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screampied · 7 months ago

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ʚ BUBBLE, POP, ELECTRIC ?! ɞ

ᡴꪫ‎ sum. it’s your birthday and your sugar daddy takes you on a spree to the mall. perhaps buying a new set of panties with his initials engraved on it to tease him wasn’t the brightest idea. get in loser, you’re going shopping.

wc. 5.5k

warnings. fem! reader, sugar daddy!gojo au, age gap (early twenties/early thirties), unprotected, semi-public risky themes, dry humping, implied multiple rounds, lots of praise, squırting, fıngering, dumbification, ōral (f! receiving), dirty talk, brēeding, petnames.

➤ sd!gojo masterlist

“a- anything?”

“anything, darlin,” satoru hums with a teasing smile, burying both hands into his pockets. your face lit up as he happily slides his black card into your palm. it had a glinting shine to it, your eyes gape at the sixteen digit code plastered on the front with his full name in bold, ‘satoru gojo.’ the both of you stood near the center of a busy, packed mall. it was an ordinary hot friday, and since it was also your birthday, he decided why not let you pick your special gift. the older man leans down, planting a kiss against your forehead. “go crazy, yeah? ‘s your day, gorgeous. the pricier, the better. buy something that’ll be easy ‘ta tear off. oh, i mean uh— buy something pretty, heh.”

you felt a wave of heat burn over you. you could never, never get enough his praises. satoru’s eyes remain on you as you clutch on one of the many purses he bought you. “toru, you don’t have to.”

“shh, you’re my baby,” he reassures you, pulling you close. you lean into his embrace, feeling the palm of his hand caress circles against your back. he feels the thin straps of your top glue against your skin. his cologne, it was forevermore intoxicating. in a husky low tone, satoru whispers. “i wanna spoil you extra hard today,” and you gasp, feeling him nuzzle into your neck. “what do ya say, sweets? i heard victoria’s secret has a few new deals goin’ on right now, heh.”

you spent the next good hour shopping, going to any store that just so happened to pique your fancy. you told gojo that you’d save victoria’s secret for last, and he nodded.

of course, he tagged along with you. like the gentleman he was, he carried your weighty bags for you like they were nothing.

“gonna run me for my money, huh sweets?” he snickers, an arm slinging around your shoulder as you stood beside him on the escalator. as it slowly took you both upstairs—you let off a tiny exhale. you were preparing to go toward the second floor of the mall.

with a coy smile, you brush a thumb against the edges of your skirt. “o- oh, sorry ‘toru,” and you knew he was teasing, he’d buy you the world if he could. he was stood so close next to you that you could almost always get a good whiff of his loud scent. “didn’t mean to get so much stuff.”

“sweetheart, i’m joking you know that,” he hums, stepping back to let you get off the moving escalator first. it was so packed, dozens of people walking around each part of the centre. it was full of chatter and laughter. a whirring breeze sets against your skin as he steps beside you, leaning down to plant a kiss near your forehead. “tired out yet? or do ya have more pretty stuff ‘ta buy?”

speaking of pretty, satoru gojo was the prettiest.

he stood out in the mall—he was an elite businessman but people were smart enough to not disturb him while he’s spending time with you.

so classy, he was always wearing the finest richest suits, preferably black or white ones. long, stretched out slacks to show off his legs and his hair. gojo’s hair was always neatly done, as he aged he usually settled with a parted style, a visible undercut to run his fingers through to pass time.

thin white bangs would run down his eyes a few times—occluding his vision. gojo would often find himself digging his hands into his pockets as he happily watches you drain his wallet.

“we can go get some lingerie now,” you murmur out, hearing some random pop song blare through the mall’s speakers.

“we? aw, am i gettin’ dolled up too?”

he peers at you as your expression twists to abashed embarrassment. gojo chuckles, a soft thumb brushing against your cheek lovingly. “you’re so cute, i’m teasing. let’s go then, lead the way princess.”

you ended up getting at least three new sets, including the brand new panties gojo’s been rambling to you about nonstop.

he told you how he’s recently got a partnership with the store.

a million dollar partnership at that — his new ‘satoru gojo’ limited edition panties were finally launched, and at first the idea of his name on underwear made him grouse. thanks to gojo’s hefty contribution to the company, they’ve gained a lot of new customers over the past summer. but, the moment you pick them out with a cute curious smile, he only cared about how you’d like them. so far, he’s heard from the reviews of buyers that it was quite soft, cottony and synthetic.

waterproof also, and gojo being gojo brought that specific fact up to you about a dozen times.

“can i open my eyes now, darlin'?” a low, husky yet playful voice calls out. gojo sat manspread in the dressing room, awaiting for you to show the final results of the product. “mhh, ‘s kinda dangerous to jus’ let my imagination roam, you know.”

“hold on, satoru.” you roll your eyes, slipping on the panties. they were really pretty, they fit perfectly and had tiny blue bows on the side.

you spun around near the nearby mirror, taking in your figure. it had a thong yet bikini type shape to them. stretchy and all, not to mention it was very comfortable—not too tight whatsoever. right on the back, you spot the infamous letters that were sewn in bedazzled rhinestones, front ‘n center.

‘ satoru gojo, ’

you felt a brew of heat tickle its way down your thighs before you strut toward the white haired man. even sitting down, he’s so attractive. long legs stretch themselves out as he’s laid back against the concrete wall. he’s surrounded by colorful bent hangers, the dressing room was spacey enough. as he sat on the bench, he taps his foot. “baby, i can feel you lookin’ at me. are ya done?”

“yeah,” you utter, slowly removing his hands away from his eyes. “you can look now.”

it takes him a moment to register the sight — you stand still, feeling his cerulean blue eyes awe at your beauty.

oh, your curves, his blown irises linger everywhere so intently that it makes you feel small in the best way. your heart’s thumps accelerate as he’s got a growing smug smile curling against his pink lips.

“oh my,” he purrs out, a hand cupping under his chin. his expensive g-shock shimmers against the luminescent ceiling light as also he gently pulls his bottom lip down. his stare makes you nervous and you don’t even know why. “spin around for me.”

you do, twirling your body slowly and his eyes get a front view of your ass. you still wore your blouse, feeling his gaze burn into your rear.

“goddamn,” and you let off a soft breath, feeling his hands gingerly creep up against your thighs. “you look gorgeous in anything,” he whispers, inching his lips toward your backside. gojo then drags his twitching, crooked lips toward the left cheek of your ass. it smooches against the lace fabric, a thumb stroking the letters of his own name. “i’ll buy this entire brand just to see you walk around ‘n these for me, sweetheart.”

“satoru don’t do that,” you protest, gasping once he parts your legs open a bit. with you, his touch was always gentle. he couldn’t ever keep his hands off of you though. his strokes continue to roam, and that’s when he playfully bites your ass cheek. “h- hey!”

“sorry, baby,” he chuckles, giving it a soft teasing smack. gojo hears you whine out in need before he turns you back around. “mhh, don’t give me that pout. come give ‘toru some sugar instead.”

your heart always flutters whenever he says that, those sweet words never fail to strike right into your heart. churning the pit insides of your stomach that’s already packed with butterflies swarming everywhere.

as you slowly make your way toward him, tantalizingly, he cocks his head to the right.

“don’t be shy, i won’t bite today,” he flashes you a soft toothy grin, patting his lap for you to take your favorite seat. wasting no time, you sit on his lap, your bare skin brushing up against his loose fitted slacks. “good girl,” and his hands meet your waist. zeroing his eyes down your sweet physique, he strokes your bottom lip. “closer.”

the moment you finally close the distance, your lips press against his. a cheeky smile curls against his mouth — a groan shortly following out of his throat, betraying his playful demeanor. you moan, finding it impossible to not move a bit against him. as you gradually grind against his lap, delving your tongue between his, he lets off a sharp breath. “mhm,” pretty snowy lashes of his shut tight, fluttering as he’s poking a single thumb against your hip. gojo tastes sweet, sweeter than he’s ever been. peppermint lives on his tongue, running against your tastebuds and with utmost grace, you relish in it. the flavor, its additive and his touch wasn’t helping. a raspy groan slithers into your mouth once your grinding speeds up, the bottom part of your panties grazes against his secret growing boner and he huffs.

“f- fuck, baby,” he snarls, breaking away from the kiss to look down. there, he spots it. he was indeed hard, he’s been hard this entire time you’ve been splurging hefty amounts on his black card. the moment you gave him a little show of the sediment panties, that was the final straw. “you’re such a tease, y’know,” and you gasp once he slides a lengthy finger toward the cottony fabric. “ooh, is someone already a mess? lemme see ya.”

and as you’re just barely hovering over his lap, legs sprawled apart for him, he swipes the fat print of his thumb inside. “s- satoruuu.” you hiss out, the last syllable of his name elongated and cutely dramatic. a bit loud, you had to remind yourself the two of you were in a store. indeed, you were soaked already. part of you thinks it was because of his showering praises.

every time he calls you a ‘good girl’ or his ‘pretty girl’ you felt the stickiness between your thighs dampen. it was just embarrassing.

“can’t believe you’ve been hidin’ this mess this entire time,” the white haired man almost pouts, a tone of playfulness humming underneath his tone. two of his fingers poke their way between the middle part of your panties, prodding against your soppy pussy. “oh, look at that. so fuckin’ nasty,” and cunning blue eyes flicker straight at you, making you gulp in ignominy. “sweetheart, you do know i gotta pay for this. did ya forget?”

“o- oh.” and reality hits you again. he was right, you were soaking panties that weren’t even bought yet.

you could feel yourself dripping, a little damp spot forming its way against the woolen linen.

“yeah, oh,” he mocks your cute surprised word, easing a single thumb past your slit. it’s swollen, he feels the eager twitch of it and your legs rock back in lewd rapture. “awh, how cute. you want my thumb, princess?”

“y- yes,” you whine, tossing your arms over his broad shoulders. the man eyes you with a haughty expression, continuing to flick the edge of his thumb in and out of your puffed clit. the panties were still on and you clenched your jaw before letting off a needy sigh. “take them off, ‘toru. please.”

he gives you a long stare before humming. “nah,” and a pout twines against your glossed lips. with his right hand, it grips your ass, his thumb resuming to fondle your skin before it tenderly starts to go in. “silly girl. panties are for wearing,” he teases, and your lips part themselves open once he successfully eases his way inside. you’re already so sloppy, spiraling all underneath his fingers. a white brow of gojo’s crimps into an intrigued furrow before he buries his nose into your neck. “ah, ah. don’t hold back those moans, let me hear that pretty voice.”

“but- we’re in public.”

“i won’t be crazy this time, i promise sweets, heh.”

total lie,

he says he won’t be crazy yet here you were bent over, face shoved into the wall, legs all parted. you moan, feeling his tongue dip straight into your cunt, slurping a loooong suck of your honeyed sweet. your thighs weakly tremble a bit at the teasing sensation of his stubble gracefully bristling against your skin. your cheek presses up on the glass of the other mirror that sits up against the wall. “f- fuuuuck.” you whimper out, toes curling up in utter ecstasy. his tongue, it was always so messy. messy and long, you whimper out once he dives straight in.

dipping in and out, no manners whatsoever. he’s nose deep, lolling it out all the way until he’s shamelessly drooling down your drizzling folds.

even still,

your panties were still on the entire time — they were lazily pulled to the side. with his eyes closed, he’s letting his tongue wander everywhere. you whine, digging the edges of your teeth into your bawled up fist. “arch more baby,” he whispers, hot breath ghosting right against your cunt. the store was blasting obnoxiously loud music, you hoped no one would walk in, hoped no one would see. the door was closed but still. once he watches your back obediently raise up at his command, he hums, nibbling right against your cunt. “atta girl, gimme that arch, uh huh.”

gojo groans, eating you out from behind, using a single hand to make your legs spread just a bit further. the continuous squeaks that pours out your lips makes him ten times harder than he already was. “ngh, t- toru,” you start to huff, feeling a crushing pull yank its way at your lungs. your breathing only started to get more crazed. as he’s spelling out the ten different letters of his name. you whine out a sobbing mewl, feeling the way his tongue curls once he flicks a sweet ‘s’ in your pussy. the swirl — your back only arches more, the skin of your cheek practically glued against the mirror. “ohmygodd.”

“y’r so fuckin’ hot,” he purrs out, and you’re so busy focused on his tongue that you didn’t even realize he had two fingers shoved inside you already. they’re so long, they reach into the very caves of your walls, specific spots that you didn’t even know could be located. with a swift motion, his fingertips curl around your cunt, feeling the gripping squeeze. “mhm, that’s it. bare around ‘em just like that,” and he’s making out with your cunt, giving it multiple french kisses. your legs were so close to giving up, you could feel that same annoying smile rub against your pussy. as your lip shivers, you start to breath heavier.

puffing and huffing . . heaving as you let off the same pathetic whimpers for more, more of his sloppy tongue.

he slurps everywhere, making sure to not miss a single spot. gojo sucks against your clitoral hood, knowing just how sensitive that spot made you. as you’re coating not only his fingers but his chin at the same time with your sheeny juices, you couldn’t help but swallow your pity. “i- i’m gonna cum,” you moan, a hand of yours reaching behind to grab onto his head. it lands near the top, gripping onto his strands and shoving him further into your pussy. “satoru, agh,” and you had to cup a hand over your mouth, growing paranoid once your heard a few people right outside your stall.

shit, shit, shit,

all you heard from gojo was that same raspy chuckle as he pumps in his two fingers inside your pussy with the most presumptuous grin on his face. as he’s bent on his knees, his chin was soaked with your slick.

every few seconds, he pries himself off to breathe and clean the lower part of his chiseled face with his tongue. “c’mon, baby. wait a little f’r me,” and his tepid breath repeatedly fans against your fevered skin. the pleasure — the pulsation, you were found with your legs spread and jaw dropped. so close, you could merely taste a salty tang that’s forming on your sugared tastebuds.

satoru gojo was a eater, and he could eat you all day if he really really wanted. your pout from his words makes him laugh. he spots your dumb expressions through the mirror propped up directly in front of you before he starts to spit on your cunt. “ugh, look at her. always so shiny ‘n slick,” and with bright eyes, he stares at the way his saliva trickles down your puckering hole. “ooh,” gojo breaks his mouth away again, lustrous cobwebs of spit dripping down his lips. frantically, you were shaking once he suddenly stopped. as his two fingers still plugged inside of your pussy, he gives the outer part of your entrance teasing pecks. “such a wet girl. listen to her with me, sweetheart.”

“s— fuckk, ‘toru,” you babble out, a sharp swat of his free palm hitting against your ass. suddenly, the cramped up dressing room felt hot. blazing, and yet, your thighs were even hotter. with your lips betraying themselves, curling into a circular shape in pleasure, you barely could make yourself stand still. “pleaseplease.”

“no, baby,” he gifts your cunt it’s final kiss, one of his hands running down your thighs. you had glossy slick racing down and he takes the opportunity to lap it right up with his tongue. “only sound i wanna hear is this pretty pussy talkin’ back to me. let’s hear what she’s got ‘ta say.”

the sounds of your own cunt was so lewd. it’s crying squelching rings and reverberates off the walls.

abruptly, you grow quiet and he hums, slowly dragging out his two long fingers before you gush out straight away.

your eyes were as wide as saucers, electric shocking currents travel through every part of your body as you come undone on his tongue. as you whine into your palm, your eyebrows come together into a furrow.

“mph,” you whimper, feeling your thighs shake. it’s so much that within seconds, you feel yourself spraying against his tongue until you couldn’t anymore. it felt like your life flashed before your eyes. the tenderness of it all was almost too much to bare. as you’re still violently shaking on his pink twitching muscle, gojo spreads your ass apart, growing drunk at your taste before he chuckles against your clit - teeth nibbling against your sensitive, puffed folds.

“my baby’s velocity just gets better ‘n better,” he snickers, giving your right ass cheek a frisky kiss.

as he stands up again, he faces you — watching as your eyes were all droopy ‘n hooded.

“c’mere,” and you felt your cunt throb as you fall into his touch, pressing your lips right back against him. right away, your tongue gets met with the taste of yourself on him. you tasted sweet, he’s always described you as sweet anyway. gojo groans, lifting up your thigh before making you lie back. “good girl. ‘s just you ‘n me. let me spoil you today, princess.”

glancing down, you spot his slacks that were just barely hanging on. they were half on, dark blue boxers clinging onto his perfectly sculptured waistline. you spot a bit of a peeking white happy trail that’s curly — sticking against his skin.

“s- satoru,” you pant, pawing your hands at his already open fly. he ogles at you, popping the two wet fingers that were stuffed into your cunt literally just a few seconds ago right into his mouth. you watch, growing more aroused as he sucks on his digits right in front of you.

“satoru what, baby?” he leans down, springing out his cock. it was quick, he fishes through his boxers before whipping it out, wrapping a single bare hand around his fat length. giving it a few pumps, a thumb of his swipes against his pulsing vein and he groans. with a snarl, he bites into your neck. “you don’t wanna wait ‘till we get home, huh?”

