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oceanxveiined · 2 years ago

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“–then we just need to carefully turn the dial here to expose the Pyro and Electro components to each other, and…!”

Danae grimaced as the soft clicks registered, shaking out the slight tremor in her free hand.

The last time she’d tried this, the whole thing had blown up in her face and caused a nasty slew of injuries she’d nearly been permanently blinded by. Which had only been avoided by a prompt trip to Durene, who upon healing her had elected to make Danae’s life utterly miserable for the next hour with the ensuing lecture. And considering she couldn’t even speak, that had been a feat in and of itself. She would have almost preferred getting verbal nagged than dealing with the extra impact Durene’s facial expression gave her signing.

Almost.

Now, one would think wanting to avoid such a thing would discourage Danae from trying again. If not wanting to avoid the scolding, then in not wanting to face agony and risk permanent injury should the healer not get to her soon enough this time. Most anyone would. But anyone who knew her well would also damn well know she only only ever took such things as a challenge rather than anything cautionary.

She feared no monster nor god, so why should Durene be any different?

That said, if she did happen to keep the device at a safer distance away from her face this go around, it was purely out of practicality.

Still…hubris aside, having to go back to Durene for help if the reaction repeated ( especially if it resulted worse, considering the changes she'd made since then ), more so after specifically being told not to ever try this again still added a lot more pressure now. Especially since the woman would surely be so damn glad for the opportunity to gloat about how right she was. And having bear Durene’s all-too expressive face and stupid little name sign once she saw the thermal and electrical burns again would definitely make the matter all the more humiliating, too–

“Oh…!”

Danae’s eyes flashed open as an odd sensation suddenly thrummed ( Odd, odd, was it painful? No, that wasn’t it- ) through her body, concentrated at her hand where she held the device. Thrummed along her frayed nerves and burrowed deep into her sore muscles.

Her lips parted in surprise as she swayed in place, brain trying to place just what it was she was percieving. Hand trembling in the wake of and direct contact to such a sensation, her grip on the device slackened a slight, even while the other tried to steady it. “Wh-what'n th–?”

Luckily, a deft pair of hands managed to cup it beneath hers, preventing it from falling to the floor and shatter. Even while her hands had instinctively gripped the thing tighter–

“Morcant?”

The name and the growing uncomfortable buzz under Danae’s skin where they touched had her fully snapping out of her haze, jerking back and holding her device closer to her chest. Perhaps a bad idea, considering how volatile the last one had been and the particular composition of this one, but– “M'fine.”

Da-Lun raised a brow but raised his hands placatingly and backed away all the same. “I thought it yet another adverse reaction. Though different from the last, I didn’t want it to break, so–”

“Well, you thought wrong,” she hissed, fingers moving the scratch at the still-tingling skin. “Wait for the damn thing to leave my hand before makin’ a grab for it. Got it? Or need I drill it into yer fucking skull?”

The man huffed out a breath, but nodded curtly. “Understood.”

“Good.” Even decently satisfied with his response, Danae still couldn’t help pressing her nails into the ebbing tingling on her skin to ease it. Though…huh, usually that feeling took longer to go away–

“So what was it then?”

Danae turned to glance over at Ozzy, the man idly tapping his pen against the parchment as he tilted his head. Wait, not idly.

You look like an idiot, the pattern read, when he'd repeated it. Calm down.

"Tch." Biting back an otherwise snarled retort, Danae rolled her eyes. And realized she’d been slumping against the work bench, straightening up immediately with a sharp jerk. Fuck, when had she lowered her guard like that–? “It–works.”

“I know it does, sweetheart,” Ozzy remarked, an insufferable, amused grin at his lips. He gestured a slight with the pen. “I could see the tension leave your body an' you gasping instead a' howling in agony or gettin’ crispied like I was hopin’–"

”We made a bet on its success,“ Da-Lun explained, ”I, in your favor, of course," as if that made it any better–

”–so clearly it must work as intended. Or at least, to your insatiable standards.” Ozzy snickered, rather amused in spite ( or perhaps because ) of her glare as he added, “I was curious as t'just how much so had it. Since it got you of all people to relax like that.”

Danae glanced down at the device–fuck, she was slumping again, curled around it too, what the hell–

“It doesn’t…!” She hesitated.

“Tell us honestly, now, sweetheart,” Ozzy chided. He offered another stupid grin as he waved the pen. “If not for me, then for your results. You care about those, at least, don’t you?”

Danae pursed her lips.

…ah, she couldn't argue with that. Or him, as much as she'd want to. She had to ensure the necessary observations were recorded, after all. Embarrassing as her reaction was though–

“It doesn’t make the pain go away completely,” she admitted, sighing as her favorite sound of scratches of quilltip on parchment began to fill the air. The sounds added to the otherwise quiet of the room, the hum of the device, the dimmer lights save the lamp at her bench behind her...oh, that was nice. So nice; she almost felt tempted to lean back and close her eyes to indulge in it all. Almost–

“I can still feel it," she continued, drumming her tingling fingers on the iron casing. "S'no magic cure-all or anything, it’s just…compared to how I usually feel, it’s…it’s…” Dammit, how did she explain this- “It–I feel lighter? Nicer??? Like it...it–”

“Makes the flare ups tolerable?” Da-Lun supplied gently.

She narrowed her eyes a slight.

No mocking. No teasing. Simply aiding her to find the right words. Huh...

