to happen, something only he can conjure.

“I think…” He hesitates. Starting with I think carries an air of uncertainty. “I don’t—”

“Logan,” you interrupt, your hand finding his. “I know.”

Yes, you do. You always seem to know everything, but that can’t be enough. He can’t lean on your unspoken understanding of his feelings.

“You still deserve to hear it.”

“It’s not necessary.”

“It is.”

More silence. The moon is the solitary spectator of his upcoming declaration. 

“You were right,” he begins, drawing your intertwined hands closer to his face, pressing a soft kiss on the back of yours. His voice drops to a murmur. It’s not just his body that feels completely exposed anymore; something deeper within him stands bare. “I’m in love with you.”

You scrutinize him as if he’s revealing the secret to eternal life. Again, you kiss his cheek, cupping it gently with your palm.

“It won’t get any better than this. There are no more layers to peel away, okay?” He offers explanations you never even asked for in the first place. “This is what I am.” Much to his dismay, you overlook his choice of words: what instead of who.

He glances away, his gaze landing on the dog tags resting against your skin. The same old guilt threatens to engulf him, as it does each time without fail, and that seems to be your cue to lower yourself to his eye level, eyebrows raised.

“I’m not with you because I’m waiting for you to change. I like you just as you are, Logan. And I want all of you, both the good and bad stuff.” A gentle smile breaks across your face as you stretch your arm to retrieve his glasses from the nightstand. Placing them on your nose, your eyes twinkle with contentment. “Do they look good on me?”

“You don’t need them yet.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t pull them off.”

“Come here,” he mutters, sighing when you nuzzle his chest, cradling your head between his hands. He ponders what to say, what to do next, but no clear idea sounds promising.

And so it gives you the chance to speak up: “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

I hope I don’t, he thinks to himself as he brushes your hair away from your face, fingers caressing your temples. I hope I never do.

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! <3

[ginnsinabin]

driving with wrench hcs

+Gen neutral

-Words of advice I personally wouldn’t get in a car with this man and i feel like no further explanation is needed 

-Granted I feel like he is genuinely a sound driver, IF he’s in the right mood

-For example if you’re just going from place to place on a random Tuesday he’d emulate the average citizen on the road

-BUT if there’s not a lot of people on the roads, he’s bored, or if he’s in a rush to get somewhere I pray your death is at least quick

-This man always drives one handed and likes to fuck around on his phone while he drives too

Most of the time though he keeps a hand on the wheel because he’s definitely a person that talks with his hands so you have to just get used to him driving with no hands on the wheel to get his story or point across

-He will give you the wheel out of no where and reach to the back for stuff or to hack a traffic light so hopefully you have a good reaction time

-It isn’t a rare occasion that you with have to sit patiently while wrench tries to shake off police due to his dodgy driving skills

-Just sit back and give him some heads ups to pull into some alley ways to help, it’ll be over soon

-If yall are driving home at the end of the day he’ll want to hold your hand while driving and will only go a little over the speed limit just cause he’s tired and wants to pass out with you so no police chases

-If the gang has the misfortune of being in the car with you, wrench will feel more implored to disobey every traffic law he can think of

-It’s both scary and funny during these times, both unintelligible screams of pure horror and cursing shouts towards the driver are heard but wrench basically hears none of it

-Sometimes prayers are heard too

Because of this, trips for the dedsec crew are either taken in separate vehicles or Sitara or Horatio will be the drivers

-If wrench can get his hands on a motorcycle, you will see an even cockier wrench than normal, just driving one will make him feel badass and mighty but if you’re riding with him? This man will hit a whole new level of ego

-Now while he’ll be more inclined to be more skillful while driving a bike, it is just as scary if not worse than him driving a car

-Definitely gets a kick out of having you hugging him from behind while driving at ungodly speeds but will never do anything wreckless enough that it’ll get you hurt

-Despite his need for chaos and thrills there’s a line that he’d never cross when it comes to your safety

(A/N: I hope there’s no errors but if there are no there isn’t)

[gloomwitchwrites]

Overheard confessions part 2? You over hear them confess to the team about how they love you and want to have an army of kids with you...or like a lot of dogs on a farm lol

Don't mind me, I'm just shrieking like a hyena over here. I am obsessed with the idea of a part two but from the opposite perspective. What happens when we hear the guys making the confession. I had way too much fun with this one. Just pure glee. Enjoy! (Find Part 1 HERE.)

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): established relationship, swearing, breeding undertones, suggestive themes, mild alcohol/smoking, fluff, implied sexual content, mild dirty talk

Word Count: 2k

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

“You’re a mess, John.”