“no,” you whimper, and he lets you take control a bit.

with shaky hands, you make him sit flat against his back, a cute shove goes against his chest and he huffs. “want you, ‘toru,” and he smiles at how out of breath you were, still trying to overcome your more recent, nirvana filled high. as you get on his lap, straddling him, you lean right up to the older man’s face. “please.”

he returns your lust-filled gaze, a hand of his creeping toward the curvature of your ass. “such a sweet girl. with manners like that, i could never say no,” he coos to you, helping you align your entrance against his reddened tip. with your panties still on, string passively pulled toward the crevices of your thighs, you whine. “there’s that sweet ‘lil moan,” he brings you closer toward his neck. the veins that ran down his cock pulse even quicker. “mhm, c’mon sweets,” he playfully pulls your hands away from your face. “i wanna see those eyes roll back. don’t be shy, ride me girl.”

and as he’s careful to sink you down on his cock, your legs wrap around his slim waist like a vice.

a hand of yours tugs onto his tie, giving it a little forceful pull. gojo’s hair was all ruffled — white strands everywhere, you had him a mess and right where you wanted.

whenever you straddled him like this, you always took his breath away and that hungry gaze you always give him, fuck you were dangerous.

intaking a sharp, deep breath, he’s halfway in now. gojo’s so thick and bulky that it feels like he’s fully in.

balls fucking deep,

a whimper pulls out of your vocal cords as his tip kisses your sweet swollen insides. his own eyelashes were half-lidded and he’s panting right with you, frigid cold band of his watch rubbing off against your skin. the saturated squelches of your pussy were so loud, he holds onto your hips before a pussy drink grin tugs against both corners of his lips. “attaaaa girl. move those hips, ride me good, birthday girl.”

the friction was so delicious, so appetizing..

you were barely moving but you felt like you were gonna screw up and cream all down his shaft. with your face still burying itself into the crook of his neck, your hips finally start to adapt to some sort of steady rhythm. gojo huskily grunts, feeling the welcoming grip your cunt gifts him every time he goes inside. the elastic stretch always makes him short circuit. as his blushing tip thrashes its way inside, your hips roll and it’s only then that you start to sloppily lurch against his lap.

“t- toruuu,” you sob out in a sweet broken syllable, your own words sticking against your tongue. strong, built arms hold you upright as you’re making steady haste. the music of the store seems to get louder and you don’t even care if you get caught anymore.

with the way his cockhead’s smooching up against your sweet spot, you’re already dumb, stupid ‘n hungry for more of your beloved sugar daddy. your whines always ghost right up against his earlobe, falling on deaf ears every time. your sweet, carnal sounds makes his dick twitch. the electric pulse surges through your cunt and you feel it — shivering, glancing at him and he shoots you a flashy, sheepish grin. “yeah, ‘s okay baby. doin’ so good for me.”

even still, you’re adjusting to his size. the big stretch has your lips parted and circular, moans spilling out of your lips again and again until you were a broken record.

every single time, gojo’s cock extends inside of you through and through. it’s like it comes natural to him. no matter how many times he’d please you, you’d always end up getting a bit more stretched out than the last time.

a constant lewd loop,

“s— satoru,” you start to whine again, swiveling your hips against him. he’s seated down on the bench, taking in your body and the way your breasts bounce. he can’t help but snatch a feel, bringing a hand toward your left mound, squeezing two fingers against your nipples. with your frilly blouse still on, he’s just tugging against fabric but you start feel the familiar incoming shockwaves of pleasure. you let off a tiny squeal, head tossing back and your teeth digging into your bottom lip. “ngh, ‘toru. ‘m sensitive.”

“baby you’re always sensitive,” he teases.

lowering his head down between your neglected tits, gojo pulls up your blouse and leisurely slides his tongue down the sheeny crack of your chest. you’ve got a bit of a glow, probably from your recent teeth shattering orgasm. “mhm, look at my girls. they get prettier every time i see ‘em,” and as you’re still swaying your hips against him, he pops out one of your tits from your bra, sucking against the tender skin. you whimper over and over, he can barely get a good solid suck from the constant movement of your hips. you’re jittery, repeatedly moving back and forth against him, about to erupt as if your cunt was a volcano. “thaaat’s my girl, always taste so sweet.”

you ruffle his hair a bit as he’s latching his mouth against one of your sore nipples. the mobility of your hips so sloppy and unstable. he tends to each nipple, latching his wet lips against the sore mounds before slobbering all over it. as you’re grinding against him in an alluring manner, your eyes start to roll back. “toru, ngh. ‘s fuckin’ big,” you squeak out in a tiny mewl, your voice entirely small.

you’re moving so much that he could barely keep up, burying his face into your chest. his hot breath tickles against your skin — it’s feverish, sending a multitude of shivers to race down your spine.

he grunts in annoyance at your bra in the way, snatching it down to properly attach his plump lips against your neglected nipples. gojo sucked until they were all sore ‘n swollen, madly pulsating from the salacious stimulation. he eyes you with a teasing simper, a crinkle informing underneath his eye as he licks up his saliva dripping down the bare valley of your chest.

“y’r always a perfect fit though,” he whispers, another groan leaving out of his throat. as he’s leaning back again, allowing you to continue riding him, you’re just completely dumbfounded.

irises were dilated, lungs were full, toes curled.

you moan once he spanks your ass at the feeling of your hips slowing down, his way of encouraging you to keep at it. with your frilly blouse pulled up, he gawks at your body and admires how you match his crazed tempo, rolling and mirroring the same amounts of rickety.

“my fuckin’ girl,” he grunts, a hand sliding down your ass again, spanking it again. “uh huuuh,” his tongue slides against his lips, averting his gaze at your seductive looking hips. “just like that, sweetheart. niiiice ‘n slow, ‘toru’s not going anywhere.”

as you’re jerking forward against him, constantly bouncing against his thickset, bulky base — your jaw hangs wide open. he’s reached your sweet spot, it’s out of nowhere and you feel a bundle of nerves scream all through out you. your limbs were getting weary, and as your arms wrap around his shoulders, you nibble on his chin. “satoru, satoru, f— fuuuuck.”

he chuckles, watching as both of your eyes close tight, feeling one of your hands slither its way inside of his dress shirt. “hm,” he looks down, and your fingertips feel against his chiseled washboard abs. your pace was relentless, and with the feeling of just how ripped he was, you felt that same twitch arise in your cunt again. “fuck yeah, baby. touch me anywhere you like. this body ‘s all yours,” and you moan from his provocative words, still moving back and forth. gojo’s scent made itself well known throughout the entire dressing room. his abs instinctively clench from your gentle yet tender touch. “make me feel so good.”

“i- i do?” you moan, his words alone sending you a plethora of spine-chilling chills everywhere. they linger for a long time before you feel yourself starting to tighten. you were hungry for his approval, his praise — anything.

“yes, sweetheart,” he grunts, cupping your face as your hips continue to rock against him. he was reaching his inevitable limit and so were you, gojo’s face turns flustered and his pretty blue eyes flicker backward for a moment. that action alone was sexy, only you made him like this. “you like hearin’ what you do to me, huh?”

his voice was always so low — deep ‘n pitchy, it had the right amount of rasp hiding underneath it.

the timbre, it was a huskiness that always got you soaked. gojo moved his hands back down toward your waist, helping you keep up your frantic rhythm. every few seconds, you felt his throbbing dick plunge in and out of your drooling cunt. it’s so thorough, and every once and a while, it slips out. “fuuuck,” he groans, lifting you up before aligning himself back in. “got me workin’ over time, baby. stay still, yeah.”

your sweet nub was constantly being kissed up against, and you’re already so so stupid.

metaphoric heart eyes form through your pupils as you twitched ‘n fluttered on his cock. the moment you came again, and again, and again, there was barely a thought in your mind. you were always left being a puddled mess, swollen walls perfectly ravaged and stretched out.

it’s probably been about a good hour or two.

the dressing room had a sweet smell of tangy sweat and cologne—you whimper, babbling repeatedly as you’re now bent back over again.

but this time, gojo’s fucking you from behind.

he’s probably had you do various positions, and he was just about to finish again, anticipating to see another load pour right into your puffy pussy.

“s- shit,” he swallows a lump residing in his throat, catching your secretive hand trying to reach down and touch yourself. “princess..”

you pause, your hand staying still and he chuckles — pressing right up against your ass. he’s still pumping you full mid-thrust, a free hand wrapping its way around the back of your throat. his tone sounded like you’d just been caught redhanded. “aw, someone’s eager. but you always ask before touchin’ this sloppy pussy, right?”

with your breath hitching, he’s continuing to reel you back into his sharp hips within each piston of a thrust. with your mouth opened wide, you moan. “y- yes,” and as he’s jutting his cock into your gripping walls, you whimper out a sweet question of want. “can i touch myself, ‘toru?”

“let me think, baby.”

and you whine, a pouty expression marinating against your features as he’s got you pressed up against the mirror once more. gojo chuckles, clammy hands squeezing against your ass. “oh, you big baby. ‘m joking, go ‘head princess.”

as your fingers skid down your sopping pussy, it’s immediately coated with your slick. you whine, feeling his pace go faster before he groans. after a while, he’s just about there. gojo’s eyes remain fixated on your pretty rear — skin against skin clashing onto each other in such sync ‘n harmony.

his orgasm hits him like a truck. as a pretty translucent ring forms around his heavy cock, lust foils at his brain. “hah, fuck, pretty. such a mess, arch more for me, good girl. good fuckin’ girl.”

with the way he’s praising you continuously, you felt the constant twitches of your pussy cling onto his length. as your limbs were shaky ‘n on their final concluding hinges, you grow quiet at the feeling of him dumping in yet another sweet sticky load of cum. in the process — he coats the fabric of your panties with his mess, luxuriating in how sloppy you looked.

everything feels so slow - it’s probably been hours.

the current song that’s playing on the speakers, you’ve heard that same chorus for at least three times now.

it’s so warm inside, the flushed left temple of your cheek sticks against the mirror as you’re pressed right up against it. “f- fuck.” you wheeze out, allowing him to pump you full of creamy, velvety loads. he groans, throwing his head back and letting off a deep exhale. pretty lashes of his flutter shut as he’s staring openly at the way your cunt swallows its favorite bittersweet meal. with his mushroom tip still thrashing against the bulb of your sensitive clit, he gradually pulls out.

gojo’s eyes remain at your backside — gazing at the way he’s overflowed you with ropes ‘n ropes of hot wads of cum.

he licks his lips, staring in awe at how it dribbles down your thighs so effortlessly. it’s so messy,

a thumb of his swipes down the inner crevices of your thighs, getting a taste of it himself. “such a pretty girl,” he huffs, bringing the same thumb up to his lips to get a good enough taste. with the honeyed concoction of both flavors, he hums in contentment. “awww,” he stands up, taking in your dumbed down state. you were still panting, cum dripping out of your swollen hole.

you’ve still got a brief portion of your fist in your mouth - trying to suppress your sweet noises, split knuckles tickling against your tongue. “cute. c’mere, princess.”

you shudder, feeling him reposition your panties whilst pulling up your frilled skirt. with a teasing smile, he kisses your forehead, giving the fat of your ass one more squeeze. “you did so good,” and once he’s making sure you’re okay, with glossed eyes—you leer as he drags his slacks back up, zipping up his fly. as you gawk, gojo looks so handsome. ruffled white strands all over the place and his once professional dress shirt was now all unbuttoned ‘n scruffy. “hm,” he catches you staring, and he strokes the bottom of your chin. “you look hungry for more,” and his voice gets a bit low, he pressed a soft kiss against your lips, watching as you pout once he devastatingly pulls away. “happy birthday baby.”

“t- thank you, ‘toru,” you speak, trying to catch your breath. abruptly, you’re suddenly being lifted up by him, bridal style. a gasp wrenches out of you before you involuntary hurl your feeble, numb arms over his tense shoulders. he smells so good, you sink your face into the collar of his tux, feeling his body rumble from a chuckle.

“welcome,” and he unlocks the dressing room, walking out with you in nowhere but his warms. glancing at you, he whispers in a sweet low tone. “let’s get you outta here, hm? a nice warm bath ‘s waitin’ for ya at home. don’t want my baby’s limbs to be all sore.”

and as gojo’s carrying you and your bags with one arm supporting underneath you—he continues to make his way toward the front of the store.

he’s met with a few eyes yet he could care less. all he cared about was you, his pretty princess.

you shift a bit in his arms, still feeling creamy remnants of his cum plug you full even while being protected by your panties and skirt. it sticks against the fabric and you couldn’t help but grow flustered, feeling your thighs glue ‘n stick together. as he’s just about to leave out the door, he’s interrupted by the loud sound of a beep.

it’s the anti-theft security alarm, and gojo groans once he’s stopped by one of the employees.

“sir, i think you forgot to pay.”

“oh right,” the white haired man rubs the back of his neck, gently placing you back down on your feet. you glance up at him and your forehead’s met with another one of his tender, sweet kisses. “stay put, baby.”

you nod, watching as his back turns. he trods toward the cashier, whipping out his black card that he had you use for the majority of the day. as he’s paying for your items, he apologizes for the inconvenience with the most faux unknowing expression. gojo leaves a big tip in advance before making his way back toward you.

his staggering height stands tall and he slings an arm over your shoulder. he grabs your bags, having you lean against him as you both finally make your way out of the store.

“c’mon, darlin,” gojo mutters in a low tone, guiding you out of the mall. he’s still holding you close, but he stops briefly to plant a kiss near the inside of your neck. “still not done makin’ a mess out of my messy baby girl.”

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dontmixpaintinyourcoffee · 19 days ago

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This one goes out to all the bitches who love some good Safehouse Era Horror. It's me, I'm bitches. I want Jon and Martin to be fucked up and eldritch but I want them to be fucked up and eldritch and loved

(Notes under the cut because I can't help myself. Heads up, I do go into some detail of how Jon gets injured so I can explain my thought process for how I designed his scars. All canon-typical and fairly clinical in tone.)

Here's how I picture Safehouse Jon!

He doesn't need glasses anymore by this point, so he should just be wearing empty frames, but I drew this before I settled on my glasses headcanons. This drawing looks better with the reflection anyways.

He hasn't gotten a haircut since before his promotion to Head Archivist. He doesn't love the weight of it on his neck, but he also uses it to fidget, and he really doesn't want to go through the whole process of cutting it. He's disliked haircuts since he was a kid (People: Bad. Small talk: Bad. Touching: Bad. Loud sounds: Bad. People talking all at once: Bad) and since his time with the Circus he's only grown more reluctant to go and get it done.

At this length his hair is naturally pretty curly but he is. Not taking care of it. I actually put a lot of effort into trying to make it look brittle and tangled (I have a lot of experience lol, my hair is quite thick and I've always hated taking care of it. Yes I am also projecting my feelings about going to a hairdressers onto him why do you ask.)

The various scars were a bit of a strange task, but anyone who has seen my takes on The Bad Kids knows I'm not averse to selective realism in my fiction. Easiest one was the neck, I always pictured Daisy making a vertical cut based on "through the voice box". The larynx is longer than it is wide, so I think Daisy would go for the method that dealt damage across the largest total surface area. Yes I am aware that I'm speaking the same way Martin does when he explains his corkscrew.

The worm scars were easy because I barely drew any. There are a few marks on his cheek, but they're just surface bites. I picture most of his encounter with Prentiss showing on his legs, particularly on the right side, with enough damage there that he starts using a cane after the incident to keep weight off his right leg. More research to be done on this particular detail.

Finally the burn on his hand from Jude. This was the weirdest one to figure out just because of the nature of the injury. How do you quantify the damage done to an epidermis by a living manifestation of sometimes-boiling wax that can heat and cool at will? I settled on it being a second-degree burn that healed supernaturally fast, containing the damage to the space Jude had direct contact with. He'd probably have some mobility issues there as well. I know there are ways to help with mobility and pain after a severe burn, but I don't know how much of it Jon would actually. Do. Like I said, definitely further research to be done on these last two.

Hey so I'm gonna ask you to stop and consider the horror of the watcher. The helplessness. The guilt. The inherent terror of being a spectator, a participant by proximity but not by action. The horror of not being able to look away, of being a bystander. Jon forgets to blink sometimes. But wouldn't it be so much worse if there were no eyelids at all? That's how I interpret the description of The Archivist being "All Eyes" :D

I love a good Many-Eyed Jon, so I whipped up my own interpretation here. I think the more he Becomes the more he starts to resemble the thing from the dreams. He has a lot more control of it in S5, but it still creeps up on him and he has to consciously go back to a human shape.