“Yeah...that.” She carefully moved to press the device against her hip, sliding it further along her bad leg. And promptly let out a soft sigh as she gingerly stretched the limb out. “Note, closer contact to the more sensitive areas provides a far more effective use of the…th'–” Fuck, wait, why’d she say that? That gave too much away, too much that was highly exploitable, if the odd look on Da-Lun's face was any indication–

“Maiden’s Solace?” Ozzy offered, pausing to look up.

Danae’s mouth opened and closed, once, twice, before her lips pressed into a fine line.

He didn't go for mocking, either. Nor seem to have any apparent intents to take advantage of said fact, if his lack of reaction was any tell. Which was odd, because she would have figured he would keep more of an ear out for such things than Da-Lun. No, the only real problem she had with Ozzy piping up with his little suggestion now was–

“M'not a maiden,” she remarked, wrinkling her nose. Even if, sure, it was made for one in mind, but she was the one who made it, so– “Brigand’s Solace?”

Ozzy scoffed, chuckling as he pointed the pen accusingly. “Now you just stole my idea and made it sound more cool than it is, Morc.”

“Oh, come up with a better one then! I dare you–”

"Bettin' on what that I CAN, then–"

“Everflame Lenity?” Da-Lun interjected, before their bickering could escalate. He nodded his head at the device. “Considering the Pyro component.”

Stilling, Danae and Ozzy exchanged a glance.

“That works well enough,” Danae decided, shrugging as Ozzy gave a noncommittal hum ( ’I like the contradiction,’ he might have muttered, she didn’t care to make sure right now ). “For this version, anyways. I might want to change the Pyro source further down the line.”

“Already thinking of advances for it,” Da-Lun noted, with what sounded suspiciously like an amused laugh. “You really never change.”

“Well, I can’t afford to just settle after a victory,” she told him, rather matter-of-factly. “‘specially not when I’ve finally gotten a real breakthrough with SOMETHING now.”

“Cuz yer a shit inventor, sweetheart–”

“Oz,” Da-Lun warned.

Danae rolled her eyes, rather than dignify it with a response of her own. Though the fact that the–yeah, okay–Everflame Lenity helped keep her usually simmering temper at bay may have also contributed something. Sue her, she felt nice and relaxed right now, thank you very much. And ruining it to bite the bait Ozzy set out just wasn't worth the effort.

But like hell would she explain THAT to them.

Still…okay, yeah, this thing was definitely an immense help when the relief was closer to the worst of the pain. Especially pressed directly against her skin. It was enough to help bear with more than simply physical ailments, with the steady thrum soothing her usually hair-thin nerves enough to keep her calmer than she'd felt in a long time.

Did that perhaps have an effect on why it felt so pleasant overall, too?

Shit, were it any closer to her center, the ease it had in spreading the feeling to the rest of her body would definitely be inconvenient. It left her feeling too lax as it was; not focused enough nor willing to keep moving, like she ought to be. It made her want to take it easy, let her body rest. Left her feeling vulnerable, much too vulnerable-

“What is it then? Th'Everflame seed’s really not good enough for you?” Ozzy asked, back to scribbling down his notes. “Picky, picky~ What’s the issue?”

Yeah, better tell them any of that. They'd never let her live it down-

“Well, it works sufficiently enough,” Danae explained, looking back down at the device. She ran her thumb along the dial slowly turning it back. Hesitating when the sensations dulled to mild discomfort began to swell again. “And it will supply an adequately continuous source of Pyro energy to resonate with the Electro Crystal; thus inducing the energy reaction that triggers the relaxant properties I wanted. That is exactly why I'd chosen it initially.”

“So that’s how that works,” Ozzy muttered, more to himself than her. And being kind enough to mark the inscribed explanation over for ease in locating it at a later time. Which she would normally be worried about, him considered–

“But?” Da-Lun urged.

“But,” she amended, tone firm to ensure Ozzy heard, and heard it well– “The Everflame seed, like its source, can be…unstable.”

Ozzy stopped writing. A flurry of thoughts seemed to cross his mind before he met her gaze, head tilting a slight.

“So…it’s useless for dear Eliza, then?” he asked. Oddly calm, at that, she reckoned, with hardly a trace of his usual jesting. Enough to make even Da-Lun shift uneasily. Which in and of itself should have been a warning. Anyone else who really knew him well enough sure would have.

Still, deliberately ignoring it and the little hint of something in his tone ( bitterness? Yeah, that was probably it– ), Danae shrugged. “Not entirely, I would think. But it’s better than nothing.” She paused then tilted her head, a mocking grin at her lips. “What? Scared to risk yer precious little ward, now? When she could FINALLY get her much-needed relief?”

Ozzy bared his teeth in a laugh. "I just don’t recall clearing her to be one of your little test subjects, love.“

”She just needs to say yes,“ Danae retorted. ”I don’t think Eliza needs your permission to be a part of my little–"

A spark of violet had her voice choking back–Da-Lun had suddenly moved to stand next to her before she could taunt Oz any further. Whether to shut her up or because he had a thought he’d impulsively acted on, she wasn’t quite sure. Probably the former. Especially since he knew how much she hated when he flash-stepped like that–

“May I?” Da-Lun asked. He remained in place even at her glare, though kneeling immediately once she gave him a curt nod. He reached to handle the device–careful not to touch Danae in the process this time, thankfully.

Surprise flickered across his features as his shifted his hold on it–ah, so even Da-Lun was taken aback by the odd sensation it gave off–and looked it over. Once, then a second glance-over, gingerly rolling it over across her leg a slight ( oh, that...felt a little better; making a note to write down the way he'd moved and placed it later- ) to ensure he didn’t touch anything more than the points he was holding it by and where it rested against her.