You clutch the manila envelope to your chest, coming to a dead stop just outside Captain Price’s office. The door is cracked, your hand pressed flat against the wood with the intent to enter. That flies out the coop. You’re glued to the spot, listening as Laswell continues to speak.

“Have you been getting enough sleep?”

“Care about my sleeping habits, Kate?”

Laswell snorts. “You look tired. What’s on your mind?”

There is a stretch of silence. You don’t dare breathe—don’t dare move. When Price doesn’t answer, you hear Laswell sigh. It’s not an annoyed sound, but one of pity. She knows what troubles him.

“It’s the secretary. Isn’t it?”

A secretary? What secretary?

You comb through all of them in the building. There are only a handful of you—maybe ten total.

“It’s nothing, Kate.”

“Just admit how you feel, John.”

Your hand drops from the door and crosses over your chest. The manila envelope crunches softly against your breasts as you squeeze it tighter.

“What do you want me to say? That I fancy the woman?” He scoffs.

“Yes,” replies Laswell. “It’s that simple.”

Your mind races. Of the ten secretaries in the building, there are maybe three—including yourself—that this could apply to. A blossom of hope blooms in your chest, a racing sensation of your heart palpitating. You shouldn’t wish for it, but for it to be you?

No.

“I’m her superior.”

This time, Laswell scoffs. “She’s not even your secretary, John. She’s mine, and I think you need to say something to her.”

Oh fuck.

It’s you. They’re talking about you.

“Really, Kate?”

“Really, John.” Laswell sighs. “Not to be crude, but maybe if she were getting laid, she wouldn’t hide my cigarettes when my wife tells her to.”

“Christ, Laswell.”

“No, John. Tell me how you feel about her.” He doesn’t. “I’m waiting.”

You hear a grumble on Captain Price’s end, then, “I want to make an army of kids with her. I want to wake up with her beside me and for her to be near when I sleep.” He pauses. “I like the way she throws her head back when she laughs. Her smile.” Then, softly, “I love everything about her.”

There is a tap tap tap of a shoe against linoleum, and then someone’s walking toward the door.

“That’s it, John. Just tell her how you feel and—”

The door opens wide, revealing you. Captain Price and Laswell both freeze. Price’s face goes from surprised to a dark shade of pink. Laswell’s shifts to a knowing smirk.

“Is that the file I asked for?”

“It is,” you affirm.

Laswell nods. “Hand it over to Captain Price. He needs to take a look at it first.”

“Laswell—”

“Goodnight, John,” she calls out, shutting the door behind her, leaving the two of you alone in the room.

Price clears his throat, standing.

“I heard what you said,” you say quickly.

Shit. Shit shit shit.

“I—”

“Wait,” you say, holding up a hand.

Dumping the manila folder on the desk, you circle to his side. Price is perfectly still, watching you the whole time. What you’re about to do is bold.

Placing your hand on his chest, you lean in. His entire demeanor softens as he mimics your movement.

“You said you wanted to make an army of kids with me.”

“It’s one thing I want to do with you.”

Shifting, you inch toward the desk, propping yourself up to sit on top of it. It’s true, you do need to get laid, and why not with a man who is more than willing.

Price’s gaze lowers as you spread your legs.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

"She's fucking gorgeous, mate."

"Is that all?"

With back pressed against the wall, you listen in on the conversation.

Kyle and Johnny’s voices carry in the small apartment. You linger in the short hallway that leads to the kitchen and dining room. They have no idea that you are home, listening in just around the corner.

“No,” comes Kyle’s voice. It’s not sad but strained, like he’s trying to form the right words but keeps stumbling over what to say.

Anxiety grips your stomach, twisting tight.

"She's everything I want,” says Kyle, this time sounding confident.

"Everything?" Johnny whistles and you hear the creak of a chair. "You looking to marry her?"

The twisting sensation becomes a clamp. A vice grip that closes your throat.

"If she'll have me," answers Kyle immediately.

Johnny chuckles. "You'll marry her and then what? Pop out an army of wee bairns? Adopt a cat and two dogs?"

“All of the above,” answers Kyle. “Or nothing at all. It’s what she wants.”

“Oh, aye,” replies Johnny. “That's a good answer."

The sudden seizing of limb and lung relaxes, returning you to the moment. Your heartrate speeds up, becoming a thundering thing that threatens to burst from your chest. Kyle may be your boyfriend but you never suspected that this is what he wants.