#coffeepaintart #jonathan sims #jon sims #tma #the magnus archives #scopophobia #scopophobia tw #tw scopophobia #the archivist #tma fanart #tma art #if i need to tag any other tws or cws lmk

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g-k444 · 2 months ago

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POV it's your turn to host game night with all your boys so they come around to our place and you get the TV on whilst i get beers for all your friends before everyone gets between tipsy-drunk on their beverage

we start with drunk jenga where i lose and the best punishment that all your male friends can come up with in their drunken fervour is to each spank my ass once

my thighs are clenched tight around pussy which begins pulsing with ancticipation as I'm bent over onto your lap with my ass in the air, recieving a slap from each of your mates that gets more confident by member - the last on going as far as to lift my skirt and expose the thin lacy thong that doesn't cover much, as his hand leaves a red print over my delicate skin

then the next game is snakes and ladders - but instead of choosing to fall down the snake - it's decided that the men can get their cocks out, and I can take off an item of clothing for each time i land on a snake.

it feels almost suspicious how every dice roll seems to lead me to a snake - and how by the end of a short, fifteen minute game, the men end it early, just when i take off my skirt and wear nothing but my lacy bra and sheer panties...

and they move onto twister.

but in this version of twister, they decide that I am the subject - the only one to play... And someone spins for me for each turn, and then have a minute to fuck me in x position to try and make me cum.

I wanted to protest and look to you to tell them no, but the rowdy, drunken men put the mat out and had made the decision before i could protest - spinning the hand so that it was "left hand on red"

I got onto my knees to put my hand there - not wanting to bend over and leave my posterior vulnerable to the men that had no regard for how i felt about the crude game, yet as my knees hit the floor and hand attached onto the mat, I heard metal clinking for just a moment before there was a cock pressed into my behind, penetrating my hole and making a gasp exit my throat as someone pushed their cock into my pussy, slipping in all too easily and snapping their hips against mine rabidly

"so fucken wet, such a good pussy - you hearin' that?"

my cheeks were red with shame that despite my lack of want to be in this situation, my pussy was dripping with slick, wet with subconsious want to be fucked by all these men, in front of all these men.

"that's time. next spin... left foot on blue."

They each fucked me. one by one as i moved my body into different positions and had they come between my legs whilst i cried at the force they hammered themselves into me, simply using me as a vessel to chase their own pleasure.

i didn't cum, but they did - many of them did - shooting them cum into me and laughing as it dribbled back out of my pussy.

they guffawed and took great pleasure when i had to split my legs open from one side of the mat to the other and a fat glob of hot white cum spilled from my pussy and onto the mat, my cheeks burning red as i felt my pussy throbbing at how much i enjoyed the humiliation.

round after round - some chose to use fingers instead, not wanting to get their cocks leaked on my other men's seed - some used a vibrator instead, pressing the vibrating head against my clit and watching as my body shook with overstimulated pleasure, my pussy clenching and opening sporadically and making more cum gush from the creamy white hole, showing what a mess you'd made of my body

at the end of the night when the men zip their pants up and leave, you turn to me and ask whether we could host games night again sometime

despite how broken my body is and how tears stain my cheeks from how much i cried...

i cant help but nod that yes i want that to happen again.

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jeonginsleftcheek · 2 months ago

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surprise!

pairing: hyunjin x afab!reader

genre: smut, roommates to lovers

wc: 2.7k

warnings: humping, dirty talk, oral (f), squirting, unprotected sex, creampie

a/n: aight listen - i needed some time to process his new look and now i'm wet for him. he has a tongue piercing in this fic bcs ever since i gave one to rockstar!hyunjin i can't stop thinking about it (and tattoos). he is the moment😩💅🏻❤️

~ masterlist

Fucking hell.

Your hot roommate somehow managed to become hotter than he already was even after he gave you a good scare.

You were used to seeing his fluffy hair flying around everywhere, him tying it up while he was painting or cooking, putting it behind his ear constantly as a habit.

But the hair you were so fond of (even though you found strands of it everywhere in your apartment) was completely gone.

Without any prior announcement too.

You were just finishing up with dinner when he came home, strolling in casually and greeting you as he opened the fridge to grab a cold drink.

You greeted back, not even looking up as you were concentrating on cutting up some veggies.

You made small talk as always, you were kinda close and didn't mind sharing your day to each other over a meal.

Something was weird, you noticed out of the corner of your eye and when you lifted your head to look up, you almost cut your finger off.

"What the fuck?!" you practically screamed and Hyunjin laughed before smirking at you.

"Surprise?"

"Damn right it is." you stared at him in disbelief.

It was different. His long hair was comforting to you as sometimes he even let you braid it or play with it when you hung out and seeing him now was a shock.

His facial features stood out more and you couldn't help but admire his jawline, his nose, his eyebrows, heck even his ears were pretty.

It was unfair that he looked so good.

"I think our dinner's burning." he smirked knowingly and you shrieked, quickly turning the stove off and moving the pot aside.

Even as you sat down to eat, your eyes were glued to him.

"I'm guessing you don't hate it since you keep looking at me." he said, smirking again.

"Hate it? Far from that. I think you look h- well... um." you bit your tongue.

You never made a move on him even though you wanted to so many times, he drove you crazy every day, testing your mental strength as he strolled around shirtless, sometimes only with a towel wrapped around his middle, still wet from his shower. And you had a feeling he knew what he was doing, he was playing with you and he knew you were gonna eat out of his hand no matter what he does.

If you say it now, it'll be there on the table, laid out for him to make the next move.

You were sure the sly bastard was teasing you constantly.

"I look what? Say it." he dared you.

You put your fork down, wiping your mouth as you looked at him again.

"Hot. I think you look hot." you said, your heart beating out of your chest.

"Damn, did I have to shave my head for you to finally admit that?" he smirked and yes you were furious.

But you were also turned on at the way he was eye-fucking you and licking his plump lips, making sure to put his pretty tongue piercing on display.

Fuck, it was even hotter now.

"Shut up." you threw a napkin at him and he laughed at your feeble attempt to chase him away.

"Make me." he bit on his lip.

You didn't expect that.

"Make you?" your thighs pressed together, your stomach filling up with butterflies as you felt arousal gather on your pussy.

"Yeah, shut me up. Be creative with it." he smirked.

You observed him shortly as you felt annoyance and arousal rise inside you, wilding like the sea that was constantly spilling between your legs.

You stood up, pushing your chair back, almost making it fall down before you rounded the table to his side.

Hyunjin had a shit-eating grin on his face, manspreading in the chair as he looked up at you as if he was inviting you to sit in his lap.

You grabbed his chin making his eyes flutter instantly as you leaned in closer to his face.

God, he was beautiful.

"What are you waiting for, doll?" he smirked.

God, he angered you so badly.

So you crashed your lips on his, finally tasting him, feeling his soft lips move against yours.

Your hand slid on his face, his soft skin under your fingertips as you made your way to his hair.

Hyunjin was smirking into the kiss as you swiped your tongue over his lips, pushing it into his mouth to play with him, your hand finally touching his hair and it was surprisingly soft as you caressed him.

Hyunjin's large hands grabbed at you, pulling you into his lap as you whimpered into his mouth.

The kiss was sloppy, full of slurping sounds and teeth clanking occasionally but neither of you cared.

"Creative enough?" you asked when you parted for air, his lips were swollen and glistening with spit and you were sure yours were the mirror image.

"I think you can do better." he noted, the annoying smirk playing on his lips as always.

You held his face as you crashed your lips on his once more, kissing him harder and Hyunjin gripped at your hips before his hands slid down to your ass.

You bit on his bottom lip, pulling it between his teeth and making him groan. His hand lifted up as he smacked your ass and you accidentally grinded against his growing bulge.

You froze for a moment and he looked at you hazily, his cheeks rosy, and a lazy smile, he looked even more edible than moments ago.

"Backing out?" he asked.

"N-no." you whined as he gripped your ass and pressed you into him, slightly moving against your core.

"Want me to take the lead, doll?" he asked with a smirk and you really didn't want to give him the satisfaction but he was already on it, leaning in as he started kissing your neck.

You shivered as he massaged your ass, slowly moving his clothed length against you and making your panties even more soaked.

Your hands were on his head and the back of his neck, touching him and getting used to the feel of it.

Hyunjin bit into your flesh, sucking on it and you wanted so badly to pull on his hair but you couldn't so you gripped the back of his neck, making him whine as his hands traveled under your shirt.

You were glad you didn't wear your bra as Hyunjin went straight for your tits, grabbing at them and playing with your nipples as he kept leaving marks on your neck.

You literally thought in that moment that he was going to make you cum in your panties, you felt so pathetic for letting him win so fast but he stopped all his movement, making you whine.

"Shh, doll." Hyunjin shushed you, grabbing your shirt and sliding it off, tossing it somewhere aside.

He looked at your tits as if he was in a trance but before you let him come near them, you tugged on his shirt so he took it off.

He had a few tattoos here and there and you wanted to press your lips to every single one, trace them with your tongue as if you were drawing on him.

Hyunjin didn't notice your mesmerized face because he was focused on your breasts, he finally leaned in and wrapped his lips around your nipple, moaning as he started sucking.

You whimpered, throwing your head back as you ran your fingers on the back of his neck.

Hyunjin's tongue lapped at your nipple, his hand sliding down into your panties.

You jolted a little, you didn't think he was this impatient but his fingers already found your puffy clit as he pressed into it and started moving them in circles.

You gripped his head, holding him down as he sucked on your breast harshly, making him whine around you as he sped up with his fingers.

"So wet for me, you're dripping." he ran his fingertips on your folds, gathering your wetness before he pulled them out of your panties and brought them to your mouth.

"Taste yourself." he smirked and you complied, opening your mouth as you moved against him, needing to feel anything as you sucked on his fingers.

He kept smirking as his other hand gripped your breasts, playing with them and you were just about to explode.

You gripped his wrist and pulled his hand away.

"I need more." you whimpered and he chuckled.

"Mm. What would that be?" he wrapped his arms around you, leaning in to kiss your collarbone and your breasts.

"Hyunjin, stop teasing me or so help me god-"

"What are you gonna do doll?" he smirked up at you, pressing your chest against his skin.

He was so warm and you wanted to drown in him.

You were about to get so annoyed with his teasing as you stood up, but Hyunjin followed you quickly, one arm wrapped around you as he moved the plates aside, making room to sit you up on the table.

You gasped in shock, looking back at the half finished dinner Hyunjin just pushed on the side, his fingers hooking into your pants.

"Here? Hyunjin, we eat here." you tried to scold him but he giggled.

"Oh, I'm gonna eat." he smirked, pulling your pants down and throwing them aside as you whimpered.

"Hyun!" your voice came out high pitched as he ran his fingers over the wet patch on your panties.

"All this for me?" he stared at you and you shivered under his gaze.

"Y-yeah." you swallowed, shivering in anticipation.

Hyunjin spread your legs before kneeling down, making you grip the table when his breath hit your core.

He leaned in, his lips attaching to your clothed clit as he licked at it, making the fabric even more wet before he started sucking on it.

"H-Hyun!" you moaned, your hand flying to his head to push him into you.

He smirked against you, tongue lapping over your folds as his nose pressed into your clit.

"P-please." you moaned, already grinding against his perfect face.

"Ah fuck it, I'm still hungry." he teased before pushing your panties aside, his tongue gathering your sweet juices as he moaned into you.

Your legs trembled as he started to suck on your clit, moaning constantly as if he was the one getting head, not you.

You kept running your hands on his soft hair, pushing him closer to you as he ate you out teasingly slowly, his tongue lapping at your insides, drinking from you, his piercing driving you crazy.

You needed more, faster, deeper and your legs started closing around his head but Hyunjin gripped your thighs, forcing you open as he kept eating you out like you were the last meal he was ever going to have.

You grinded against his face, his nose kept pressing against your clit as he fucked you with his tongue and soon your legs were shaking.

You kept him pressed against you and he moaned into your pussy, making out with your lower lips and you were losing your mind.

It didn't take much longer for you to explode on his face and tongue and Hyunjin eagerly licked it all up.

"Fuck." you groaned as he lifted up, licking around his swollen lips.

He looked at you as if he still wasn't satiated, as if he was going to devour you whole and at that moment you wanted him to.

"I could do that for hours." he whined, hand gripping at his obvious bulge.

"Why didn't you?" you smirked, still breathless.

"I wanna fuck your little pussy until it's shaped like my cock." he said as he pulled his length out, making you whimper and gasp at his words.

He gave himself a few tugs and you stared at his pretty cock, the tip glistening with pre-cum.

He gripped your panties and pulled them off before standing closer to you.

"H-Hyunjin!" you moaned when he pressed his tip on your folds.

"Gonna be a good doll and take it?" he smirked and you nodded.

He chuckled before pushing in, making you moan loudly as your nails dug into the table beneath you.

It wasn't the most comfortable thing to lay on but the feeling of Hyunjin stretching you with his cock and filling you up so perfectly made your mind cloudy.

He leaned closer to you and you gripped at his arms immediately as he held your hips, thrusting into you semi-fast.

"F-fuck..." you moaned, already on edge and it was embarrassing.

"How many times have you fantasized about me, hm babygirl?" Hyunjin smirked as he pressed himself closer to you, his cock massaging your cervix as his happy trail rubbed against your skin.

You opened your lips to speak as he held your hip, his other hand lifting up to put your hair behind your ear.

Before you could answer, your pussy clenched around him and you came all over his cock, tears flooding your eyes instantly.

"You came already?" he laughed mockingly as you dug your nails in his shoulders.

"I- I-" you were about to actually cry. This has never happened to you.

"It's okay doll. I know you're desperate for my cock. I think that makes you even cuter." he smirked as he started fucking you harder, the table with all the plates and glasses clattering.

"Ah!" you moaned repeatedly, not able to form any coherent words or sentences as he fucked you dumb on your kitchen table.

You wrapped your arms and legs around him as Hyunjin continued pounding into you, leaning closer again so he could grunt in your ear as you touched his soft short hair again, at this point the new look was making you feel even more aroused.

"I knew this pussy was greedy for my cock. Look how she's sucking me in." he looked down at where his length disappeared inside you so you followed his eyes, whimpering when you got the visual of his cock covered in your white cream fucking in and out of you.

"Shit!" you clenched around him again as he looked up at you.

"You gonna cum for me again?" he smirked, fucking you with even more force, the plates were dangerously close to the edge of the table.

"Y-yes!" you whimpered, completely dizzy and out of your mind as you squirted around his cock, your pussy gripping him so tightly that Hyunjin couldn't help it as he twitched inside you.

You scratched at his back as he dug his nails into your hips, filling you up with spurts of hot cum.

A crash startled you as he lazily fucked into you, trying to hold onto his high as long as possible and both of you looked up, seeing that one of the plates had fallen on the floor, smashing into pieces.

"Oh." Hyunjin groaned as he caged your head with his arms before he leaned down to kiss you, pressing his wet body against yours.

Both of you were sticky and wet and you couldn't believe you just let your hot roommate fuck you on the table in your kitchen.

He pulled out and chuckled at the mess.

"Wow you did a number on my back." Hyunjin noticed his reflection in the window, his back red with scratches.

"That's cause you didn't have any hair I could pull on." you smirked as you sat up.

"The way you held onto me I wouldn't have any left." he smirked back and you slapped his arm, giggling at him.

"I take it your really like my new hair." he leaned his hands on the table, caging you in again.

"I really like you." you said, your face heating up.

"I know you do, doll. Why do you think I've been teasing you? I was just waiting for you to finally react." he winked and you wanted to smack him but he caught your hand and held it.

"I really like you too." he said before kissing you.

"We should clean up the mess." you said as you leaned back.

"We should. After round two. Or more. Who knows." Hyunjin wiggled his eyebrows before lifting you up in his arms and making you squeal as he carried you towards your bedroom.

You were in for a long night.

taglist: @moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae @jehhskz @porangporangmeong @laylasbunbunny @jeonginslefthand @laughatdanger @sapphirewaves @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @painterhyunjin @starlost-mochi-x @saintcosette @ooshyana @frehyun @scarlet789 @skzdust @simpforleeknaur @schniti-is-in-the-house

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joelsgoldrush · 5 months ago

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“never is a promise” | 12.4k

old man!logan x f!reader

SUMMARY: You are everything Logan isn’t: sweet, trouble-free, much younger—and, to top it off, Charles' caregiver.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ mentions of drinking. angst. some fluff. old man!logan x caregiver!reader. implied age gap (reader’s in her twenties). miscommunication. slow burn. pining. reader is shorter than logan and has long hair. charles in his cupid era. petnames. minor injuries. wound tending. mentions of blood. virgin!reader. dirty talk. cum shots. fingering. handjobs. oral sex (m receiving). loving sex. sex with a lot of feelings (is that a tag?). unprotected p in v.

A/N: i just want to fall in love with him. that’s it. that’s the reason why i wrote this long ass fic 😭 while doing so, i had “never is a promise” by fiona apple and “cool about it” by boygenius on repeat. give them a try if you haven’t listened to them (your lives will be CHANGED) (also, thank you for reading <3)

No matter how often you play chess with Charles, you never manage to beat him.