Danae shook off the slight daze the sensation brought on her, determinedly looking over at Ozzy, who begun to lean forwards. Staring so intently he didn’t notice the ink dripping off the pen tip splattering on his pants–

”Hm..."

”Report," Danae demanded immediately.

“It looks to stable enough so long no truly jarring movements are made,” Da-Lun affirmed, pulling back. “Which unfortunately means Morcant here can’t bring it along in-battle–”

“Oh, the horror,” she drawled, rolling her eyes. “Please, not dealing with agonizing flare ups while on duty. I’ve never experienced that before–”

“–but it should be safe enough for Eliza to use for herself,” Da-Lun patiently finished. ”Since she is usually at rest and in tucked away in bed."

“And surely I’ll just up and let you just test that on her?” Ozzy remarked, raising a brow.

Recall exploitable connection, certainty and magnitude higher than original assumption, Danae's brain chimed in. Factor unpredictability, should be constant enough to use–seek gaining favor, ensuring no repercussions amid self-benefit–

“I can tote it around while here at home base for awhile longer, if you want,” Danae offered. ”Just to be sure." Compromising as it was, but if it meant getting on his good side here-

”Mm, I do like the heightened chances of you getting blown to smithereens,“ Ozzy mused.

Danae snorted. ”Ha–when boars fly maybe–"

”It could do some good in helping Morcant stay in a better mood during its trial run,“ Da-Lun wryly remarked. Gods dammit, there was the mocking she'd been hoping to avoid– “That would save us from plenty frustration. Or…why not try it yourself, Oz? For Eliza’s sake?”

The man blinked then huffed, leaning back as he pointed at the other with the pen.

“I like the pain I feel, thank you very much,” Ozzy drawled. “Makes me feel alive. S'like a badge of honor for all I've been through. What I've survived, an' all that shit–” Excuses-

“And I pride myself in that badge of honor as much as you do,” Danae retorted, rolling her eyes. She carefully rolled the device a bit more over her skin. ”And feeling the relief I do from it right now is just downright weird, I’ll admit.“ She paused a moment to brace herself, then fully pulled the device away from her body in a swift motion. Curling her lip a little at the growing, gnawing want to put it right back into place– “But believe me, try this. Just this once. Or what? You scared?”

Ozzy barked out a laugh. "Of one of your contraptions? Oh, very, sweetheart."

"Aww, truly?" Danae goaded. "Stars, and here I thought there was no gamble you wouldn't take!"

"Say I do, then," Ozzy chided, rolling his shoulders a bit. Ooh, had that annoyed him? That was a first- "I highly doubt it'd even work right–"

”And with any luck, he’d fumble it and it’d blow him halfway to Celestia,“ Da-Lun muttered, the corner of his lip twitching a slight at Danae's snicker. ”Spare us all his clownery.“

Ozzy eyed him at that, eyes narrowing just a hint before holding his hand out for the device. "Oh, I'd like to see Celestia tryn'n handle me, Da."

"You really think gods can't do what we have already?"

"Nope."

Danae scoffed a laugh then handed it off to Da-Lun, who passed it over to the man. Grimacing when Ozzy swiftly snatched it from his hands.

Seriously, was he trying to make it explode?

Especially since he'd immediately pushed against his belly, just under his ribs at his right side, the moment he'd gotten it. Which, recklessness aside, was already odd in and of itself, because Danae could have sworn his back ought to be where it goes. Pain relief considered, anyways.

Huh. So his weakest physical point was closer that area then?

A breathless sound in surprise had Danae's thoughts stuttering to a halt as she looked back over at the others.

Ozzy’s jaw had dropped, eyes wide as he clutched the Lenity to his body. Pressing it a little tighter, even while Da-Lun had tsk’d and tried to ease his grip, tried to stop him from fully turning the dial.

”Good then?“ Danae asked, moving to hop back up onto her workbench. A hand moved to idly dig the heel of her hand at the joint of her hip, once, twice, pushing down towards base of her knee, then her lower leg as she glanced him over. ”Looks like it, if yer all dopey now. Stars, did I actually discover the means to finally sedate you?"

Ozzy managed a chuckle. “Okay, so that…that really…!”

Da-Lun stepped to scoop up the pen and parchment from where the man had discarded them, then moved back. Oh, good, he knew the priorities here, as always– “Yes?”

“Morc, when you said resonate, you really…!” Ozzy let out a soft exhale, gesturing a slight to Da-Lun with his head, "C'mere, Da," then promptly pressed against the other for support once he drew close enough. No sooner, Ozzy's eyes fluttered shut, a content little hum rising in his throat.

He lay still a moment, two, before adding to his recount, “Feels lovely. Like a gentle...buzz? No, a hum, all through me." He waited a moment for Da-Lun to catch up, then added, "S'very soothing. Like…like a song–”

“Like Sister Barbara’s healing song?” Danae teased, shifting a slight as she eyed the Lenity. Stars above, the fact that she still wanted it back was a bad sign weak, weak-

“Oh, no–no, I don’t like that.” Ozzy’s eyes scrunched up a bit in distaste. "Th'shit gives me headaches just hearin' it from afar. I fear I'd burst into flames if she tried usin' it on me."

Pen scratches stuttered as Da-Lun stared at him incredulously. "She–she has a Hydro Vision–"

”Y'know what I mean, Da."