"When do you plan on proposing?" asks Johnny.

"Haven't thought that far," murmurs Kyle.

"Too focused on how you're gonna have that army of barins?" laughs Johnny.

"You wanker,” mutters Kyle, but you hear the smile in it.

"Just remember—”

You cannot hide any longer. It’s unbearable.

Emerging suddenly—and almost tripping over your own foot in the process—the two men go quiet, their gazes widening as you appear like an apparition before them. Between then is an open bottle of scotch and various containers of Kyle’s favorite takeout spot.

Kyle is out of his seat in a second, heading for you. He whispers your name, a soft thing meant only for you, and all your love comes rushing up to warm your cheeks and soften your insides.

As he nears, the words tumble from you. "You want a small army with me?" you whisper.

"You heard that?" he asks.

The next words you form are dangerous yet you say them anyway. "Do you want to start trying?"

You put every ounce of lust you can muster into those few words. Kyle’s bodily response is immediate. His shoulders straighten, and a hungry need enters his eyes. This man is about to drag you to bed and fuck you raw for hours.

"Johnny," snaps Kyle, voice cracking slightly. He clears his throat. "Time for you to go."

John "Soap" MacTavish

A tornado rips through your senses.

Did you hear Johnny correctly? Surely not.

"You don't understand, Simon."

Johnny is in the bedroom pacing around while he talks to Simon on the phone. At your current distance from out in the hall, it’s difficult to hear Simon’s response.

"You're balls deep in a different lass every week. Don't hardly know their names. And you're going to give me shit about this?"

A snort almost escapes your nose, revealing your location. Johnny isn’t wrong. Simon is a notorious slut among Johnny’s group of friends. There is always a different woman on his arm whenever they go out.

Johnny pauses before continuing. "I love this woman. I want a bloody army of bairns with her. Fuck, I'll take an army of animals if that's what she bloody well wants."

He sounds irritated, but you know it’s just his passion. Johnny can be hotheaded, especially when it comes to the people he cares about. Either that or Simon is giving him shit on the other end.

"I need your support, Simon." All is quiet, and then you hear Johnny’s amused snort. "You're always giving me shit, Lt." He chuckles. “I’ll see you tomorrow at brief.”

You slip around the corner and enter the bedroom. Johnny glances up from his phone, his mouth a wide smile upon glimpsing you. “Come here,” he says with a sultry purr, reaching out.

You go to him without effort.

Wrapping you up in his arms, Johnny kisses the top of your head. You tilt your face upward, going in for something softer.

"I heard you talking on the phone,” you murmur, accepting another kiss from Johnny.

"Did you?"

"You want an army of kids?"

Johnny's neck flushes pink. "I may have said that."

Your hug becomes intimate, hands gently caressing until you find the front of his sweatpants. Johnny groans into your mouth as you find him, lightly rubbing him toward hardness. It’s a tease of a touch. The moment he’s throbbing under your hand, you pull away, fingers toying with the strings of his sweatpants.

"You don't mind if we start now?"

Johnny's gentle embarrassment becomes a sultry glare. "Oh, aye. We have the rest of the day and all night to try."

Simon "Ghost" Riley

"I want her, Johnny."

The pan of brownies you’re holding nearly go crashing to the floor. Simon’s words are a brick wall. You’ve been baking all day because it’s the only thing you can do to distract yourself. The plan is to drop them off with Simon and let the boys devour them. Instead, you’re dumbfounded, standing right outside the door to the meeting room Price’s secretary told you to drop the sweets at.

“Who?” asks Soap absently.

When Simon speaks again, it is your name that falls from his lips. Yes, you and Simon are together, but you’re not together. This is fuck buddies. This is friends with benefits. This is…not a relationship.

Or so you thought.

But you’re at his place of work dropping off fucking brownies. The rest of his team call you by your first name. They expect you at functions when they all bring their significant others along. Yet you and Simon are not a couple.

Not officially anyway.

"Oh, aye?” asks Soap, his tone amused. “And does she want you?"

Yes. More than you know.

You’re fully aware that Johnny and Kyle give Simon shit about you. Not because they don’t like you—they adore you—but because they think Simon needs to put a ring on it. They aren’t quiet about it either.

But Simon has never been so forward with his feelings for you. He might tell you sweet things when his dick is deep inside you, but you’ve never heard him be this blunt.

"Don't care. She's mine, Johnny. I'll make sure of that." The mine is almost a growl, a possessive bite that sends a bolt of need to your core.

Johnny chuckles but there’s nothing condescending in it. He sounds…happy.