“You’ve been staring at that knight for five minutes. It’s not going anywhere, I promise.”

Chuckling at his sarcasm, you fold your hands in your lap, lifting your eyebrows in mock surrender. “Okay, I get it. You’re the master of chess,” leaning back in the chair, you cross one leg over the other. “Can we play something else?”

“I’m quite entertained, thank you,” Charles says, sliding the board closer to you across the table. “Your turn.”

“How is it that you don’t get tired of this game?” you mutter under your breath, eyes fixed on the board as you weigh your options, hovering your hand indecisively over the chess pieces.

“Please do something before I’m forced to make a dash for the toilet.” He hangs his head, pinching the bridge of his nose—a telltale sign of one of his irritable days.

His words spur you into action, encouraging you to finally slide the knight into position. You glance up, meeting his gaze with a hint of challenge. “You go now.”

Charles doesn’t hesitate, and he moves a bishop. “Check.”

Fuck. You hadn’t seen that coming. “I’d prefer to walk away with my pride,” you joke, pushing your chair back and pretending to lose interest in the board.

That makes him smirk, a barely there grin dangling on the corners of his wrinkled lips. The truth is, you wouldn’t stop playing for anything in the world—not even if this old man kicks your ass every single time he suggests playing chess. “You’re not out of the game yet.”

Quietness settles over the tank while you allow yourself some time to come up with a new strategy. After a moment, you decide to go for a pawn, using it to block his bishop.

He doesn’t stop grinning, studying your move with an amused glint in his blue eyes. “Not bad, but you’ve left your king exposed.”

You gape at the board, your fragile confidence faltering for a split second. "I still have some pieces in play."

Charles nods, his brows drawing together in thoughtful consideration. "True. But sometimes, it’s not about how many pieces you have left—” He reaches out, carefully sliding his queen across the board. "It’s about where you place them.” He relaxes, hunching over, his eyes searching for yours. A smile that’s all teeth welcomes you. “Checkmate."

“Damn.” You blow out your cheeks, your gaze tracing the path of his queen. Somehow, he’s trapped your king with no easy way out.

He leans back with a satisfied grin. “That’s three games in a row. My suggestion is that you start rethinking your strategy.”

“Or maybe you’re just a better player,” you admit, a mix of frustration and admiration palpable in your tone. “No more chess for today, though.” You stand up from your seat, gathering the board and chess pieces. As usual, they find their place under Charles’ bed, and you turn back to him, beaming with delight. “I think you owe me one after all this.”

“You’re a terrible loser, my dear,” he says, his eyes twinkling as they take you in. “Reminds me of someone I know.”

At that exact moment, you hear the familiar creak of the tank’s door opening, followed by a cough you immediately recognize.

Without thinking, you straighten your back as Logan steps into the room. Charles notices it, but says nothing in return.

It was an infatuation—or at least, that’s what you try to convince yourself of. Logan is a very good-looking man, probably the most handsome you’ve ever laid eyes on.

The fact that you live with him doesn’t help at all. You think that if you only saw him occasionally, this—this anxiety that grips you whenever he’s around or when you hear his voice—wouldn’t happen in the first place.

Whether it’s good or bad luck, you’ve been sleeping under the same roof as him for over a year, and the crush you’ve had since the first time you exchanged words with him only seems to grow stronger with each passing day.

What you figure out over time is that men like Logan aren’t the dating type. He’s never brought anyone home, and for that, you’re secretly grateful. The last thing you need is to see him with another woman—thank you very much. Still, the thought gnaws at you: he could easily be meeting someone elsewhere.

In fact, it’s more than likely that he’s hooking up with other people. It doesn’t have to be at—

Alright. You don’t need this either.

Logan’s heavy footsteps resonate even louder, his presence more imposing, and he seems especially pissed off. Then again, he always has that demeanor—angry, grumpy, locked in a constant battle with life.

But today… today, you haven’t seen him this troubled in weeks.

“Look who’s joined us,” Charles mumbles, steering his motorized chair to meet him halfway. The chair bumps against Logan’s legs with a thud that sounds almost cartoonish, and Charles scrunches up his nose, his nostrils flaring in disgust. “You smell like shit.”

“Yeah, I missed you too, Pop,” Logan grunts, shoving his hand into the pocket of his suit, searching for something. That’s when you notice the bloodstains on his shirt, smeared across his chest, and the missing buttons at the top. Your breath catches in your throat, and you bite your tongue to keep from asking any foolish questions. “They gave me new ones,” he mutters, looking you in the eye as he tosses the pill bottle at you.

You leap forward to catch it mid-air, your heart skipping a beat. Logan holds your gaze for a moment longer, his expression unreadable, before giving a slight nod and turning on his heel to storm out of the tank.

When your attention goes back to Charles, you see how his eyes remain locked on the pills you’re holding, his head lowering in defeat. “He’s waiting for me to die.”

“Don’t say that.” You squat to be at his eye level, momentarily hiding the meds from his view. Still, you struggle to make him shift his gaze. “He’s taking care of you, which is something completely different.” You place your hand on top of his knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze. You’ve had this same conversation innumerable times, yet each time feels like the first. He offers you a melancholic but knowing look as you softly say: “You have to take them, Charles. I’m sorry.”

He raises a hand, his trembling fingers curling around your wrist, examining you, trying to find an answer in the lines. “Don’t be. At least you’re here.”

“I’m sure Logan’s tired; that’s why he doesn’t stay any longer. Haven’t you seen him?” You rise to your feet, moving behind him to guide his chair. The tank sort of has a chill in the air, metallic walls that seem to press in around you both. “Besides, you wouldn’t want to play chess with him. Rest assured I’ll always let you win,” you murmur next to his ear, succeeding in eliciting a chuckle from him.

After that, you help him with his daily routine. Charles isn’t heavy, and you manage to get him onto the bed, his frail body yielding to your gentle support.

You slip the rest of his body beneath the blankets, tucking him in carefully before handing him two pills and a glass of water. “All the way down, okay? And I wanna see that tongue after you swallow them.”

If looks could kill, you’d be six feet under, covered in dust and dirt. Charles sticks his tongue out, putting the glass down on his nightstand. “Happy?”

“You’ve got no idea how much,” you say, adjusting the covers. The silence of the tank surrounds you both, and you can sense his gaze lingering on you. You flick your eyes up, furrowing your brows as you sit in the small space beside him on the mattress. “What is it?”

“You fancy him, don’t you?”

Freezing on the spot, your eyes narrow. “I—I don’t—” you trail off, pushing the words out with some effort. “Are you trying to read my mind?”

His whole chest rumbles with laughter under your touch. He finds your hand once again, intertwining your fingers with his. “Don’t be so naïve. I don’t need my abilities to see the way you get all flustered when he passes by. Why do you think they say older people are wiser?” he inquires, his lips forming a straight line. “We’ve lived too much not to notice the most common things, my dear—and let me tell you that you do a horrible job at pretending.”

“Of course I like him. Logan’s a good man, he keeps us safe.” You glance down at your hands—his, weak and delicate, in evident contrast to your own. “I’m not in love with him, Cupid.”

“Oh, you should’ve seen him years ago,” Charles says, his eyes glazing over as he drifts back into the past. His body remains here, within the confines of the room, but his mind is elsewhere, somewhere far away. You give his hand a gentle tug, trying to bring him back. “When we took him in, he was pursuing a career as a cage fighter. I had never seen anyone like him in all my years of educating mutants. He was so… different from the rest. Reserved, didn’t talk much at first. But I gave him a family, I—” His voice falters, overcome by his own emotions.

That’s when you realize he’s no longer with you, his gaze unfocused, looking around the tank as if seeing it for the first time. It pains you to see him like this, completely disoriented and disconnected from reality.

“Why are we here? What has happened to the rest? Has he told you anything?”

These are the questions he asks every day without fail—questions that you can’t, nor want, to answer. Since you’re not exactly sure the explanation would soothe his troubled mind, you feel forced to play dumb.

“I don’t know, Charles. We don’t really talk that much, Logan and I.” You stand from the bed, not without pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead before. You smile at him, hoping he doesn’t realize the gesture lacks authenticity. “Why don’t you get some rest? I’ll let you know if I hear anything worth sharing.”

Once you close the door behind you, you settle back into it, releasing a shaky breath. Being Charles’ caregiver was a challenging task, especially in moments like these, which required immense internal strength not to crumble in front of him.

You squeeze your eyes shut as you adjust to the harsh sunlight, fighting to regain your composure. When you finally scan the area, the only thing that meets your eye is the deserted smelting plant you now call home.

You open the sliding door, the noise breaking the stillness and forcing Logan to look up from his plate. He’s eating like a starved man, casually drinking from a small bottle of whisky on the table, already half of it gone. After those long drives through the nights and the early hours, he always returns hungry.

You pour yourself a cup of coffee, setting it on the stove to heat. Neither of you says anything for a few minutes: he eats, and you sip your hot coffee in silence, not wishing to disturb the breakable peace that hangs by a thread.

Thinking this is how the noon will continue, you begin to walk toward your room until he clears his throat, stopping you in your tracks. That simple gesture makes you whirl around, anticipating something.

“This is delicious,” he acknowledges, pointing to his plate with his fork, the rice with veggies and meat you cooked last night nearly gone. Dipping his chin, he adds in a low voice: “Thank you.”

You’re taken aback by his unexpected willingness to engage in conversation. Moments like these are as rare as seeing Halley’s Comet, so you proceed with caution, as if you’re approaching a skittish animal—one wrong move, and the opportunity is lost.

Setting your mug down on the table, you sit on the chair opposite him. Deep down, the hammering of your heart echoes in your ears, and you hope his sharp senses don’t pick up on it.

“I’m glad you liked it. Charles ate two bowls of it,” you explain, unable to suppress a smile. Logan hums, tilting his head to the side as he keeps devouring his meal. You take another sip of your coffee, blowing on it in a futile attempt to cool it down. “He wants to talk to you.”

“Huh?”

“Charles. He—he asks to see you a lot,” you begin, carefully choosing your words. “I know it’s none of my business, but I think it would make him feel better if you spent more time with him.”

The sound of a distant train rumbles through the walls, amplifying the silence between you. Logan doesn’t utter a word; instead, he puts down his fork, the clinking noise making you jump slightly, the intensity of his stare becoming overwhelming.

“You’re right about one thing—what I do or don’t do is none of your goddamn business.”

Just like that, the buildup dissolves in a matter of seconds. You bite down on the inside of your cheek, nodding absentmindedly. “I’m sorry,” you murmur, feeling a wave of shame wash over you. How stupid were you to think he might want to talk to you? “I just—I want to be of help.”

“Just take care of Charles. That’s all you gotta worry about, all I’ve ever asked you to do,” he barks, clenching his jaw, and you can tell he means each word.

When he talks to you in this tone, it makes you think more rationally—it reminds you that you don’t really know him, and yet you agreed to work for him in exchange for a roof over your head and food on your plate. He’s not your friend, and he’s excellent at making that crystal clear every time you cross the line.

Logan pushes you away like you’re nothing, like you’re just another of the many burdens he has to deal with.

It should be enough to send you running to your room, but despite the knot tightening in your belly, you somehow remain rooted in place, your eyes sharp like daggers.

As another train echoes in the silence, you come to terms with the knowledge that one more question will drive him away.

And sometimes, you speak before you think, as you do now: “Whose blood is that on your shirt?” you ask, voice steady and cold. Perhaps it’s you who wants him to leave this time.

He shakes his head with offense, frustration crinkling his eyes. “I don’t need this shit,” he groans, his gruff voice loud enough for you to hear it. He gets up from the table, placing his plate in the sink without much delicacy. At last, he heads to his room, slamming the door with a deafening thud that reverberates through the entire place.

It’s not a crush, that voice deep inside you insists as you’re left alone in the kitchen. And it’s valid: a mere crush wouldn't cause this kind of pain, wouldn’t make your chest feel this heavy and your limbs numb.

Whenever he leaves, he takes a part of you with him, never to be returned. By now, you’re certain he’s stolen all those missing pieces from you, and you’ve got no idea how much longer you can endure before you shatter completely.

You seem to have won this battle, but what you end up losing is far greater than any fleeting gratification.

Loving Logan is maddening, to say the least.

To this day, you still recall every detail of the night that altered the course of your life—the night you met Logan.

The memories are rather vivid in your mind, and you revisit that moment on nights like these, when you can’t sleep and the past appears to be much more appealing than your present.

Pressing your cheek against the cold pillow, you let your eyelids drop, reconstructing the full scene behind your sealed eyes.

It was your third week working at that restaurant, and you were still getting used to its daily rhythm. Waitressing was working wonders for you—you had a good memory, and people often gave you generous tips.

Everything was going well: you were the only waitress on shift, and your boss had left for a brief errand, promising he would be back soon.

During this lull, a group of men entered the restaurant, already drunk or high—probably both. They sat at one of the empty tables, immediately calling for you.

One of them, a tall blonde, was the loudest. “Come here, baby.” He pointed his finger at you, gesturing for you to approach him. The nickname felt wrong rolling off his tongue, and as you obliged, he shoved a handful of bills into the front pocket of your apron. He clutched your waist, dragging you nearer. “I’m getting married tomorrow. Think you can do something special for me?”

His friends cheered him on, laughing and pounding their fists on the table. You managed to slip from his grasp and asked them what they wanted to order.

While they took their time deciding, you noticed a limousine parked in the distance, probably the vehicle that had brought these morons here. The driver rolled down his window, hanging his arm from the armrest.

Though you couldn’t see his features, the interaction alone was enough to make you look away.

An hour went by, and the men refused to take off. They’d eaten, drunk, and danced—and driven you crazy in the process. The rest of the customers had decided to leave once they realized the night was far from finishing for the noisy group of friends. You apologized, feeling incapable of doing anything to change the situation.

Your sanity felt threatened as you turned off the TV, ending the sixth round of karaoke, their shouts and hoots ringing in your ears.

“We’re closing in ten minutes,” you informed them, starting to collect their dirty plates and glasses. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted the blonde man standing right beside you, his piercing blue eyes burning holes through your skin. He attempted to graze your shoulder, but you quickly stepped back, keeping a safe distance between you. “How do you plan to pay? Cash or credit?”

“How about with a kiss, huh?” He inched forward, his face dangerously close to yours. Unaccustomed to being approached in this manner, you ducked your head, unsure of your next move. His breath reeked of beer and vodka, a horrendous combination that had you nearly gagging on the spot.

As he backed you against the counter, one of his large hands cradled your face, urging you to make eye contact with him. “I swear I can be very, very nice. You haven’t given me the chance to show it yet.”

“Hey, pal. You said one hour.”

The first time you heard his voice—low and husky, the kind that could send shivers down your spine.

Your eyes locked with Logan’s, your pleading gaze seemingly stirring something in him as he got a grip on the situation. His brows bumped together in a scowl, and you didn’t miss how he limped as he made his way into the restaurant.

There was something about him—how he moved, his stance—that felt strangely familiar.

“We’re busy in here, chauffeur,” the blue-eyed man protested, slightly losing his balance while still holding your cheek.

Your rescuer squared off against him, their noses practically brushing. He worked his jaw, his half-lidded, tired eyes taking in the sight of you. “I’m no fortune-teller, but I don’t think she’s into you, bub.”

“Come again?” the blonde guy released you, much more concerned with defending his bruised pride. “What’s the matter, Grandpa? Is it past your bedtime?”

“I want you to pay me for the ride, and for waiting a fucking hour and a half for you and your friends,” the older man spat, jerking his thumb toward the limousine. “I’m not taking you back to the hotel. You might want to start looking’ for another driver.”

The group of men closed in around him, their anger bubbling. “That’s not cool, dude. We had a deal,” another voice snapped, but Logan couldn’t seem to care less.

“Well, the deal’s off. And leave the girl alone, will you?” he retorted, his tone dripping with disdain. “So, where’s my money?”

He couldn’t have predicted it. One of the men behind him swung a plate, striking him in the nape and catching him off guard. Logan collapsed to the floor, clutching his head in pain. The others took the opportunity and began to pummel him, kicks and punches landing wherever they could.

You screamed at the top of your lungs, desperately trying to intervene. You grabbed at their clothes, digging your fingernails into every patch of exposed skin you could find, but they shoved you aside with brutal force. Your back slammed against the nearest wall, a jolt of sudden pain making you wince.

The blood in your veins turned to ice as you watched, paralyzed with fear that they might kill him. But then—

Three metallic claws emerged from his knuckles, and he used them to push himself upright. Despite the blood smeared across his nose and mouth, he managed to stand, his quickened breathing coming out in short puffs.

The men backed away in shock, leaving him alone amidst the chaos.

You stared at him, your hands trembling as recognition dawned: it was The Wolverine.

The familiarity, the sense of having seen him before, all made sense now. It all flooded back in a rush—the comics, the news, the rumors.