"No, I don't–"

In spite of the resulting laugh, Danae sucked in a soft breath while the two were distracted in their bickering, easing to edge forwards.

It was subtle, but now that she was a little closer, Danae noticed the usual slight furrow of Ozzy’s brow was gone, his jaw fully relaxed. Even his breathing seemed to be a little easier, too, with only slight hitches compared to the more pronounced rattle from before. A little quicker too, as though he were no longer carefully measuring each breath. His body didn't twitch and shudder as much either, no tension from how guarded and wound up he usually was; like a crossbow pulled taut and ready to fire at any moment.

Stars, it was no wonder the man started sounding like he had his tongue made of lead now. And from the looks of it, whatever he felt on the daily must be a nightmare to deal with, if even this modicum of relief worked for him. More than the aches and discomfort she did, for sure. Unless...he was just playing it all up to snuggle up to Da-Lun. She really wouldn't put it past him to–

”Still wanna hold off on it for Eliza?“ Da-Lun asked softly.

Ozzy hummed, eyes blinking open. “I still doubt it’s safe enough,” he mumbled, smoothly lifting it for Da-Lun to take. Rather unflinchingly, too- ”Especially with her…ah, clumsiness?“

”Ooh, don’t let her hear that. You know how sensitive she is about it."

”Morc–"

“Mako and Jade can help stay and manage it,” Da-Lun suggested, carefully taking it in hand then reaching for the cloth Danae held out. Awkwardly at that, as Ozzy still leaned heavily against him even with the thing gone. Well, he did have to readjust to not having it...that made two who did. What a massive downside- “We all could, in shifts.”

Shaking her head to dash further thoughts,Danae wrinkled her nose. ”All of us–?"

“Ugh, but then I’d have to increase your salaries to account for the extra hours you’d put in,” Ozzy groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes. “Then where does that leave me? Broke. Ruined–”

“Mako and Durene would be more than happy to do it for free,” Danae pointed out, rolling her eyes. “Mako–here, Da, put it in this–loves making himself useful, spoiled brat as he is. And he adores Eliza, something about those Fontaine folk–”

“And Durene?” Ozzy asked, tipping his head back in thought as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. ”What's her stake?“

Danae blinked. She glanced over at Da-Lun then back to Ozzy. “You…can’t be serious.”

“Dead, in fact,” Ozzy answered, eyeing her back out the corner of his eye. “What?”

”Well, I’ll be,“ Danae marveled, nudging Da-Lun's hip with her good leg as best she could reach. Ignoring Ozzy's groan in protest- "You hearin' this?"

“I genuinely think he doesn't know,” Da-Lun remarked, disbelief clear in his tone. “Ozzy doesn't know.”

“Dunno what?”

“That is such an exploitable weakness.” Danae damn near felt amused enough to burst out in laughter. “So exploitable, I’ve been–Oz...!”

"What?" The man sat up fast, almost childishly petulant in his demand, “What? Tell me!”

“Durene and Eliza…" Da-Lun emphasized. Gesturing a little for emphasis.

Ozzy’s brow furrowed a slight, the gears slowly turning in his brain, then his eyes flashed open. ”Oh."

”Oh,“ Danae mocked.

”Oh, indeed,“ Da-Lun muttered. ”Now, Oz, don’t–”

“What a fucking nightmare,” Ozzy choked out, horror blooming across his features as he clutched his chest. “My Eliza and Durene…!”

“Oz–”

”Oh, stars, the unethics of a healer-patient relationship!“ Ozzy clapped his palm against his forehead. ”Durene’s been compromised!"

Danae faceplamed as Da-Lun sputtered and clapped a hand over his mouth. What was he trying to stifle there– ”That’s what you’re worried about?“

“My healer’s making goo-goo eyes at someone in her care,” Ozzy scoffed, feigned offense across his features. “Distracted, from her duties no doubt. Are you not worried?”

”I th-think it’s more of a benefit to you and Eliza that she is,“ Da-Lun managed. Clearing his throat and straightening up promptly at the odd look Danae threw him.

”Benefit to me?“ Ozzy laughed. ”Oh, no, you should see how she gets when I keep courtin' dear Eliza–oh...that explains a lot of her enmity to me now–, but, no, no, her feelings for Eliza are not a benefit to me–"

”But,” Danae pointedly suggested, “she can willingly watch over Eliza’s progress with the Everflame Lenity once she sees how much it’d help her.”

Ozzy blinked. ”Oh. Yeah, that. She’d love that.“ Seriously–

”Then it’s Eliza’s,“ Danae decided. ”We could have her–or, maybe Durene–report more on it and how effective it is for her. For now. As for the rest of us–"

”Any solid ideas for a more stable Pyro source?” Ozzy interrupted. And normally Danae would snap at him for it. However…

She rubbed the back of her neck. “Uh…haa, that–” She shifted under his stare. Alright, calculate the immediate outrage ( wait, why was she so worried? She didn't care ), bracing briefly ( oh, right, because they were more annoying than the others when they got worked up ), plunging the wound into saltwater– “A Smoldering Pearl should...work–?”

“Archons, Morcant–”

“Of fucking course you’d ask for that–”

“Mako’s working on getting us into Inazuma as is!” she snapped defensively. “And I’ve been there before–”

“Under Fatui diplomatic immunity,” Da-Lun scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“How do you expect us to get off Ritou even then, hm?” Ozzy chimed in.