“Finally, Lt. Fucking finally!”

You hear Johnny enthusiastically smack Simon’s back—or shoulder—and then the man growls like he’s aggressively shaking Simon.

“You’re going to fucking crack my ribs, Johnny.”

“I’m just happy for you, Lt.”

You step forward, pressing your shoulder against the doorframe. They are still out of view, but you don’t want to reveal yourself yet.

“Finally going to make an honest woman out of her?” jokes Soap.

Simon snorts. “I’ll even make you an uncle, Johnny.”

“Me? I expect an army, Lt. Five mini-Riley’s running around.

“Fucking hell, Soap.”

Your cheeks are hot, and you’re standing out in the hall like an idiot. The last thing you need is for one of them to open to door and find you here.

Knocking to announce yourself, you open the door of the meeting room. They turn in your direction, but it’s only Johnny’s face that’s clear to you. Simon is wearing a balaclava, and the only part of him you can see are his eyes.

Johnny’s grin is devilish. “What’s that, love?”

“Brownies?”

He perks up. “Gaz is gonna flip his mug.” You hand them over and Johnny removes the foil on top. “I’m eating this entire pan.”

“Fuck off, Sergeant,” says Simon.

Johnny gives him a half-hearted salute before disappearing out the door, a chunk of brownie already shoved in his mouth.

“You just get here?” asks Simon, sauntering forward.

The soft sway of his hips is a tantalizing thing. You’re hypnotized. Locked in.

“No,” you whisper.

“No?”

“I—I heard you and Soap talking.”

Simon is inches away, his broad chest and shoulders seeming impossibly wide, almost boxing you in.

“What do you think?”

“You want me all to yourself?”

Simon’s voice is a growl. “You’ve always been mine. That’s never changed.”

You place your hand on Simon’s chest. “You promised Soap you’d make him an uncle.”

“I did.”

“And if I want to start right now?”

Simon leans in a bit further, his gaze burning like warm whiskey. “Then you should bend yourself over the table and lift that dress.”

taglist:

@glitterypirateduck @km-ffluv @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath

@ferns-fics @tulipsun-flower @miss-mistinguett @ninman82 @eternallyvenus

@beebeechaos @smileykiddie08 @whisperwispxx @chaostwinsofdestruction @weasleytwins-41

@saoirse06 @unhinged-reader-36 @ravenpoe67 @sageyxbabey @mudisgranapat

@lulurubberduckie @leed-bbg @yawning-grave81 @azkza @nishim

@voids-universe @iloveslasher @talooolaaloolla @sadlonelybagel @haven-1307

@itsberrydreemurstuff @cod-z @keiva1000 @littlemisscriesherselftosleep @blackhawkfanatic

@sammysinger04 @kylies-love-letter @dakotakazansky @suhmie @kadeeesworld

@keiva1000 @jackrabbitem @arrozyfrijoles23 @lovely-ateez @waves-against-a-cliff

@ash-tarte @marispunk @gingergirl06 @certainlygay @greeniegreengreen

[swanimagines]

WATCH DOGS AO3 SERIESES

EVERYTHING FOR WATCH DOGS

Aiden Pearce

Marcus Holloway

The Wrench

Jordi Chin

Dušan Nemec

Sitara Dhawan (coming)

(Any of the other characters don't have any requests written nor pending as for now, so I'm unable to have serieses for them as AO3 requires you to have at least one oneshot written to be able to add it to a series, and I can't promise serieses for characters who don't have requests pending/I have no ideas of my own for them)

For anyone who's concerned, THESE ARE NOT ONESHOT COLLECTIONS, they are made using AO3's "series" feature.

If you want to be informed about new fics for Watch Dogs or its individual characters, create an AO3 account and subscribe or bookmark any of those serieses listed above. There are buttons at the top right corner for those, or on top on mobile. I do not do Tumblr taglists anymore.

Also, if you're wondering, requests are ALWAYS open and you're welcome to leave one or multiple. Just remember to read my rules and pick a request type from this list.

[swordsandholly]

Cherry Bomb - tattoo parlor au anthology

MDNI | poly 141 x fem fat reader | masterlist

Part 2: Piercings and Puns

“Pleeaaasse?” Johnny whines, pressing his hands together and giving you the biggest, sparkliest puppy dog look you could imagine.

You roll your eyes. “No.”

“Please! My two o’clock cancelled an’ I’m so bored!” He flops over the counter, arms dangling right above the appointment books. You pointedly ignore the size of his biceps.