“Get the hell outta my sight,” he growled, pressing his claws against the fabric of the blue-eyed man’s jacket, making him flinch.

You couldn’t make out what you were feeling. It wasn’t fear, but intrigue. Even as the group of men fled the restaurant, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. At first, he avoided your gaze, focusing on his shoes as he retracted his claws.

Once the immediate danger had passed, he slumped forward, groaning. You gently draped one of his arms around your shoulders and helped him into a nearby chair. His weight felt like a thousand bricks, but you accomplished to get him seated.

He rubbed a shaky hand over his graying beard, his face twisting in pain as you pressed a makeshift towel of napkins against his lower lip, where blood continued to flow.

Taking the towel from you, he continued tending to himself. You scanned his features, scrutinizing him.

“You are…” you began, the words feeling inadequate at the moment.

Logan nodded hesitantly, his silence confirming your suspicion. “Yeah, that’s me,” he tugged at his shirt collar, exposing some of his chest hair, fresh blood staining his work clothes. Your gaze fell there, and you quickly chided yourself.

The poor guy was bleeding, and you were checking him out. Jeez.

Kneeling by his side, you introduced yourself. “Thank you for stepping up for me,” you said afterward, and he shook his head dismissively. “They were a pain in the ass. I don’t know how you even managed to drive them here.”

“Money’s money, darlin’. Doesn’t matter where it comes from, as long as—” he was interrupted by a coughing fit, and your concern deepened as you continued to spot more of his injuries. “I’ll heal,” he reassured you, his expression softening in an attempt to calm your anxiety.

Your eyes pierced his with an intensity that seemed to unsettle him. Warmth crept into your cheeks as a question surfaced in your mind: “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“You don’t owe me anything, kid,” he replied, a hint of gruffness in his voice.

“But I could help you,” you persisted, your voice betraying a touch of eagerness. Stifling a cough, you tried to mask your enthusiasm, and sighed. “Are you hungry? I could cook you something, or pour you a drink. We’ve got plenty of liquor—”

Logan interrupted you, placing the towel down on the table. “Have you ever taken care of an old person?”

Tilting your head, you considered his question. “How old?”

“Ninety-somethin’.”

You nodded, memories of the events from years ago surfacing. “I lived with my grandparents for most of my life. When they fell ill, I spent a lot of time with them. My mom had to work long hours, and I—well, the point is, I did take care of them,” you paused for an instant, his expression unreadable, though you perceived a slight relaxation in his posture, as if your answer had put him at ease. “I like being around old people. They have stories to tell,” you added, a genuine smile breaking through, “and I’m a good listener.”

“Then I suppose there is somethin’ you can help me with.”

And so began a new chapter in your life.

The very next day, you were moving in with him and Charles. It took several weeks for the latter to warm up to you and get used to your presence.

Initially, he was hopeful that you might also be a mutant, but his disappointment was palpable when he discovered you lacked any supernatural gifts. Leaving that aside, he valued your company.

“The shots mellow the seizures. The pills keep them from happening,” Logan had once explained, detailing the medications Charles needed. You recalled the psychic attack from a year ago and its consequences, but that wasn’t a topic to be discussed with Logan, and you understood why.

“Where do you get these?” you asked, examining the bottle of pills with a curious glance. “Without a prescription, I mean.”

“Oh, you don’t wanna know.”

Soon, you got adapted to the whole package: his unpredictable temperament, his mood swings, and his nightmares. Logan Howlett was a puzzle box of surprises, one you could never quite unlock.

Fast forward to the present day, you realize it must be already late, because Logan’s heading to work. You stand on your tiptoes, peering out of your bedroom window. Your humid breath fogs the glass as his eyes find yours, and then he slips into the vehicle, blending into the shadows of the night.

The distant rumble of his limousine signals his departure, your forehead pressed against the glass, as if somehow that could take you with him.

There goes another piece of you.

You find yourself shaving Charles the moment worry takes over your senses.

He’s retelling a familiar story: that one time Logan, Scott, Jean, and Storm saved Rogue from Magneto.

On any other day, you wouldn’t mind listening to his stories, despite having heard them countless times. This one in particular is your favorite.

But today, it’s hard to focus on it, even more when one of its main characters is missing in action.

Logan hasn’t come back home yet.

It’s been an entire day, and he’s usually back by morning to rest. Now, after having cooked dinner and helping Charles shower, you’ve run out of distractions. There’s nothing left to occupy your thoughts, nothing to ease the building anxiety gnawing at you.

You texted him multiple times—no answer. You even called—also nothing. Every time Charles asks if Logan’s at work or sleeping, the knot in your chest tightens. That’s when your mind starts to spiral, and you’re convinced you’ll burst any moment.

After putting him to bed, you pace the kitchen, picking at your nails and biting the raw skin around them. The sting of pain is there, but it’s faint, not enough to overshadow the real fear clawing at your insides.

All these what-ifs that storm through your mind make you feel nauseous: what if he’s dead? What would you do with Charles? How would you provide for both of you without a salary?

Just as you’re about to dial his number again, Logan materializes out of thin air through the sliding door.

He’s got a dark bruise under his right eye, and his once-white shirt is littered with bloodstains. You stare at him—he’s limping harder than usual, each of his movements slower.

Walking towards him, your hands cup his face. His skin feels rough beneath your fingers, and he lets out a grunt as you graze his split lip. “What happened?”

“They were followin’ me. Had been doin’ so for a few days now,” he says, making no effort to pull away.

“Did you kill them?” you wonder out loud, still inspecting his injuries. The pad of your thumb hovers inches away from his bruised mouth.

Covering your hands with his, Logan ducks his head, closing his eyes for a brief second and swallowing thickly. “Somebody had to do it, sweetheart.”

You limit yourself to a nod, because you know there’s nothing you can reproach him for. You were no stranger to the idea of him killing. It was an implicit truth between you.

“I thought—I was so scared, and I—” your voice wavers, and you feel your eyes watering, the tears prickling at the corners. “I thought you—”

He doesn’t let you finish, already knowing how it would end. “Hey, look at me,” he’s the one touching you now, tilting your chin up. Your eyes keep flickering over the cuts and old scars you spot on his cheeks, his neck. Logan forces a pained smile, unable to hide his discomfort. “It’s fine, I’m alright. Just a bit fucked up, but nothin’ you haven’t seen before,” he jokes, trying to lighten the mood, and it works. You bite your lower lip, suppressing your grin. “I always come back, don’t I?”

“But you can barely stand,” you whisper, not sure why you’re speaking so softly. You make him turn his back to you, helping him shrug off his coat. As expected, remnants of dried blood decorate his shirt like highlights. “Let me help you.”

“I don’t—”

”There are cuts all over your back. And your chest—you’re not healing properly,” you say, turning him to face you again. The look on his face suggests only one thing: he’s about to throw in the towel. “You don’t have to do everything on your own.” You think you’ve never been this close before, his proximity both intoxicating and comforting at the same time. “Please.”

He ends up giving in to your persuasion, allowing you to guide him to the bathroom. Logan sits down on the toilet, watching you gather supplies to clean his wounds. When you come back, he’s still staring at you, his eyelashes fluttering together each time he blinks.

Starting with his cheek, you press a damp towel to his skin, and he hisses. It takes everything in you not to flinch in sympathy.

“How’s Charles?” he asks, probably trying to distract himself as you continue to clean his wounds, the towel darkening with his blood over time.

“He’s doing great. Asked for you a lot, actually,” you take a look at his jaw, where one shallow cut is already starting to fade away thanks to his healing ability, something that never fails to amaze you.

Logan hums, tilting his head. ”I’ll check on him in the morning,” he murmurs, and you flash him a quick smile, finishing with his face. He’s now free of dirt and blood, his brows furrowing as he pauses to collect his thoughts. “The other day, when we talked—”

You cut him off, turning to the sink as you rinse the towel, watching the water get red. “Forget it.”

“No, it wasn’t okay—how I acted,” he stands up from the toilet, and you feel his presence behind you, the alarm inside your head going off as the space between you shrinks. “I know you just want what’s best for him. For us. I’m sorry I was a jerk,” his voice comes out even huskier at this time of the night, sounding afraid of waking someone, even though it’s just the two of you here.

“Apology accepted,” you swirl around to meet his gaze, only to find yourself nose-to-nose with him, and you lean back against the sink, your spine pressed into the cool surface.

Logan places his hands on both sides of the vanity, caging you with his body. Like the most beautiful tree, he stands tall in front of you, and you take a deep breath, getting drunk on his distinctive scent. “Are you… okay?”

You watch as he lowers his head, pursing his lips before muttering: “Imma need you to do something more for me,” he says, almost pleading, and you can’t avoid the amount of thoughts that rush into your mind.

Gone was your decency when you had to deal with him.

That’s when he looks up to find your eyes, his harsh expression evolving into a more vulnerable one. “Have you ever removed a bullet?”

If you thought listening to Logan’s nightmares was painful, nothing could have prepared you for the sounds he makes while you pull several bullets from his wounds.

He sits shirtless in front of you, grunting at each of your careful movements. As you remove one bullet lodged near his ribs, Logan practically yells, and you rest your cheek against his, desperate to ease his suffering.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Almost done,” you whisper into his ear, hoping your words might bring him some relief. He lets his head fall forward, resting it on your shoulder, trusting you enough to tend to his injuries, his thoughts drifting elsewhere.

It takes you half an hour to clean both his chest and back, but Logan doesn’t complain. When you’re finished, he goes straight to his room, flopping onto his bed, the mattress creaking under his weight. You see the way his chest rises and falls rapidly, his breathing still labored.

You wish you could lie beside him, even just for a few minutes, but your last shred of self-control stops you from doing such a thing.

“Get some sleep,” you say leaning against the doorframe, your advice sounding more like a plea. He looks exhausted, dark circles sunken beneath his eyes.

Logan lets out a bitter laugh. “Do I look that bad?”

You roll your eyes at that, your fingers curling around the doorknob. Glancing back at him over your shoulder, you catch something in his look—a glimmer of something you struggle to put into words, but you decide not to look further into it. “Good night, Logan.”

“Good night, darlin’—and thank you,” he murmurs, holding your gaze until the door shuts between you.

Then you sprint to your room, gently closing the door before biting back a smile, replaying the last hour in your mind. How close to you he had been, how comfortable he seemed around you.

You hadn’t just crossed lines—you’d broken them. You almost pinch yourself to make sure you weren’t dreaming.

Somehow, your racing mind calms down, and you fall asleep, one hand tucked beneath the pillow, the other resting against your chest.

You’re a light sleeper. The sound of something shattering wakes you, leaving you startled and disoriented.

Dawn is just breaking, the first rays of sunlight slipping through your window. You sit up, pricking up your ears as you scratch the back of your head, listening attentively.

Logan’s voice filters into your room—he lets out a string of profanities, and you stifle a giggle, throwing off your covers and putting on a sweatshirt that matches your pajamas.

Barefoot, you walk down the hall, stopping at the kitchen’s entrance. Logan is kneeling beside the table, gathering the shards of a broken mug. It seems like he’s just gotten out of the shower, tiny droplets of water trailing down his neck.

“That was my favorite one,” you say in a low voice, teasing him. His back muscles flex under the material of his shirt, and he turns to look at you, his expression a silent apology. “I take it you’re not using your glasses?”

“I’m gonna stop you right there.” Rising to his feet, he grunts, digging his fingers into his lower back with a grimace. “They’re called readers for a reason.”

You decide to let him have that one, grabbing a new mug from the shelf and handing it to him. He accepts it, thanking you, and fills it with freshly brewed coffee.

“Was it a nightmare?” you ask, watching as he sinks into the couch, spreading his thighs apart with a sigh while you take a seat at the table instead.

Logan gives a nod, sipping some of his coffee. “At least I slept for a few hours.”

“Are you really going to stay up? It’s pretty early.” You stretch your arms over your head, a yawn escaping you before you can hold it back.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

You hesitate for a moment, but then comes your question: “Can I join you?” You prop your elbows on your knees, any trace of sleepiness now gone with the wind.

He squints his eyes, his unrelenting stare boring into you. “Feel free.”

So here you are, studying him as he drinks his coffee, his fingers wrapped tightly around the ceramic. There are so many things you want to ask him—about how he’s feeling, if his wounds have healed—but it seems you’ve entered a silent staring contest without even knowing it.

Not that you mind him looking at you—you just want to know the reason why.

You snort, and he arches a brow. “Do I have something on my face?” You decide to ask him, straightening your back.

“I guess I can’t help but wonder why you agreed to all of this,” he says, setting the mug down with a soft clink. By this, you understand he’s referring to being Charles’ caregiver and leaving your old job behind. “I mean—you could be doing better things with your life. Why would you choose to do this?”

“I told you before: I wanted to help you,” you shrug, trying to keep your tone light even as your stomach tightens with nerves. You watch as Logan folds his arms, the muscles of his biceps becoming more visible. “Plus, I love being around Charles.

“I don’t think people your age would be that interested in spending their days like this,” he says, and you toy with a lock of your hair, wrapping it around your finger.

“Well, good thing I’m not like most people my age then.”

His silence hangs heavy in the air until he speaks again. “What do you mean by that?”

“You know that feeling when life seems like a race? And you just have to keep up with certain things that everybody else is doing, or you’ll be left behind?” You pause, the words falling more naturally than you’d expected.

Logan nods, making it seem like he understands what you’re trying to say. Whether he truly does it or not, you don’t know.

“When my friends started going to parties, getting boyfriends… I couldn’t. My family wouldn’t let me. And even when I could, it felt like it wasn’t really what I wanted.”

Inhaling sharply, you stop yourself. The conversation suddenly feels far too personal.

“You never had a boyfriend?” He gets more comfortable on the couch, his voice gruff as he rubs his chin, waiting for a reply.

A familiar heat settles between your legs. “I went out with some guys, but it never led to anything serious,” you say, your cheeks getting warmer the more details you share with him. “I guess I wasn’t the kind of girl they were looking for,” you add, not missing the way his lips twitch momentarily.

“How could they not want you?”

“They didn’t think like you do.”

“That’s because they were boys, not men,” he mutters, his gaze dropping to your hands before returning to your face. “Did they treat you right, those boys?”

Swallowing hard, you can hardly register the uncertainty in your own voice. “I mean… yes, I think they did. They were nice to me.”

There it is—the faintest hint of a smirk dancing on his lips. “Nice doesn’t mean good, though.”

You dig your nails onto the table, your pulse quickening, trying to hide how affected you are by his words. “What is it that you want to know?”

“Come sit with me, doll.”

Doll. Doll. Doll. Inside your chest, your heart gallops, your legs trembling as you get off the table, moving closer to him.

Feeling lighter with every step you take, you plop down beside him, and Logan sits straighter, his knees almost bumping into yours.

You can’t bring yourself to look at him—this is happening, just like in your filthiest dreams.

His hand slides up to yours, not applying any sort of pressure. He scrutinizes your skin, bringing your hand to his lips, and he presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist.

It tickles, it burns—it ignites a fire inside you, one you know you can’t ignore. A gasp attempts to escape you, but you suppress it.

“Did you let them touch you?” he whispers, attaching his mouth to your neck, brushing the sensitive spot where your jaw and ear meet.

This time, you moan, any possible rational thoughts turning into putty, melting with the way he’s touching you. “Logan,” you purr his name, begging for something, anything he’s willing to give you. Your thighs, once shoved together, spread of their own accord, and you hear him click his tongue.

“I asked you something.” His teeth graze your pulse point, forcing you to close your eyes.

“I didn’t. They wanted to, but I—I wouldn’t let them,” you answer, and as if he’s rewarding you, his fingers begin to tug on the hem of your sweatshirt, rolling it up your body and over your head. He tosses it to the floor, admiring you.

“Why?”

Goddamn.

“Because I was waiting for the right guy,” you manage to get out, grasping his hand and positioning it on top of your right breast, encouraging him to go on with what he had started. His pupils widen further, and he squeezes your tit roughly, eliciting a moan from you. “I think I’ve found him.”

Logan scans your face, searching for any sign of repentance in your expression. “I’m going to hell for this,” he murmurs under his breath, his hard-on noticeable through his tented sweatpants. “Lay down.” You obey his command, easing yourself onto the couch, and sinking into the cushions as he presses himself to your side.

He peppers your neck with kisses, playing with the waistband of your shorts. “I’m not gonna kiss you, but I’ll make you feel good. Just this time, ‘kay? And we don’t talk about it.”

You accept his offer, knowing that you’ll probably regret it in a couple of hours. Right now, it doesn’t matter. You need his electrifying touch, his fingers, his—

With a swift motion, your shorts are yanked down your legs, and his calloused hands part your thighs even wider. A damp spot on your underwear sells you out, and his thumb rubs gentle circles over that area, causing you to lift your hips.

“So this is what you look like when you touch yourself, huh?” He edges his fingers closer to your clit, his breath tickling your ear, and he dips his tongue into your collarbone. “I hear you all the fuckin’ time. You’re not as quiet as you think.”