“–so I know exactly where to go from there and what to do,” she stubbornly continued. “I can get us some disguises and use that Fatui Diplomacy to our favor if we really need all that, then a team of four can easily get in, get what we need, then get out. Simple!”

“And you have your crack team all in mind, I’m sure?” Ozzy asked, crossing his arms. Genuinely, mockingly, probably both, knowing him–

Still, Danae was undeterred as she just her chin out. Because, “As a matter of fact I do.” Mostly cobbled together from obsessive research she’d done on the needed source, sure, and perhaps all strictly hypothetical in its effectiveness, but– “One, I would be a key asset to this, since it’s a Pyro-based lifeform."

"Obviously," Ozzy drawled.

Danae huffed. "Then I would want you an' Da, as well as–”

“The only other alternatives we have to fight it are Durene who possesses a Dendro Vision,” Da-Lun protested, “Jade who would be absolutely useless to us with Pyro abilties herself, and–”

“Tua would be perfectly effective in providing ample distraction while the rest of us get to work and get it done!” Danae finished stubbornly. “Not to mention his Vision’s Geo reactions can get us shields while he's at it." Da-Lun’s mouth opened to protest again, her swiftly moving to cut him off in adding, ”I think that works just fine since I could help us finish it up promptly.“ Ignoring Ozzy’s snort- ”What, would you rather we ask some outsider for help? Da?”

Da-Lun clicked his tongue. “I would prefer we don’t go through the trouble at all!”

“Because you’re a damn coward!” Danae snapped, simmering temper at last igniting. Adamantly staying right in place to meet his glare, even as he suddenly flickered to stand towering over her again. Perhaps having instinctively made a grab for her screwdriver when he did- "This isn't anythin' new fer me. Fer us. We've been and always have–"

“We aren’t just risking two people like back then, Morcant,” he snarled back. “And even with the lot of us working in tandem now, you know damn well THAT thing is entirely different than a Pyro Regisvine. What you’re doing now is just insa–”

“We aren’t 'risking' enough! " Danae spat, slamming her free hand down. "And if you can’t see that, you gods-damned, half-breed beast, you oughta–!”

A shrill whistle had both Danae and Da-Lun flinching, turning to glare at Ozzy.

“Honestly, utter children, the lot of you,” he huffed, lowering his fingers from his mouth. Shaking his head, he met Danae's gaze. “Tell me, the Pearl will make it safer for Eliza? For certain?”

“Yes.” Danae huffed, crossing her arms. Both to press them against the gnawing sensation at her gut and in gesture. “It’s much more stable and has a more constant flow of Pyro energy. Likely will last longer, too.” She shot Da-Lun a proud look at Ozzy’s appraising hum. “And if we’re able to get more than one, not only is it extra insurance, but I could also tamper with them and see if it could help us not be so caught by the relief of the Lenity. See if we could possibly be able to control the intensity of the feeling a lot easier. Y'know?”

Da-Lun raised a brow. “You’re fully sure of it?”

“It’s…an estimation,” Danae grudgingly admitted. “On that latter bit, anyway. But, for certain, the Lenity would be safer for Eliza to use with it. And for far longer periods of time, without much–if at all–risk of the continuous exposure to Electro causing a terrible reaction. Especially compared to the Everflame seed.”

“Hn…” Ozzy nodded slowly. “I like that. We’ll draft plans for it come morn, then. In the meantime–” He reached to tap the box the device now rested in. “You let Durene know what to do, Da. She likes you best.”

“She thinks I’m the only one of us with sense,” Da-Lun corrected, snorting. “And after all that transpired now? I am fully inclined to agree.” Still, he made his way to the door without further protest. Pausing, he looked back.

“I’ll stay with them on the first night trial run, as well,” he told them. “For the notes. And extra security.”

“You’re the best, Da,” Danae called to him. Grinning completely unfazed at his withering glare.

“Not bad for a gods-damned, half-breed beast, right?” Da-Lun drawled, before turning and heading off. Slamming the door on his way out.

Ozzy's gaze lingered there until the sound footsteps retreated, then gave Danae a sidelong glance. “Oof, I think you really hurt him with that one, Morc.”

“Ah, he’ll get over it,” she muttered, waving her hand dismissively as she hopped down and turned to start clearing her workbench.

“Y'know, his kind don’t take so kindly to insults,” Ozzy chided, coming up behind her to take the box she held up. "They seem rather the smite-y sort, if y'know what I mean."

As he moved to set it on the shelf behind them, Danae snorted.

“Aw, what’s he gonna do? Cry to Rex Lapis about it?” She rolled her eyes. “I’d like to see that old fossil drag his ass on over here'n try anything. Oh wait, he can't. An' not like the others could do any better-” Shutting the toolkit, shuffling to straighten then setting her notes to the side, thank fuck they were actually well-done–

She paused.

Wait, why didn’t Ozzy laugh at that one? He usually liked her prideful little commentary–

“You better hope that doohickey of yers doesn’t hurt her.”

Danae rolled her eyes at the genuine seriousness in his voice. “Really? Open vulnerability in front of me, Oz?" Fingers drummed against the tabletop. "How bad did the thing get you, genuinely–”

“I mean it, Mare.”

She stilled, exhaling slowly. Alright, so…no joking around. Whatsoever.

A breath, two, then Danae turned around, leaning back on the desk. “We, of all people, know Da is the best person to protect her if it risks that.” She puffed her chest out. "Plus it's one of my works, Oz. I wouldn't hand it out for use unless I was certain it would work. One-hundred percent."