“I’m not letting you pierce me just because you’re bored.” You scoff. “Now shoo, Simon’s got an appointment coming in soon.”

“But ye barely have any!” He argues. “All I’m askin’ fer is a wee ear. No’ even a nipple!”

A shocked amalgamation of a bark, laugh, and scoff forces it’s way out of you at that. “It’s still a no!”

Johnny groans, but at least moves away from the counter. Unfortunately, he takes the opportunity to circle around behind you, pinching the cartilage of your ear. “C’mon, ol’ righty’s beggin’ fer a conch.”

The intercom buzzes before you can respond. You swat Johnny away with one hand while pressing the speaker button with the other. “Hello?”

“I’ve go’ an appointment with Ghost.” A man’s voice drifts through. You blink dumbly for half a moment. You still haven’t gotten used to Simon’s social media and booking moniker - he doesn’t like giving his real name out much, apparently.

You buzz him in. Johnny is still hanging around the desk even when you leave to get Simon - making your way down the shirt hall to his studio. The large man stands in front of his stencil maker, back turned to you.

You knock on his door frame quietly. “Your guy’s here.”

“Be out in a moment.” He mumbles, focused on whatever he’s doing. You don’t really know the steps by heart, but you do know that there’s something so special about watching artists perform this repetitive song and dance. This rhythm they know by heart. Skilled hands enacting each step with careful precision.

He’s so hard to read. Big and bulky but calm as the night sea. You want him to like you, but you know badgering him certainly won’t get you there. So, you turn on your heal and head back out. When you return to the front, Johnny’s disappeared back into his room.

You suck your teeth and lean back in the desk chair, rolling your earlobe between your thumb and index finger. It’s not a bad offer, really. You only have two earlobe piercings on each side. Wouldn’t hurt to add a helix… you’ve also wanted to get your thirds done for a while. Work your way up. You glance at the clock. Simon won’t be done with his client for at least an hour or so, and you’ve balanced the registers for the moment. Both Kyle and John are out today, so they won’t need anything.

It wouldn’t hurt… well, not metaphorically.

With a sigh you stand, wandering your way to Johnny’s space. The door’s wide open, and his head snaps up the moment you step close like a sixth sense. “Takin’ me up on my offer, bonnie?”

You roll your eyes. “Guess I am.”

“Whit d’ye want?” Johnny practically skips around his station, pulling out wrapped, sanitized tools and placing them on a rolling tray. He pats the center of the padded table in the middle of the room.

“Uh, been wanting to do my thirds for a while.” You shrug. “If you have time for two.”

“Och, I’ve got all the time in the world fer ye, hen.” Johnny grins, pulling up in front of you and grabbing a marker.

He’s so close as he places the marks on your ears, warm fingers feeling for the best spots. A thumb traces the back of your left ear down just to the beginning of your jaw briefly. Fuck, he smells good. Warm musk with hints of citrus around the edges. The way he tucks your hair back, hands framing your face as he lines up the dots, is so oddly intimate compared to the other times you’ve gotten pierced. He chews at his lip in concentration, pulling at the scar on his chin while turning your head back forth a couple times.

“Think I’ve got it.” He grins and steps back. “Have a look.”

You take the mirror, casually checking but not paying too much attention. You trust him to do right by you. “Looks good.”

“A’right. Now the fun part.” He grins, tearing open the pack of tools and a two new needles.

“Is this fun?” You frown, squirming a little at the size of the needle.

“It’s always fun t’poke a pretty girl.”

You roll your eyes, a growing theme between you two it seems. “Oh, you thought that was real clever, didn’t you? Had that in your pocket a while?”

“Why donnae ye reach in an‘ check?” He murmurs, leaning close to clamp your left ear. You’re half tempted to tell him it’s mean to tease a fat girl like this - but you don’t think he means anything like that by it. He’s just a flirt by nature.

Before you can answer, he shoves the needle through your ear. You stiffen, a strained noise bubbling up out of your throat.

Johnny coos as he slips the earring into your ear. “One doon.”

“Uh-huh.” You sniffle. Not that it hurts badly, just a basic physical reaction. Johnny still gives you an empathetic smile.

The second goes quicker, Johnny locked in on his work. It’s interesting, seeing how intense they get. You Is it odd to wish someone would look at you like that? With that much focus and passion?

“There ye go…good girl.” He murmurs in that deep rumble that would have you squirming if you didn’t still have a needle through your ear. “Doin’ so good f’me...”

“You’re a devil, MacTavish.”