It should embarrass you, the fact that he has listened to you pleasuring yourself. But in a moment like this, it only succeeds in fuelling your desire. “Please. You said you’d make me feel good.”

“And I will, but you’re greedy as hell,” he says, his movements more deliberate now. You feel hot all over as he pulls your panties to the side, exposing your glistening cunt.

Logan’s on the verge of drooling all over you, reaching for your folds and spreading your wetness. “Men aren’t strong creatures, honey. You’ve got no idea how hard it is to hold back.”

“D-don’t hold back,” you stutter, losing your composure when he returns to your clit, his fingers coated in your arousal while they flick your swollen bud. “Oh, Logan…”

“You make the prettiest sounds,” he rasps, mouthing at your jaw, though as you try to kiss him, he slows his pace. “What’s wrong? Am I not giving you enough?”

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” you whisper, fascinated by how big his fingers look in comparison to your pussy. “I’m just—”

“Needy, I know,” he finishes for you, and he picks up his merciless rhythm again. Heat pools in your lower abdomen, and you can’t help but arch your back every time he teases you, grazing your entrance with his middle finger. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

You dig your nails into his arm, relishing the way his body responds to your touch. He grinds his cock against your hip, his teeth nipping at the column of your neck. “I want to come. Please, make me come,” you sob, letting out a shaky breath.

A thin sheen of sweat covers your forehead, and Logan locks eyes with you after what feels like an eternity. “Please, Lo.”

The nickname snaps something inside of him. His fingers circle your clit with a fervency you hadn’t experienced before, your pleasure seemingly being his primary focus. “The shit I’d do for you.”

You warn him, telling him you’re close—so so so close—until the fire in your belly flares, and blood rushes to your ears. You collapse against him, holding his hand firmly against your core, hips jerking as you ride your orgasm.

The world narrows down to this—this moment, your most desired fantasy.

Logan holds you as you go limp in his arms, rubbing your clit ever so slightly, murmuring soft praises. “Y’did so good, sweetheart,” he whispers, planting a kiss on your temple, burying his nose in your hair. You’re still out of breath, the pulsing between your parted legs persisting long after your release. “Told you you weren’t quiet.”

A giggle bubbles up from your chest, his beard tickling you as he slides his hands up under your shirt, finding your nipples.

“It was n-nice,” you tell him, your voice faltering the more he toys with your hardened peaks. Your skin heats up again, heart racing at the thought that he isn’t done with you yet.

“Just nice?” One of his hands makes its way back into your pussy, ghosting his fingers over your hole, and he smirks when he feels you squirm. “You surely know how to hurt a man’s pride.”

“I wasn’t—I didn’t mean to—” You can’t structure a proper sentence, not when he’s playing with you like this.

Logan rubs your arousal between his fingers, as though he wants you to see how slick you still are, even after coming. “Are you going to touch me again?”

He hums, feigning uncertainty. “What do you think, baby? Should I make you come with my fingers now?”

It’s like a switch flips in your mind. He knows exactly how to make you beg and which buttons to push, using that power to his advantage. “Yes, please. I want it,” you plead, intending to buck your hips into his touch, impatient for more.

“Do you fuck yourself with your fingers?”

“Sometimes, but I can never finish—Oh my God.” He slips one finger inside you, causing you to curse, your voice barely above a whisper. You clench around the intrusion, your head falling back onto the cushions. “Fuck me.”

“In a minute.” He begins to thrust his finger in and out, gathering your juices every time he goes back to hammering that sweet spot in your interior. Soon, one finger becomes two, and he reduces you to a panting mess.

Tears threaten to swell in your eyes, and you whine as he involves his other hand in the matter, furiously rubbing your clit. “Your fingers feel much better than m-mine, Lo.”

“I can tell.” He curls them just right, and you push back against his thrusts, tilting your pelvis to meet him halfway. “There you go. Take what you need, sweetheart. I’m right here, I’ve got you.”

Everything feels frenzied, fast, the way your inner walls spam and contract around his fingers as you chase your second climax.

Once you come down from your high, your blurred vision catches him tugging the waistband of his sweatpants down. His cock springs free, and he fists himself, stroking his length angrily.

You watch as some pre-cum dribbles from the head, and you lean forward, watching it closely.

“You look goddamn beautiful when you come, darlin’,” he murmurs through gritted teeth, his jaw clenched tight. Hovering over you, he rucks your shirt up until he can see your tits from above. He alternates between your breasts, squeezing them while he continues to stroke his girth. “Want to see these all dirty.”

Logan truly loses it when your hand reaches out to him, tracing a bulging vein near the head of his cock. You meet his lustful gaze, batting your lashes, and then you feel his come splashing against your bare chest, a choked moan escaping Logan’s throat, spurts of his hot seed landing on your skin.

“Fuckin’ hell… fuck,” he grunts, still tugging at his cock, enamored with the masterpiece he’s created. When it’s finally over, he lies beside you, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. You run your fingers through his hair, and he nuzzles further into your touch with a groan. “I’m too old for this.”

Minutes pass as both of you seem to grasp the gravity of what has just happened. Eventually, Logan rises to his feet, disappearing for a brief moment before coming back with a towel to wipe his come off your stomach and chest.

He’s gentle with you, his gaze trained on his task until his eyes flick up to meet yours.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says, pulling your shorts back up.

“Like what?”

“Like you want to see right through me.” He adjusts your shirt to cover your body again, but the towel remains in his hand, a reminder of the previous events.

I’m not gonna kiss you, but I’ll make you feel good. Just this time, ‘kay? And we don’t talk about it.

You don’t have to talk about it. You definitely don’t.

Two days later, he’s the one who comes looking for you.

You’re nearly asleep when he knocks on your door. “Come in,” you mumble, a bit of drool having dampened your pillow. You dry your mouth with the back of your hand, your back turned to the door.

He steps into your room cautiously, as if navigating a minefield. The mattress dips under his weight. “Were you sleeping?” he asks, caressing your leg over the covers.

You shift onto your back, your body responding before your mind. There’s no blood on his clothes—that makes you feel a bit better, and you shake your head.

“Good.” He looms closer, fumbling with his belt. His thumb applies little pressure to your lower lip, and your mouth parts to let him in, salivating.

This is just like Pavlov’s dog experiment—except that Logan isn’t an experimenter, and you aren’t a dog.

Yet, when he approaches you like this, you can’t help but respond, settling into a routine where you both take take take from each other.

Logan doesn’t fuck you, even when you beg him to. He gets you off with his fingers, his thigh, his mouth—but his cock remains out of the equation.

“Just the tip,” you plead, voice laced with pure need, when he’s got his face nestled between your legs.

As he stops eating you out, his beard shiny with your arousal, he’s still got that angry look on his face. Your cries don’t get to him.

“That lie’s older than me.” He slips his fingers back inside you, aiming to make you drop the subject. “Come on, baby. Gotta get ready for work, but you need to come first.”

Nor does he stay the night after telling you you’re the most gorgeous girl he’s ever seen in his life. Just when you think he’s fallen asleep, his legs intertwined with yours and one of his large hands under your head, you drift off.

By the time morning comes, he’s gone. You just know that when night falls, he’ll be back for more, drawn to you like a moth to a flame.

Despite all that, Logan won’t kiss you. He keeps his promise, and you hate how determined he is.

“Not even once?” you ask him one night while going over the scars on his back. You’re in his bed this time, and he has his nose buried in his pillow, moments away from dozing off.

“No,” he answers, squirming slightly under your touch. “I’m tired. Stop doing that.”

“How did you get this one?” You trace one scar that’s close to his shoulder, resting your chin just inches from it.

He turns his face to see your eyes. “Well, I was doing Pilates, and I—Hey!” He laughs when you pinch the skin near his ribs, tickling him. “I don’t even remember. Must’ve got it a long time ago.”

“Did it hurt?” It’s a dumb question, but he doesn’t mention it.

His index finger grazes your cheek, and he chuckles at the way your eyelids flutter. “In the past, they all did. But not anymore,” he replies, though you wish you could believe him.

You know he’s in pain most days. That when he goes down on you, and he’s on his knees for too long, he has trouble standing up without cursing. That no amount of alcohol, or his healing ability, helps him with it.

You kiss each of his scars before curling against his side, brushing your nose against his. “And now?” Your eyes fall to his lips, silently hoping he’ll say Yes.

Instead, he sighs. “I think we should go to sleep.”

So despite the lack of kisses, the miscommunication, and the fact that he won’t fuck you even though you know—you feel—he wants to, things are good between you.

Charles notices it, openly expressing his recent realization. “He looks happier, doesn’t he?” he asks says after winning two games of chess in a row, startling you.

“Logan, you mean?”

“Yes, my dear.”

You glance down at the board, fidgeting with the pieces. “I guess so.”

“You guess so?” he parrots your previous words, raising an eyebrow in doubt. “Look at me,” he says, and as you do it, he points a shaky finger toward your neck. “I assume mosquitos have taken a liking to you.”

Heat rises to your cheeks, your hand flying up to cover the hickey you had completely forgotten about in the first place. “Charles, I’m—“

“Are you happy?” he interrupts you, and you nod, because you are.

A nagging thought lingers at the back of your mind. You don’t know if you’re asking for too much, but it still feels like something’s missing.

One morning, you accidentally overhear a conversation between them. The door of the tank is ajar, and right before you step inside, you recognize Logan’s voice in the distance.

“Charles, I’m fine, alright? I don’t need your advice.”

There’s a pause before Charles responds. “You know, Logan… this is what life looks like. You should take a moment and feel it. You still have time.”

Logan doesn’t say anything in response to that. And if he does, you don’t stick around long enough find out, because you’re already turning on your heel.

A poet once said: “Blowjobs are fucking amazing.”

Actually, you might be wrong. Those may not have been a poet’s words, but your best friend Keira’s from high school.

You remember the sleepovers at her place—she had a boyfriend at the time, a boy she had met at a party you hadn’t been invited to.

“Welcome to blowjobs 101,” she had declared one night, holding a hairbrush like a microphone. “Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ll tell you everything you need to know when the moment comes.”

Luckily, many years later, that moment arrived.

Just ten minutes ago, you were cooking dinner, sniffling back tears while chopping onions, so lost in thought that you didn’t realize Logan was already home.

He tossed his keys onto the table, hugging you from behind seconds later. You leaned back against his chest, enjoying the scratch of his beard against your sensitive skin, his lips planting soft kisses wherever they could.

“How was work?” you dropped the knife, wiping your tears as you turned to face him, throwing your arms around his neck. Logan pulled you in tighter by the waist, giving your ass a firm squeeze.

“Hell, as usual,” he looked into your eyes, finding them all glossy. “You miss me so much you started crying?”

Of course, you didn’t talk about it—but words aren’t the only ones who can convey meaning.

You’re not sure how, but one thing led to another, and now you’re on your knees, Logan’s cock filling your mouth. Your lips, swollen and red, suck hard at his tip, pulling the foreskin back, and his hips jerk deeper into your throat. “That’s it, fuck. Doin’ so good.”

Your movements are far from graceful. As a matter of fact, it’s all too sloppy and desperate. Saliva drips down your chin, some of it coating his balls, and you fondle them at the same time you bob your head.

Keira’s advice plays on repeat in your mind, and you pull out every trick you know to make Logan roll his eyes.

So far, you think you’re doing pretty great, judging by the way he’s gripping the back of your head.

“H-how is this your first time suckin’ cock?” he slurs, more to himself, his voice strangled as you make eye contact with him. He brushes your hair out of your face, bewitched by the sight of him disappearing into your wet mouth. “God, I fuckin’ love you.”

Taken aback by his sudden confession. you involuntarily gag around him. He pulls you off his cock, not even sparing you a glance, tucking himself back into his briefs. “Wait, Logan—”

“Not now,” he mutters abruptly, withdrawing into his bedroom and shutting the door behind him.

God, I fuckin’ love you.

But still, he doesn’t want to talk about it.

How bad is it to tell somebody you love them and then avoid them?

Yeah, it’s absolutely terrible, right? Tell that to the idiot himself—Logan Howlett.

It’s been over a week, and no matter how many times you press him for an explanation, he keeps dodging it.

Things go back to how they were before you two started fooling around, and Charles’ questions don’t take long to come: “I thought you two were getting somewhere.”

“Me too,” you admit, your voice quieter as you try to appear indifferent.

You have no answer for him. Not that you don’t want to discuss your relationship problems—it’s just that you don’t know what went wrong.

When evading you isn’t enough, he works longer hours, which only adds to how little you see him. At least he lets you know if he’s going to be late, sparing you from waiting up.

But apart from that, your interactions have dwindled to nothing, and it’s eating you alive.

You’re madly in love with him. You thought you knew that already, but now that he’s distant, the depth of your feelings has become clearer than ever.

He’s everywhere you go, just not physically—he has conquered your mind.

And it should be funny, loving someone who used to be no more than a myth for you. Though Logan is real—maybe too real for your own good—and he hasn’t been the mutant you once read about for quite some time.

This morning, he’s having breakfast at the table when you walk into the kitchen. You hold your breath as your shoulders brush for a microsecond, his gaze following your steps.

You’re no longer accustomed to sharing the same space with him, so it makes sense that you stay as far away as possible.

After an awkward silence, he stands up and mutters something about checking on Charles and giving him his meds, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

It’s infuriating, how collected he seems. Why isn’t he miserable like you? Doesn’t he miss you? Didn’t you two have something… special?

I’m not gonna kiss you, but I’ll make you feel good. Just this time, ‘kay? And we don’t talk about it.

The shit I’d for you.

God, I fuckin’ love you.

Not now.

The memory of his words lingers, seared into your unconscious, though the sound of his phone jolts you out of your thoughts.

It’s ringing beside the coffee machine, and you try to ignore it, determined to be the bigger person.

But after five minutes of the relentless ringtone echoing in the empty kitchen, you’ve had enough.

Unknown caller—interesting. What could he possibly be hiding?

Charles, you better keep that asshole busy, you think to yourself, swiping right to answer the call.

Before you can say anything, a woman’s voice fills the line.

“James! Thank God. It’s Gillian. You didn’t reply to any of my texts, and I was starting to get worried,” she lets out a giggle, the sound grating against your nerves.

As your grip on the phone tightens, your knuckles start to go white.

“Look, I know you said you weren’t available, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since that ride. I didn’t see any ring on your finger, so what do you say, huh? Will you let me take you out?”

Red. You’re seeing red.

“James? Hello? Cat got your tongue?”

At last, you clear your throat. “Hey,” you greet her, pacing around the kitchen. “I’m deeply sorry, but James can’t talk right now.”

“Excuse me?” she snaps, her high-pitched voice echoing through the speakers, and you pull the device away from your ear. “This is James’ number. Who the fuck are you?”

“Oh, I’ll tell you who the fuck I am, you intolerant piece of—”

Before you can finish, the phone is yanked out of your hand, the call hastily ending.

There is no use in playing dumb, not when Logan’s standing right in front of you, observing you like you’re a child who’s made a severe mistake.

His deep, brown eyes pierce your soul, shattering any chance you had of coming up with an excuse.

“What where you doing with my phone?” It’s the first thing he asks you, his voice still steady, the calm before the storm.

Perhaps you’re not as mature as you thought you were—your forehead furrows, unwilling to back down, and you fall silent. He takes a step forward, as if he can’t believe your attitude. “Think I asked you somethin’. Why did you answer?”

“Gillian sounds like a lovely lady. Tell her I said ‘Hi’ the next time you see her,” you croak, attempting to walk past him, but he doesn’t budge, his solid frame blocking your path. You collide with his chest, and it feels like trying to move a brick wall without success.

“We’re talking. You can’t just leave.”

The nerve of this man.

“You can’t be serious,” you retort, staring at him, wishing the emotion in your tone could capture even a fraction of what you’re truly feeling. “Weren’t you the one who walked away first? After telling me you loved me?”

You search for any sign of the man who once held you close, but he feels miles away, hidden under all these layers that smell like cheap whiskey and gasoline. “You didn’t mean it.”

“I did. I meant every word,” he growls, his fists clenching at his sides, and you don’t miss the exhaustion in his eyes, the dark circles that expose the fragile façade of control he’s so desperate to maintain. “Goddamit! You’re doing that thing again!”

“What thing?” you exclaim, your mouth hanging open in frustration. “What the fuck are you talking about? I’m not doing anything.”

“Yes, you are! You’re trying to see through me, like you can read my mind.”

“Well, sorry to disappoint, but I’m not a fucking mutant. I just have eyes, Logan.” You throw your arms up, exasperated. “People actually look at each other when they have a conversation, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“You’re testing my patience,” he mutters, rubbing a hand over his face.

“And you are testing mine.” You rest your back against the table, raising your chin. “So, who is she?”

Logan drops his shoulders, slamming his eyes shut. “I drove her once, last week. It was a long ride and she… wouldn’t stop talking. Didn’t shut up for a single second. She hit on me, but I told her I’m off the market.”