"Mm, true." Ozzy hummed, leaning in. Not to cage her like she'd anticipated, but to scoop up the toolkit, before pulling back to kneel and store it away. He glanced up at her. "Just I'm clear–we’re agreed. Yes?" A hand reached out. "That we can’t go near that thing again, I mean.”

Danae eyed him curiously, then sighed and held out a hand to help him to standing. "Hn." Even if awkwardly, considering he towered a near foot over her- "S'not good for folks like us."

It felt safe. Too safe. Damn near a trap of her own making, undoing forged by her own hands. An illusion of something just waiting to be shattered. One that most certainly would be. Something that'd definitely leave them at risk of being shattered themselves, especially in Ozzy's case, where the pain seemed to ramp up harshly once it was taken away–

"Right, agreed, then," Ozzy said, gripping her shoulders uncomfortably tight as he pushed to stand back up straight. "Glad you fed Da that bullshit of us wanting one of our own, too. Absolutely brilliant, he won't nag us to–ah, ah, don't you get all smug on me now."

He released his hold, moving to smooth the wrinkles from his clothes. Pausing to eye the ink stain on his pants, before adding, "So, we’ll never speak of this again, nor risk messing with that ever. 'nless absolutely necessary."

"I can power through pain just fine, Oz," Danae huffed, crossing her arms as she rolled her shoulders. "Have for years now, same as you. M'not Jade, for that matter."

Ozzy laughed, moving to bump her cheek with his knuckles. "But I still don’t want you compromised, Morc." A pause, baring his teeth in a grin. "It’d look bad on us if you collapse mid-mission or show weakness again, y'know."

A harsh flush rose in Danae's face as smacked his hand away, baring her teeth and snarling, "That was one time, Oz. Let it go. I told you, it won't happen again–"

"We never know." Unfazed, Ozzy shrugged and moved to see himself out. "Keep pushing yourself like that, sweetheart, it might just happen. Not that you've ever been a good listener–"

"I don't wanna hear that from the man who keeps using a Delusion against his healer's orders," she snarked. "Damn hypocrite."

"Ooh, perhaps." Hand on the knob, Ozzy paused and turned back. "Keep working on that, for me, yeah? And for your trouble today–"

He reached to rummage in his pocket, tossing her a small item.

Swiftly snatching it from the air, Danae glanced at her palm. Brows furrowing a slight as she held it up.

"A key?" she scoffed, raising a brow. "That's my reward?"

"Da and I got our hands on an Abyss Mage," Ozzy explained, looking rather proud at her now startled disbelief. "Pyro, mind you. Tua's keeping them company now as we speak, keeping them nice and weak for you."

"You brought one for me?" Danae's grip on the key grew taut as her eagerness grew, the metal biting into the soft meat of her palm. "Here?"

"A rather tricky feat to manage, mind you," Ozzy remarked. "But I knew you would earn it. In spite of all your hopeless little setbacks–"

"Oz!"

Pearl-white teeth flashed as he laughed. "Have fun with them, sweetheart. I might just join you t'get in on the fun." He opened the door and slipped out, casting one last look inside, "And good work, Morc. You did well," before the door shut behind him.

Danae let out a soft breath she hadn't even realized she'd been holding. Slumping a slight against the desk now that the others had gone.

The praise churned in her gut, bubbling like air beneath the frothing ocean waves. But more than that, far more importantly than that, what gripped her the most now was the utter eagerness that thrummed in her veins at the thought of seeing their little prisoner now. In being able to carve information out of it herself, wringing every last bit of information it possibly had to offer. And if it didn't cooperate? She'd make every last moment the most miserable of its wretched existence, out of spite, in a bit of fun and stress-relief–fuck, after today's success, this was the cherry atop the sundae!

And if all went well, maybe she'll even indulge in one in the capitol, too. Maybe catch that little girl with the Valberries along the way and get some of those as well, stars, that would be a delight!

With that thought, Danae grinned as she tossed then caught the key, and rushed out the door.

#;mun drabbles #//Takes place for certain before the Inazuma quests in canon game events; if not v early on in them like in the Liyue stuff #//Tldr on the important bits; she came up with a device to help w chronic pain; but needs materials from outside home base in Mond #to help make it; more so to make it Stable and safe for constant usage considering it relies on Electro-Pyro reactions #//Thus enabling reason for her to interact/be placed in locations such as Inazuma and Liyue. For ease of plots; regardless of timeline #//The former having more complications; but w/ reasonable work arounds for it in the form of exploiting Fatui diplomatic immunity #v; intertwined fates (genshin verse)#//And now fun hc tidbits that matter to no one but me mjdnkdfg #//1) Durene's name sign for Dani is ASL-based; the sign for smart but with v instead of single pointed finger & a pause before flicking #//Bc it's got influence from the sign for stupid/idiot in it. So; her name sign is essentially Smart (Derogatory)#//But Danae being Danae can’t read the fondness of it; so she thinks Durene just hates her #//2) I realize I need to clear up a tidbit bc I hadn't added it in the bio yet #//Morcant is her code name working among the group; kept from when she had been with the Fatui #//Danae is her secondary name; and is what she'll most commonly give out in social settings otherwise #//Mare is her actual given name; but only a very select few actually know it and she's willingly given it out to fewer #//If I had to give a comparison; it's like how Childe w/ his names. Childe/Danae - Tartaglia/Morcant - Ajax/Mare; respectively #//3) Her reaction to Da-Lun’s touch is both her aversion to it & just bc of how their Visions/abilities (Hydro & Electro) react #//Since he constantly has energy thrumming through him as is and she tends to usually have the Wet status on her #due to how her abilities work. So she just naturally cringes away & anticipates she’s gonna get electrocuted by him at all times #//Yes; it has happened before; no; the others will NOT let her live down the exact reaction they'd both had to it #long post for ts #//Need to write rundown of allies/charas important to her story at some point. Make stuff easier to comprehend & then some #//Bc as good as she talks them up as a team at times & her thoughts on them in general; she is V unreliable a narrator #//They aren't as cohesive as she implies; so even with folks like Da-Lun being half-adeptus & having a capable healer in Durene #or even a merchant ally in Mako; they still have fair share of setbacks. Esp with Dani's own lack of trust in them & sheer ambition #to the point of disregarding her own allies' safety and comforts as secondary to the Main Goal she pursues; as seen in drabble #//But also they ARE friends; or some at least WANT to be (not that Dani realizes); but everyone's varying intentions/lack of #understanding of each other SEVERELY impede that at times & will bite them all in the ass eventually. Especially her #//They are a bit like a Jenga tower; steadily being picked at each time they cross each other's lines; but they make it work. For now #//That's the important bit to know while I get the other charas' brief descriptions up lmao