Johnny just chuckles, knowing full well exactly what he’s doing. He steps back to look at the final result after slipping the second stud into your ear. They feel hot - like two small ovens on either side of your head.

“If it weren’t for the piercings I’d think ye were blushing, hen.”

“You’re gonna get yourself slapped one of these days.” You scoff, sliding off the table.

“Wouldnnae be the first time.”

You find yourself rolling your eyes for the millionth time.

You grunt, squatting low in an attempt to pick the last of the parlor trash. It’s not that you mind, trash was part of your duties from the start, but holy shit do these boys put bricks in their bins? You’d think tattoos would make light trash. Especially after the sharps are disposed of separately.

“Solid?” Simon appears in the hall, eyes flicking over you. You still can’t tell how he feels about you. Neutral, you suppose. At least that’s all you can glean from behind his seemingly permanent black surgical mask.

“Ya.” You sigh, letting the bag drop and leaning back to stretch. “Just heavy. Swear y’all aren’t throwing rocks in these just to fuck with me?”

You give him a grin. Simon just cocks an eyebrow - exaggerated by the small piercing lining it. You think, maybe the slight shaking of his shoulder is a laugh. In combination won’t he crinkles in the corners of his eyes. Maybe not.

“‘ere.” Simon grunts, closing the short distance between you quickly before snatching up the bag like it weighs almost nothing.

You stutter, following after him toward the back exit. “You don’t have to-“

“Not a problem.” He grunts, tossing the thing over the side of the bin. He quietly leads you back inside, locking the door behind you “Johnny go’ you already?”

When you frown in confusion he points to his ears.

“Oh! Yeah.” You shrug, leading the way back to front desk to finish up your closing duties. “He’s insistent. I’d wanted them for a while anyway so I figured there’s no harm.”

“Give ‘im an inch...” He sighs, pointing to the black bar bridge piercing at the apex of his nose. “Somehow talked me into this shite.”

You tilt your head. “Yeah? I think it suits you.”

It really does. You can’t see most of his nose form under the mask but the arc of it leading up to bridge is strong, the piercing settling into the space nicely.

Simon breaks the silence. “You about done?”

“Almost. Just gotta check the ATM against the book real quick.” You nod.

He stares down at you for a moment, glancing out the semi-opaque window, now black with the night sky. There aren’t many street lamps on this side of town. You can only see a very faint glow from the one down by the car park.

“I’ll wait.” Simon settles his wide frame into Kyle’s usual chair.

“Oh! No you don’t have to! I’m sure you’re tired-“

“Wouldn’t feel right leavin’ you alone in the dark.” He cuts you off.

“It’s not a far walk-“

He scoffs. “Definitely not leaving you to walk alone.”

You sink your teeth into your lip, debating briefly on arguing. Based on his comfortable lean and crossed arms, it’s probably best to just let him walk you home. He looks so wide like that, veins prominent across his forearms. Fuck, you gotta find a boyfriend or booty call or something in this city. Anything to stop the temptation to stare at your hot coworkers.

It doesn’t take long to finish up your final chores. You turn all but one light off, wiring down from the bright overheads glaring at you all day. You glance over at Simon a few times while locking up the ATM, his covered face lit up by the light of his phone.

He leads you out of the shop once you’re finished, locking the door behind you and trying it a couple times to be sure. “Which way?”

“Uh, down here. It’s only twenty minutes.” You murmur, feeling guilty that you’ve kept him out extra late. You shove your hands in your hoodie pockets as you walk, the only sound on the street made up of your footsteps and some distant cars.

“What falls but never gets hurt?” Simon asks suddenly.

You frown. “Huh?”

“What falls but never gets hurt?”

You squint at him, trying to decipher anything from his face in the low light. You get nothing but a calm, warm gaze resting on you.

His eyes crinkle in the corners again. “Rain.”

“Pffft-“ You choke, caught off guard. “That’s such a lame pun.”

“Oh? I’ve got a better one.” Simon says, a smirk in his tone. “Why’d the mother clam scold her children?”

You chew your lip. God, you’re too literal to be clever enough for stupid puns and riddles. It doesn’t help that your head is spinning from this brick shithouse, incredibly attractive and intimidating man spitting popsicle puns at you.

“They were being shellfish.”

“Oh fuck off!” You shove at his arm playfully without thinking. He gives, let’s you push him slightly before you stiffen. “S-sorry! I don’t-“

“Nothin’ to apologize for.” The corners of his eyes crinkle deeper. Yeah, definitely a smile. You answer it with one of your own.