“Why? ‘Cause she talked too much?”

“No. Because I love you,” he says, pure awe transforming his expression, like he doesn’t believe he has said it out loud. “I don’t know when I started feeling like this, or if I’ve always felt it, but—I do. I love you.”

Oh.

You had heard those words slip through his lips before, but now they sound different. It might be that keeping him at arm's length has felt like death by a thousand cuts, or perhaps it’s the realization that this is the first time someone’s declaring their love for you.

Fuck. He loves you. As in, he’s in love with you?

“Then why do you keep running?” You edge closer to him, your eyes trained on his. “I’m done with the chase, Logan. It’s tiring—I am tired. I’ve been sleeping like shit, trying to figure out what—”

His arms surround your body, cutting you off and pulling you close. The hammering of his heart matches yours, and you return the hug, nuzzling your nose against his neck.

You fear that this might be all you’ve ever needed, feeling as if the pieces he took from you in the past are finally falling back into place.

Logan holds you as if in a past life he lost you, but now, he’s decided to never let you go.

This profound sense of completeness, of being where you’re meant to be, makes you realize you’ve found home in the warmth of his embrace.

“I’m sorry. This… this scares me, alright?” he murmurs next to your ear, raking his fingers through your hair. “You make me feel things I didn’t think I could feel anymore. That’s what I’m running from—the part of me I thought was gone. But you… you brought it back.”

You feel a deep urge to curl up and cry, wondering why on earth he would ever think he was unworthy of being cared for. “Logan, I…”

“I sound pathetic, I know. It sounded way better in my head.”

“Don’t you dare say that.” You retreat a bit, looking him in the eye. He stares down at you with a tenderness you’ve never seen before. “It’s not pathetic to voice how you feel. I want to know it all, want to know everything about you.”

“Everything?”

“Yes, everything. But I need you to promise me that you won’t run away anymore. I know it’s difficult, but it’s not fair to any of us.”

His eyes peer directly into yours, and he gives a nod. “I promise to do my best.” He presses your foreheads together, and that’s when his mouth turns into a grin. “You’re not going to say it back?” he teases, gripping your waist. “Come on, I said it first. Twice, for the record.”

Lifting your shoulders in a half-shrug, you find it hard to conceal your smile. “I may need a bit more convincing.”

Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me.

Before you know it, his lips are on yours, almost making you lose your balance. You whimper into his mouth, tightening your arms around his neck as his tongue wastes no time in finding yours, stroking it sensually.

The wait had been definitely worth it—you’d do everything all over again if it meant having him kiss you like this at the end of the day.

He tilts your face so that he can deepen the kiss, and a whine gets caught in your throat when his fingers pull gently at the hair at your nape, nibbling at your bottom lip.

“I love you, too. Very much, to be honest,” you blurt out against his mouth, pleased with the way he laughs at your reaction, squeezing your hips. “But I still have some ideas in mind.”

“I’m all ears.”

Here goes nothing. “Fuck me like I’ve been asking you to.” You cup his cheek, guiding his lips into yours one more time. “Please,” you mewl, standing on your tiptoes. “Want you to be my first.”

If it were up to you, you would’ve begged him to take you right there on the kitchen floor. But Logan, ever the gentleman, insists on moving things to his room.

Each of his movements is slow, igniting your skin with a burning heat, leaving his name imprinted where his teeth sink into your soft flesh.

You’re left in nothing but your underwear by the time he murmurs: “Let me take my time with you.” He trails his lips down your chest, your stomach, until he’s planting several kisses along your ankle. “I don’t know how I got so lucky, baby. Look at you.”

Under his gaze, you feel shy, your eyes snapping to the ceiling instead. “Shut up,” you say, tugging at his shirt to undress him, your fingers tracing the lines of his abdomen before you pull him into a bruising kiss, sucking on his tongue.

He strips out of his black slacks and hovers over you, his clothed cock grinding against your throbbing core, eliciting a moan from both of you. “So goddamn beautiful. Can’t believe you’re mine.” His tip grazes your entrance through the fabric, making your toes curl in ectasy. “I’m gonna make you feel good, I swear.”

At first, he’s extremely careful, making sure to stretch you out with his fingers while you stroke him, pumping your fist to match his rhythm. “Keep that up and this’ll be over sooner than expected,” he warns, taking one of your nipples into his mouth.

It doesn’t happen like it does in the books or movies. No foreplay could’ve prepared you for the moment he enters you.

You move clumsily beneath him, your nose bumping into his forehead as he eases the first inch of his length inside.

For a moment, you’re not certain which hurts most: the dull ache in your nose or the way he’s splitting you open.

Logan freezes, his eyes wide in concern. “Shit. I’m sorry, sweetheart. Are you okay?” His hand cradles your face as he props himself up on one forearm, pushing your hair back while you adjust to his size. You laugh despite the sting, and he wipes away your tears with his thumb. “You’re laughin’?”

“I’m just happy,” you manage to get through the lump in your throat, raking your nails down his back, feeling the rough texture of the scars beneath your fingers. “I love you. Since that day at the bar, I—” you pause for a second, gasping at the sudden wave of pleasure when he twitches inside you. “I’ll always l-love you. Forever.”

As you wrap your legs around his waist and tell him you’re ready, something inside him shifts.

He feels like a madman, his eyes fixed on your face the whole time, searching for any hint of discomfort, though he occasionally glances down at the place where your bodies meet and become one, entranced by the sight of you taking him in, slick coating his length.

Your heels dig into his lower back, pulling him back to the present—back to you, with your pretty tits bouncing each time he pistols his hips, the intensity of his thrusts increasing.

“All those times you took care of me, when you—Fuck,” he groans, nipping at your jaw to regain some of his composure, his humid breath dampening your skin. Your scent drives him wild, and he reaches for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. “You made me feel loved when no one else did. My girl, love you so f-fucking much.”

His pace is nothing more than a voiceless testament to everything he feels but can’t find words to express.

With each minute that passes, your dripping cunt grips him tighter and tighter, his thrusts losing finesse. He needs you to come first—why does he feel like a virgin?

When you tell him you’re close, the world around him turns into a musical. You cling to the sheets, the mattress creaking noisily as he clutches the headboard, determined to find that angle that will push you over the edge.

“That’s it, sing for me,” Logan mutters from above, hypnotized by the crease forming between your brows. “Come on, let go.”

Time seems to slow down as your muscles tense and you clamp around him, your body sagging against him. His name spills from your lips in breathy whimpers, like an endless prayer, and your mouth engulfs his, tongues and teeth clashing in a fevered kiss.

Soon after that, he surrenders to the coiling tension deep within him, pulling out just in time to stroke himself once, twice, before emptying his hot load across your mound.

You gently thumb the head of his cock, coaxing out every last drop of his hot seed. He’s panting as he comes down from his high, his brain foggy and blissfully blank for a while.

Logan loses track of how many times he tells you he loves you—he does it when he pulls you into his chest, when his lips press against your temple, and when you crack that smile, the one that resembles the very purpose of his existence.

“So this is what it feels like.” His voice sounds low like a murmur near your ear, and you stir, half-asleep.

“Hmm?”

“Nothing, baby. Just thinkin’ aloud.”

You don’t have to talk about it, at least not now. Deep down, he knows that whatever thoughts run through his mind will somehow find their way into yours.

This is what life looks like. You should take a moment and feel it. You still have time.

And God, is he feeling it.

dividers by: @cafekitsune thank you!!! :)

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pears-trinkets · 11 months ago

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#i just wanna have artist friends again to talk about art and hype each other up o(-(#share techniques and fandoms and have ocs together #i feel like i cant do art or feelings on my own anymore i need someone to feel it with me #but also depending on people like that is unfair so i stopped doing it and my heart was shattered into a million pieces #i had so many issues drawing the past 4 years and i only have one friend and they dont draw and are aq #are awkward with words but when i send them a photo of me trying to draw they literally didnt say anything and that was just :')#ive been struggling so much because of twitter and everyone i knew seeing my breakdown 4 years ago and knowing how many bridges i burned #and how difficult it is for me to draw at all and then share my art online and my friend told me its okay just share it with me #and when they dont say anything in me screams and feels so rejected i want to never talk to anyone ever again #im literally a shell of a human struggling with everything im a trauma response on two legs #and i wanna channel that into my two oc boys both being traumatized and leaning on each other but that also makes me feel so vulnerable #i feel like my existence is so pointless and just a burden on everyone who ever crossed paths with me #i imagine everyone i ever knew just talking badly about me how obnoxious i am and how selfish and ignorant and hurtful #and how happy they are about my downfall #im on mental sick leave and have finally a bit of time to catch my breath and im drawing again and feel better but i need to return to work #i cant do this #im so privileged and i still feel so bad and its so hard #i feel like every privilege i have will be followed by the most gruesome horrible thing because i dont deserve it and im unworthy of it #i dont think ill ever be able to build normal human relationships ever again ill shrivel up alone and die without anyone caring #while my mom is telling me im doing it on purpose and because i reject everyone #why is existing to painful and why am i doing worse worse doing it

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chuluoyi · 7 months ago

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𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐋𝐘 (𝐔𝐍)𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋

- sylus x reader

master and servant. man and his right hand woman. you and sylus are labeled many things, but does love exist in many labels of your relationship?

genre/warnings: 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—angst, fluff, unrequited love, explicit smut, fwb, jealousy, hurt/comfort, description of major injury, blood loss, gore, assassin!reader (not l&ds mc), spoilers! takes place throughout long-awaited revelry

note: my very first love and deepspace fic! :') w.c 5.2k ! i have a severe brainrot omg

Everyone knows of your relationship with Sylus.

The leader of Onychinus and his notorious lady assassin, you two strike fear into his foes and allies alike. You are as deadly as you are beautiful, and that's more or less why he keeps you around.

What everyone doesn't know, however... is that behind closed doors, you too share his wealth and his bed.

“I don't mind to spend the whole night with you,” he’d whisper in your ear seductively at nights, deft and veiny hands roaming your body all over. He often made you ride on top of him, dark burgundy eyes hazed with lust, knowing full well that you desired the very same goal he did.

And you’d respond his hunger with the same fervor, crashing your lips into his, your tongues intertwining, your hips moving vigorously against him.

“Ahh... ah!” Before you knew it, his cock—thick and long in size—slid inside you in such a snug fit, making you throw your head back and dig your sharp nails into his skin.

“Keep me going with your voice, kitten.” Sylus growled, eyeing your wobbling lips and tightly-pressed eyes as he sank even deeper inside you. “Yeah, just like that...”

Sylus always began roughly, seemingly not minding your breathless moans and wishes, and you liked him that way too—

“Is this... all you've got?” you panted in a hoarse voice, sweat lining your neck and forehead, the coil in your belly tightened so deliciously each time he thrusted into you. “Surely... y-you can do better...”

“Ha,” he gave a low snort, his red eyes blazing as he grabbed your bum and squeezed it, making you gasp. “Careful what you wish for... sweetie.”

And then your vision literally tilted upside down—Sylus gladly flipped your position so he could see you even better. This way, he also had even better access to you, intertwining your hand with his, spreading your legs wide so he could rut into you.

“—!” Breath was knocked out of your lungs as immeasurable pleasure washed over you, crashing and receding in an instant. You almost screamed as your back arched.

He broke into a satisfied smirk. “Let it out,” he murmured against your neck, biting gently into your skin, voice muffled. “You never hold back with me, do you, hmm? So, don’t start now.”

“You b-bastard...” you looked up at him with a breathless smile, knowing how close you were to losing your wits.

He simply made your nights worth remember. His allure was undeniable, with a voice that was naturally sultry. And his hands... fuck, they did heaven's work.

It didn't take you long to finally reach your climax, and once you did, your moans were the nastiest all night as you continuously lined his back with scratches.

You could feel how he was chasing his own orgasm all the while, before pulling out right at the last minute and made a mess on your belly, falling beside you.

“Tired?” Sylus’ chest rumbled with laughter as you laid sprawled there in a haze. His eyes narrowed at the sight of your burning cheeks. “I really like this look on your face right now.”

You rolled your eyes, catching your breath and shivered. “I bet you tell that to all other women you manage to lure to your bed.”

“How presumptuous.” He sent you a sour scowl. “I have a high standard— you should consider yourself lucky.”

Well, you do. Holding back a smile, you changed the topic. “I’m cold. Clean me up already.”

“Now, now… what a spoiled little thing you are…” Sylus chuckled, his voice deep and low, yet wrapping his arms around you nonetheless, hoisting you up.

Nights of passion. Mutually beneficial relationship. Nothing more and less.

No strings attached.

This is thrilling. Intimacy without commitment is more than enough to spice your checkered life. After all, what could be better and more rewarding than fucking the hottest man in N109 Zone and getting away with it?

At least, you thought so.

. . .

“Damn, you’re going to make me sore…” you grumbled, letting out a deep sigh as you sank into the sheets after he had cleaned you up, still basking in the afterglow and ready to drift off to sleep. “Ahh...”

Sylus’ lips curved into a wry smile as he watched you make yourself comfortable on his bed, slipping on his black shirt. “Well, I’m just that good, and you did ask for it.”

“Are you going out?” you asked in a small voice, teetering between sleep and wakefulness as you noticed him taking out his favorite gun. “It’s midnight.”

“Luke and Kieran said she has arrived.” Sylus said in low voice, not even sparing you a look. “After all, she has gone through all that trouble to come here, it is only right that I greet her myself.”

The woman. Sylus had told you several times, how a woman with Aether Core and powerful Resonance Evol would eventually come to N109 Zone. And that when the time came, he would make her resonate with him.

A part of you didn’t really know what to feel about this vague plan of his. “Will you bring her here too?”

“I’ll have her stay here until we have reached resonance,” he responded casually while shrugging on his coat.

Sylus valued others depending on their worth. He said it so himself—he isn't a philanthropist. He saw potential in your evol—the Speech Manipulation—which is why he rescued you three years ago, even after you had swung a blade to his throat.

This time must be the same. You played with the edges of your hair. “Well, consider me jealous then. Seems like I’ll have a rival soon.”

Your quip finally caught his attention, as he finally turned to you, one side of his mouth upturned.

“Ha.” Sylus strolled over to where you lay on the bed and placed a hand under your chin, letting out a throaty chuckle. “Is there even anyone brave enough to go against you?”

You shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. “We shall see about that.”

Little did you know, the coming of this new girl would be the start of the undoing of your mutually beneficial relationship.

You would've expected the woman bearing Aether Core inside her to be way more interesting than that clueless, weak and easily spooked hunter from Linkon City.

But your and Sylus' definitions of interesting clearly differed though, as you caught him smiling after he pulled the most outrageous stunt on himself— having her shoot him right in the heart.

“She is funny,” he said to himself, almost snickering even as you wiped the blood off his toned body. “She was shaking so much the moment I pulled the trigger.”

“Is that your only finding—” you snapped as you wrapped the bandage around his bare chest, fuming. “—after shooting yourself just to mess with her?”

Luke and Kieran told you how he had used his Evol to pull the hunter girl onto his lap, then handed her a gun and made her shoot him. You couldn't believe it at first, until the sight of Sylus staggering to his bedroom, his shirt bloodied and clutching his chest made you almost scream in horror.

“Is that really necessary?” you scowled, tightening the bandage with more force than needed. “Or are you just trying to get her attention?”

Sylus’ sharp gaze settled on you then, seemingly not taking your comment well.

“What’s got you so worked up about this, hmm?” he asked, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he observed your cross expression. “Last I checked, we agreed not to get involved in each other’s personal affairs.”

Personal affairs, he said? Everything you two had done had long past breached all personal boundaries.

But the fact remains that you two are nothing more than—

“Fine.” You tied the bandage abruptly and about to storm off, making no effort to conceal your ire. You couldn’t say you were worried or that you hated seeing blood smeared across him. That was never in the agreement.

Until you felt a hard tug on your arm—

“And where does the angry kitty think she is going, hmm?”

Before you could discern it, your back was pressed against the wall—your left arm pinned beside your head, with Sylus filling your view.

His sculpted abs were right in front of you for the taking, his scent permeated the air, and his unsettling swirls of crimson eyes had you completely captivated.

“Have I ever told you that you look beautiful when you’re angry?” Sylus laughed as he leaned in, gripping your chin with his other hand. “If I didn’t know you were more than capable of slitting my throat in my sleep, I’d want you to look at me like this every day.”

It struck you how your heart raced wildly under his intense gaze. With his perfect face so close, the only sound that seemed to be most prominent was the pounding of your own heartbeat.

“What’s wrong? We’ve been closer than this,” Sylus taunted with a wide grin, his breath warm against your ear as he pressed his body against yours. “What’s making you so nervous?”

If you knew anything about Sylus, it was that he took pleasure in seeing you squirm in his hold. You glared daggers at him. “I hate you.”

“How lovely.”

“You’re infuriating,” you spat, devoid of any amusement.