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aaandbackstabbed · 9 months ago

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This is angelic

(Trying to experiment with artstyle)

#I love it sosososo much #she’s so pretty #and in her element #I mean I could talk forever about every individual aspect (the tags however won’t let me😔)#but #1. her beak #the detail and shading #it’s so beautiful #2. her hair !!#I am always a sucker for Klondike Goldie hair but wooow #you’ve managed to make me love it more #all the little flicks around her face are adorable #3. the way she has her eyes shut #I think you’ve managed to capture the safety and comfort she feels when singing and preforming #and it is so insanely brilliant and beautiful and just wow #4. her dress #I mean I love that dress to bits!!#and you’ve done it perfectly #that little bow is my favourite thing ever #I also love little Scroogie #and the way their art styles differ to me is exactly how Scrooge sees her #and exactly how Scrooge looks when he utterly star struck by her #just them #just you #just wow #I’m in awe #ducktales #goldie o'gilt #scroldie #Muwah Muwah <3

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tyrannuspitch · 10 months ago

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urgh. so. recently picked up a random book about celtic myths at the library. and like maybe the "celtic" title should've already been a red flag or whatever because i know there is no single Celtic Mythology, just irish, welsh, gaulish etc. but pickings were slim and there's a lot of overlap in the people who study mediaeval irish and welsh lit, so benefit of the doubt. and once i start it i'm like well this is a really annoyingly emotive/mystical writing style, but that was the fashion for a while so maybe it's just drawing on some outdated sources, that doesn't necessarily make it 100% bullshit. then it repeatedly brings up the matter of stereotyping/exoticising/etc just to justify doing so and i'm like...... okay........... let's see if there's anything worthwhile once we've waded through the author's personal feelings and got to The Content. and then i start noticing weird little details that even with my very limited history knowledge Don't Sound Quite Right and i'm like okay that's enough. and i look in the back of the book and i realise that despite its veneer of professionalism this book literally doesn't even have a bibliography 😐

#you really think someone would do that? just go to a vanity press and tell lies?#i don't think i would've gone for it in person bc i would've been flicking through and noticed #1. no bibliography 2. no 'about the author' 3. no quotes on the back #but i requested it online so i was just looking at the blurb and like. goodreads. :/

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these-lovely-monsters · 5 months ago

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Tentacles Under The Bed - Part 1

[NSFW | 18+]

Characters: gn!tentacle monster x f!reader

Content: tentacles, bondage, choking

Trying out some tentacle smut for the first time 🙈

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4]

⋆ ⋅ ☽ ⋆ ☾ ⋅ ● ⋅ ☽ ⋆ ☾ ⋅ ● ⋅ ☽ ⋆ ☾ ⋅ ● ⋅ ☽ ⋆ ☾ ⋅ ⋆

One night, you're getting ready to go to sleep when you accidentally knock your chapstick off your nightstand. It clatters to the floor and rolls under your bed. Grabbing your phone, you turn on the flashlight and shine it underneath the frame. But when you look, there's nothing under your bed but dust bunnies. You definitely saw the chapstick roll under there but now it's just...gone. Now that you think about it, little things have been disappearing from your room lately. A few hair ties, the little rocks you found by the beach which you left on your dresser, the pen you were using to write in your journal. But you have no idea where those things could have gone. Maybe you're just imagining things?

Deciding to deal with your disappearing stuff in the morning, you turn off the lights and climb into bed. As you're settling into your nest of pillows and blankets, you think you hear a faint rustling sound in your room. Freezing, you strain your ears, listening for the sound but you're met with silence, punctuated only by your racing heart. It was probably just the sound of the sheets moving as you got comfortable, right?

You settle back into bed, willing your heart rate to slow down, and try to fall asleep. After several minutes of tossing and turning, you decide that a good orgasm will probably distract you enough and help you relax. Flipping onto your back, you slip one hand into your underwear and start gently rubbing your clit. With the other, you reach under your shirt and knead one of your breasts, pinching and rolling the nipple.

As you start to get more and more wet, your breathing gets heavier and you let out a little moan. You're getting lost in the pleasure that's building inside you until you feel something cool and silky wrap around your ankle. Yelping, you scramble up into a kneeling position and quickly flick on the bedside lamp. Heart in your throat, you're ready to face whatever it was that touched you but nothing is there. Ever so slowly, you bend over the edge of your bed to peer underneath but there's nothing there either. Jeeze, you're definitely just going crazy at this point. Looking over at your lamp, debating whether or not you should just leave it on and try to sleep that way, you see your chapstick sitting right there on the nightstand. What the fuck?

You're contemplating the integrity of your sanity when you hear the rustling sound again. Whipping your head around, you see something reaching out from under your bed. Screaming, you scramble backwards, plastering yourself to the headboard. Gasping for breath, you stare at the freaking TENTACLE that's hovering at the foot of your bed. After a moment, it slowly uncurls its tip and drops something onto your sheets. It gently nudges the thing towards you and then retreats back a few feet.

For a moment, you stay frozen, afraid of what the tentacle will do next. But then, curiosity gets the better of you. Slowly, you reach out your hand towards the object and then snatch your arm back once you have it. Inspecting it, you realize it's a small, shiny pearl that you've never seen before. Where did this come from? And why is the tentacle giving it to you? Looking up, you see another tentacle reaching up from the other side of the bed and you gasp, shuffling back again. This one slowly reaches towards you but stops a few feet from you and drops another object on your bed. This time, when you inspect the object, you find it's a beautiful crystalline necklace pendant. Is it giving you gifts?

Too absorbed in the objects, you don't notice that the first tentacle has reached out to you again until it gently wraps around your wrist. Yelping, you try to pull away but it tightens its grip on your wrist. Then the other tentacle reaches up to your face and gently presses the tip to your lips as if to shush you. Too startled to react again, you stay frozen as the tentacle moves from your mouth to pat you on the head. Then it starts gently caressing your cheek while the first tentacle slowly winds around your wrist. As you try to control your breathing, you take a moment to inspect the tentacle wrapped around your arm. It’s inky black and the surface is cool and silky to the touch. The tip is about the width of your finger but it widens to about the diameter of your thigh towards the base. You also notice that it’s lined with suckers that get bigger as you scan further down the appendage until it disappears under the bed.

The tentacles actually feel kind of nice against your flushed skin and it’s being surprisingly gentle as it explores you. One of the tentacles lifts a strand of your hair, twirling it around the tip. The other slithers across the front of your shirt, bunching the fabric up as if testing the texture. Suddenly another tentacle appears by your leg and pokes at your toes. That tickles and causes you to giggle. It pauses, listening to you laugh and then does it again. You’re about to tell it to cut it out when the one playing with your shirt snakes under the hem and up your stomach. Freezing, you hold still as it winds around your breast and then flicks your nipple with the tip as it squeezes. Gasping, you let out a little moan because that actually feels really good.

This is probably so many levels of wrong but you don’t get time to contemplate your sanity any further because another tentacle snakes up your leg and into your underwear. Before you can jerk away, the tip slides through your wetness and tickles your clit. It gives you a few flicks and then attaches one of the suction cups on the end to your bud. Gently pulling until the suction cup pops off, it repeats the action several more times, pausing to flick your clit now and again. Groaning, you realize you’re still wound up from your earlier unfinished masturbation and need some release. Deciding to say fuck it and let this monster do what it wants with you, you sink back into the pillows while it continues to explore you.

As you get lost in the pleasure of one tentacle on your clit and two more on your breasts, you feel more wrap around your ankles. They gently pull you down, spreading your legs wide as even more wrap around your wrists, doing the same so that you’re now bound, spread eagle in the middle of your bed. You should be afraid, and you are a little, but yet another tentacle reaches up into your underwear, plunging into your pussy and there’s not a single coherent thought in your head. A moment later the bedside lamp flicks off and your room is plunged into darkness. Now you can’t see anything and you can’t do anything except lie there listening to the wet sounds of tentacles fucking you as you feel them slithering across your skin.

You writhe and moan as tentacles squeeze and tickle your nipples and clit, while others suction to your stomach and thighs, making loud popping sounds as they pull off and reattach themselves. The one in your pussy plunges in and out, curling inside you, trying to fit as much of itself in you as it can. The more it pushes inside, the more your walls stretch around its girth and the sensation of fullness becomes overwhelming. Eventually, the tip inside you finds your g spot and you cry out as it flicks the spot over and over again.

Yet another tentacle wraps around your throat and gently squeezes, not enough to completely suffocate you but just enough to make it a little difficult to breathe. Completely at the monster’s mercy, with your entire body pinned down while it fucks you, your pleasure erupts and you come harder than you ever have before. You arch your back as your walls clench around it while the orgasm washes over you. When you finally come down, you sag into your bed, completely spent and satisfied. You feel one of the tentacles reach up and caress your cheek again as you quickly drift off into a heavy sleep.

The next morning, you wake up with a start, memories of the night before turning your cheeks pink with embarrassment and arousal. It must have been a dream because there’s no way that happened. But when you lift your shirt, you see little round sucker marks covering your skin. Smiling to yourself, you get up and start getting ready for the day, hoping your new guest visits you again tonight.

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Well this was supposed to just be a few paragraphs of smut but then I kinda got into introducing the tentacle monster lol 🤷‍♀️

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4]

#monster fucker #terato #monster lover #monster smut #monster x reader #monster #tentacles #these lovely monsters #tlm tentacles #tlm stories #monster x human #monster boyfriend #monster girlfriend #f!reader #gn!monster #eldritch

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joelsgoldrush · 4 months ago

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“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

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