He barked a satisfied bout of laugh once again, before releasing your chin. However, to your surprise, that very same hand groped your chest roughly—

“Then perhaps...” he hummed, a wicked glint in his red eyes, whispering to you with sultry voice right before he pulled you into him and devour your lips in heat: “You can help to fix me, sweetie.”

His kisses were hot as his tongue and hands made his mark on your body. Pressed against his bare skin, you gripped his strong, broad shoulders as he lifted your legs to his waist.

As always, he managed to dissolve all your lingering thoughts with lust. You just never knew one day you would finally reach the last straw though.

. . .

"Are you going out again tonight?" you muttered, tracing your fingers along his abs as you lay in his arms, still a bit giddy after your passionate session.

"No, I'm sleepy," he replied quickly, his voice low as he pulled you closer and closed his eyes. "Go to sleep already, kitten."

"I can't sleep."

"Poor you. I can though."

You quirked a frown at him. "You're so annoying these days."

"Oh?" Sylus cracked his eyes open, a smirk on his lips. "If you find me so disagreeable, you can always make me obey you, no?"

Your speech manipulation could make people do your bidding and it was a pretty useful talent. Apart from the first day you met Sylus three years ago in the wasteland of N109 Zone, you had never tried using it on him again.

"I won't, you idiot." You sighed and turned away, your back facing him. The idea of bending him to your will somehow didn't sit right with you. It was against your conscience now.

"Why are you facing away? It's freezing," he grumbled almost in a petulant voice. You nearly rolled your eyes, until you felt his strong arms wrap around your middle from behind.

"Why are you hugging me? We’re not usually this touchy after sex."

"I'm telling you, I'm cold, and you're my heat pillow."

"You're so damn insufferable..."

Despite your sharp retort, a smile found its way to your face. Moments like this were rare, and when he was the one seeking you, you couldn't help these butterflies in your stomach. Still...

You two are not in love, dammit. Sometimes it confused you a great deal. What is love anyway?

“Caw, caw, caw!”

“Mephisto, shush.”

Sylus’ robotic pet crow had surprisingly taken a liking to you shortly after you began living in the base. He obeyed your commands just as he did with his owner. The same couldn’t be said for Miss Hunter though, as Mephisto seemed to have a strong dislike for her.

You were idling at the living room with the crow when you realized how close it was to dawn.

“Luke, Kieran,” you called to the twins, who were bickering over a crate of oranges, frowning. “Where did Sylus go?”

Both stopped and looked at you, and Kieran blurted out, “Boss? Oh, he went out with Miss Hunter!”

You supposed you shouldn’t be surprised, but you were nonetheless. “And he still hasn’t come back?”

“Ah, yeah... but I think they just went on a short errand. He’s probably back or already on his way?” Luke mused, and you clicked your tongue.

It irritated you, it gnawed at you—how Sylus had been spending so much time with that hunter these days. He was trying to make her resonate with him, but still, the way you saw it, he was going through his playbook—

Just as he had done when he pursued you.

Calling her “kitten”, “sweetie”... everything he did with her seemed like a replay of the first year you spent in this place.

Deep down, perhaps you had hoped that, in some way, Sylus would see you as you saw him. Love might be out of reach in your bleak existences, but you at least wished he would consider you an irreplaceable presence.

You were petty, and you knew it.

“Mephisto,” you whispered to the cooing crow as it turned to you pliantly. “Go find and bother her, okay? Don’t let her out of your sight,” you added, letting the bird fly away on your command.

Deciding to rest in his room, you left the living room with a sense of exhaustion. You had stayed up for Sylus on a whim, as he had promised to share his plans for the upcoming auction soon. However, sleeping at dawn was giving you frequent headaches, and the habit was wearing on you.

You took a bath and then headed to his bedroom, and you would have never guessed what scene you'd walk into—

Sylus, in his bathrobe, and that girl… nestled against his chest on his bed. The very same bed where you two made out just the other night.

“Y/N?” Sylus looked at you over the girl’s shoulder, and you were frozen on the spot, feeling an indescribable rush of emotions washing over you.

In the next moment, the hunter girl scrambled away from him in panic, her face flushed with shame. “I-it’s not what it looks like! I swear! Sylus— I was just trying to find his brooch and—!”

In that instant, something inside you turned ice-cold. Her frantic explanations—none of it registered to you. The fact that he let her into his bed was enough for you.

You weren’t sure if Sylus noticed, but your eyes darkened, your fists clenched, and a storm raged within your chest.

“Sorry for intruding,” you said frostily, cutting her off and casting a contemptuous glance at both of them before turning on your heel and slamming the door shut.

It was no use, you finally realized. In this twisted relationship you two shared, there could never be anything more than hot sex and flirtations.

Somehow it hurt more deeply than you expected, as though your heart were being scorched. Yet, you couldn’t even find the tears to cry—as you weren't allowed to do so.

Sylus noticed the change in you immediately.

You vanished from the base and returned in the evening, not sparing him even a look and he could tell then that you had come back a different woman.

And it was the part he hated the most. These days, he couldn't read you at all.

"Luke and Kieran, keep an eye on her tonight," he instructed his two underlings as the two of them were getting ready.

"Who? Miss Hunter?" Luke questioned.

"Or the missus?" Kieran supplied.

Both of them liked you as well. Unlike him, you’d spend your free time indulging their nonsense, and over time, they even gave you that friendly moniker.

They didn't really know the nature of your physical relationship though. Or at least, didn't really know fully.

"The latter," Sylus gruffly replied, and then he went to the hunter girl to prepare her as well.

He had a justified explanation. If you had asked him, he would tell you nothing had happened. Your ire was better than silence, definitely a hundred times better than this.

But why didn't you come to him?

And why does he want you to come and demand him for an explanation?

However, tonight was the auction for the Aether Core. He had to finish this first before he could get a word with you later.

At least that was what Sylus had thought... until he saw you at the auction venue.

You were stunning in that black cocktail dress. He didn’t know when you had your hair done, but you looked as if you had spent the entire day preparing for this occasion despite having barely two hours after coming back. You were definitely a head-turner, drawing the attention of many vermin as you navigated the ballroom with grace and everlasting smile.

And it grated at him. Severely. Sylus's eyes were locked on each lowlife hell-bent on taking his life and desperate to get into your pants, knowing he would end them all tonight.

...and as if it wasn't enough, he then saw you entertaining one of them with that sort of smile you used to reserve for him.

. . .

"Mm-hm, really?"

"Yes, I've heard they are inside the safe number 209."

You coyly smirked, looking the man with mask in front of you, whom you had led to a deserted hallway, who had been complying and smiling at each and every question of yours.

"Thank you then." You flashed him your best smile, about to go back to the main hall.

"And uh, miss," he suddenly turned to you in a flurry. "I believe I haven't gotten your name—"

You chuckled, facing him again. "Oh, you want to know my name?"

"Very much so!"

This was like bread and butter to you. You effortlessly wrapped an arm around the man's neck, standing on your tiptoes, and whispered in his ear:

"Halt."

He went rigid the moment the command left your lips, and you could feel his panic rising as you pulled away.

"W-what happened—!?" he thrashed against the invisible hold manifested by your Evol in pure panic, to no avail, whereas you regarded at him with a cold smile.

"What a shame. I planned to let you be, but then you gave me the perfect opportunity." You maintained your eerie smile as you pulled out a thin, needle-like blade from the hem of your dress. "You have been a great help. Thank you."

With that, you slit his throat, and blood splattered onto the ground in a continuous pool as he jerked, collapsing like a broken statue.

You felt nothing at the sight, but you knew you weren't alone as you felt his presence.

"You started the party without me?" Sylus' deep voice resonated through the hall. "Didn't know you have that much of bloodlust this early, sweetie."

The clench of your heart was still there, even when you had decided to discard all your lingering feelings for this man. Still, you put on the perfect poker face when you met his eyes.

"I want this to be over and done with quick. I'm exhausted already."

Sylus eyed you calmly, yet somehow it felt as if the depths of those red eyes were trying to assess your soul. "Your actions said otherwise. Is flirting with him necessary?"

"You're one to talk, Boss," you scoffed at the last word. "As long as it entertains me, why isn't it?"

Sylus didn't deign you with an answer, and you decided to pour more oil into it.

"Strictly professional, no?" You lifted your chin defiantly. "Last I checked, we were not supposed to meddle in personal affairs—"

You didn't realize it until he did, because the next thing you knew, his right eye suddenly glowed with that terrifying shade of crimson. "You—!"

He has seen it all. In the three years since he took you in, Sylus had never used his Aether Core-infused right eye on you to peek into your mind. The first and only time it had happened was when he restrained you from attacking him on the day you first met.

This was the second time. And now, he knows. Of your petty feelings, of your deepest, truest desire.

At first, Sylus remained silent, but then his eyes narrowed at you, low voice booming through the hall.

"Jealousy is unbecoming on you, Y/N."

And after all that he knew, that was the only thing he could come up with?

You felt shame wash over you. You wanted to run from him. This was too much because he most definitely didn’t reciprocate your feelings, did he?

"I don't want to hear it," you resolved, the space around you felt constricting all of a sudden. You walked past him, about to break into a sprint—

Sylus immediately caught a hold of your arm though, sending a glare at you. "You—"

"It ends here," you blurted in heat. "I don't want it anymore. We're through, Sylus."

"Listen to me!"

He snarled at you, and it was the very first time he did so. However, you paid him no mind and pulled out your ace card, staring hard into his eyes. You could feel the start of his black and red mist, but your Evol was faster—

"Move."

His hold on you loosened, and he jerked back several foot away from the impact. You kept your manipulation on him, avoiding his fury-blazed eyes, bolting away before he could catch you.

. . .

The night escalated so much worse than you had imagined. Explosions and a sudden appearance of an Arbiterwings threw the whole auction into chaos.

You were fighting off the sudden wave of wanderers alone, relying solely on your blade since your voice was too hoarse to use your Evol. When one of them struck you and sent you crashing into a wall, you just sat there in a daze.

It was exhausting. Usually, Sylus would be by your side, covering your back at the very least. He wouldn't let a single scratch get to you. His black and red mist of doom would dominate the battlefield, offering you protection while at it.

You loved that bastard. It was so beyond stupid. Why did you have to ruin everything by having these feelings? If your heart was gone, would these feelings go with it too?

You got your answer sooner than you thought.

White-hot pain engulfed you when something impaled you right in the chest. The searing agony was mind-blinding, the only thing you could discern was your own wails.

No, the feelings didn’t go. Even as you teetered on the brink of death, that damned love only evolved into many regrets.

And in your final moments, you could've sworn you felt the exact moment your heart stopped beating.

"Oh my god! Luke! She is here!"

"Kieran...! Is she alive?!"

"So much blood—! Luke, call Boss! Call Boss here!"

"Boss! We found her!"

"What do we do?! Shit! It's right... in her heart..."

"What!? Boss! S-she is...! Oh lord..."

You had a dream, and it was of your first meeting with Sylus.

Three years ago, in the wasteland of N109 Zone, you were a mere scavenger until he found you. You had thought he was a threat much like others in this lawless city, so you unwittingly showcased your Evol before him in defense, until he pinned you down on the hard ground, crimson eyes holding you in place.

"I'm giving you two options: go with me and live, or die here in vain," he had told you then, a smug smile on his face. "I assure you, so long as you're still useful to me, you won't have to worry about food or roof above your head ever again."

What kind of homeless person would refuse that tempting offer?

Since you followed him, Sylus had never been untrue to his word. He made good of his words, idly engaged you in his circle, showered you with gifts, and at one point—

"You're... trying to tempt me, aren't you?" he growled amidst kisses, pinning you on his desk. Apparently, seeing you up close and personal every day in his home had worn down his patience. He was just a man, after all.

You wickedly giggled, even breathless, cradling both sides of his face and admiring those ruby eyes of his. "What if... I am?"

"Then consider me tempted, little kitten," he chuckled, his baritone voice casting a spell over you. "Remember though, curiosity can kill most cats."

Thus began your thrilling relationship, and you knew you would gladly stay with him just to have a taste of that heaven. And you knew too, he wouldn't cast you easily this way.

And of course, so long as you are useful to him, that is.

When you came to, you felt warm, and your position was so comfortable that you were almost lulled back to sleep.

At first, it didn't register to you where you were. The scene before you was so familiar, but you were so lethargic that you were late to recognize it.

"Awake?"

Sylus' bedroom. The realization dawned on you as that deep, low voice questioned you flatly. You jerked instinctively, looking up at him as he came into view, holding a glass of wine.

He was still the same. Even with you out of commission, he would still indulge himself with his wine. Somehow you couldn't really pinpoint what you should feel about it.

However, Sylus then did the thing you didn't expect him to. He went back to his pantry to get a glass of water, and then he came to your side to prop you up.

"Drink," he commanded, positioning the glass on your chapped lips. You complied and did so, feeling relief for your throat. Once you were finished, he gently laid you back on the bed and tucked you in, never once taking his eyes off you.

"How are you feeling?"

"Have been better," you quipped dryly. Then it dawned on you that he had never been this gentle with you before. He was showing care, which confirmed one theory you had about him: Sylus could be considerate when he chose to be.

The very fact that you ended back here didn't really faze you much, because in the end, you belonged to him out of all people. Just one thing that still didn't make sense in your mind: "What did you do?"

His burgundy eyes squared at you. "What?"

"There’s no way I could've survived that," you mumbled, trying to gauge his reaction. "You must’ve done something."

“Ha, when it comes to these things, you’re sharp,” Sylus said with a light scoff, and you frowned.

"Answer me."

"Aether Core," he supplied. "It was now in you, repairing your coronary system."

"You..." you were rendered speechless. "You—what? You infused my heart with a Protocore...?"

Just like the one in his eye, he had implanted you with that dangerous fragment that was from something as horrific as a Wanderer. The very thought made your breath hitch.

"Stay calm," he commanded, his hand found yours when he noticed your horrified expression, squeezing it as if to provide some sort of reassurance. "You'll be fine."

"H-how... why..."

"That was your only chance, or you would’ve been dead." Sylus' tone was harsher now, his jaw set firmly. "I keep telling you not to rush in carelessly, and yet you did. Did you even know how bad your state was when I found you? No, you didn't."

The way he spoke made you feel as though you were being blamed, and overwhelmed with your frustration, you retorted sharply, "No one asked you to save me."

Awkward silence lingered for a good one minute after your jab. You turned away from him, feeling conflicted, because you knew you should be grateful that he did so, because it meant the Aether Core inside you now was the one he had been looking for in that auction.

He gave it up to save you.

Still, it confused you.

“If I died...” you began, bitterness creeping into your voice. “Then it just means I’m no longer useful to you. You always discard things that no longer serve your purpose.”

You turned back to him, meeting his impassive gaze. “So why? Did you pity me after discovering my feelings? Is that why?”

There are many labels in your relationship. Master and servant. Onychinus leader and his right-hand woman. But you were also his lover, even unsaid. Was that fact that did it? Or a mere charity for the weak, you?

Suddenly, Sylus placed his palm over your chest, right where your heartbeat pulsed. You stiffened, bracing for some sort of impact.

But no, it wasn’t anything sensual like he usually did. His hand—large and warm—was a comforting presence, resting on your chest and feeling the steady rhythm of your heartbeat.

"Haven't I told you that I never act out of pity?" Sylus' voice was strained but softer than usual, his deep burgundy eyes holding yours. "Do you really need me to spell it out?"

You didn't dare to look away, for the moment of truth was right in front of you.

"My only regret is not being able to pull you back," he said quietly, his tone somber. "I shouldn't have let you get hurt."

Oh. You blinked, taking in his sincere words, something inside you softening and warming at his words.

You had noticed it too. Despite his roguish exterior, he had always looked after you during your time together. It was just that you hadn’t dared to hope for more.

“The naughty little kitten has managed to worm her way into me, it seems,” he chuckled then, flashing you that cocky smile. “So now, she has to be held responsible for her actions.”

His red gaze narrowed as he added. “Moreover, since I have saved your life— you owe it to me not to throw it away so easily. So you can’t rush into danger carelessly again, you hear?”

Those playful remarks were enough to dispel your doubts and insecurities. They answered everything you had been questioning, and knowing it, finally you let out a relieved sigh and exasperated snort. “You shameless bastard...”

And when he leaned in to place a fleeting, innocent kiss on your forehead, you realized that, in his own way, he saw you just as you saw him, even if only a little.

Sylus settled into the bed beside you, wrapping his arms around you and letting your head rest on his arm. Tonight, there were no passionate kisses, no steamy foreplay, or dirty talks— just you being alive and well in his embrace.

“How long have I been out?”

“Three weeks, woman. Luke and Kieran keep mourning you everyday.”

“Three weeks?! How did you manage without me for that long?”

Sylus glanced at you, a contented smile on his face as he held you close. “It’s been horrid.”

Neither of you would be caught dead saying “I love you”, and yet, regardless, you knew that right this moment meant so much more.

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