#finally finished it sorry for any mistakes

[dazedhyu]

Focus 𓂃 💧 ldh

:¨ ·.· ¨: paring ー ex!haechan x fem!reader (ft 7dream)

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ warnings : angst, smut, slight noncon (he pressures her into consenting at first), light exhibitionism, fingering, oral (fem rec.), mentions of cheating, pet names (angel, princess, etc), lmk if i missed any ^_^

★彡 5.9k wc!

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ authors note >< : my first post here :D!!! this is the second fic i actually decided to attempt to write.. so im so so so sorry if the pacing is off or the writing is weird LMFAO,, it took me way longer than id like to admit to finally finish this.. literally has been in my drafts since july of last year 😭 this was supposed to be inspired by focus by nct 127, unfortunately though i definitely went a little off track.. hopefully whoever reads this enjoys it as much as i do!! any and all feedback is welcome :3 psa.. though this was proof read like 89 times pls ignore any spelling errors im dyslexic ok

It’s been almost a year since you and Haechan broke up. You’ve spent every second since despising him. You hate the way he steals glances when he thinks you won’t notice. You hate the way his voice still lingers in the back of your mind when the room is too quiet,  and more than anything, you hate how much you still find yourself craving the warmth of his touch at times. 

You do your best to ignore him. You guys share the same friend group and hang out often. The last thing you’d want to do is make your shared friends feel tied up in your weird relationship drama. But it was hard when Haechan would joke around with them and slip in snide comments about you, glancing over at you with that stupid shit-eating grin plastered on his face, desperately trying to get a rise out of you. 

Though you’ve convinced yourself you’re over him, completely given up, you sometimes wonder if he ever stops hating you. If, for even a second, he lets himself remember what it was like before everything fell apart. If he ever regrets the way he cheated on you and left you confused, and broken.

As the long-awaited spring break weekend arrived, you and your six friends — plus Haechan — found yourselves at Chenle’s summer estate, a secluded getaway nestled between towering pines that you all tended to visit every vacation you got. The midday sun filtered through sheer white curtains, casting warm patterns across the wooden floors of your designated room. 

You wasted no time unpacking, barely bothering to fold your clothes as you stuffed them into the nearest dresser. The trip had only just started, and you already knew you wouldn’t be spending much time in this room, not when the sun was high, the water was cool, and the pool was calling your name.

Slipping into a simple black bikini, you gave yourself a once-over in the mirror. Satisfied, you grabbed your phone and headed for the door, the distant sound of laughter drifting up from downstairs. Voices overlapping, doors opening and closing. It was familiar, easy, the kind of noise that made the place feel lived in.

You exhaled, relaxation finally overriding your system. You were here to enjoy yourself, and nothing, not even the lingering tension of past mistakes, was going to change that.

In the kitchen, Mark and Renjun were hunched over the island, deep in some conversation you didn’t care enough to eavesdrop on as they cut up fruit. Everyone else was out by the pool, laughing, sunbathing, and just having a good time overall. 

Everything felt easy, weightless, like nothing mattered beyond this weekend, beyond the warmth of the sun and the cool relief of the water.

Unfortunately for you, though, you saw him, and your mind immediately started to wander.

Haechan sat at the edge of the pool, legs submerged, an unreadable expression on his face as he stared out at the water. There was something detached about his gaze, like he wasn’t fully there. Like he was completely lost in thought about something else. 

You rolled your eyes and turned away before you could linger too long. You hadn’t spoken to him once since getting here, and you weren’t about to start now. It was bad enough you had to share this weekend — just like every other moment with your friends — with him. He wasn’t going to ruin this for you. Not like he always did. You refused to let him get under your skin whatsoever.

Without a word, you walked past the kitchen, past the open doors, and stepped onto the sun-warmed patio, quietly taking a seat on a secluded sun lounger. The laughter, the sunlight, the cool water, all of it should have been enough to soothe you. And for the time being, it was.

You weren’t going to let him be the thing you noticed most.

A few hours had passed, the sun just barely starting to dip below the horizon, casting a warm orange glow across the patio. You and your friends were deep in discussions. Yet, despite the carefree energy surrounding you, your attention kept flickering toward the empty space where Haechan should’ve been.

You hadn’t seen him for a while now — not that you cared, but you could definitely tell something was on his mind, slowly eating away at him. Usually, he would do everything in his power to irritate and annoy you, take every opportunity he had to glare so intensely you swore he was trying to burn holes into your skin, but today he was quiet. Too quiet. 

You told yourself it didn’t matter, that he’d probably just had a rough day and called it quits, going back to his room. Yet the longer you sat there, the more you found yourself unconsciously searching for him.

Shaking off the thought, you stretched your arms above your head, sighing as the stiffness from sitting too long settled into your shoulders. Deciding you needed a break, you made your way inside, stepping into the dimly lit kitchen. The faint hum of the fridge filled the quiet space as you reached for a glass, the cool sensation of condensation forming against your fingertips while you poured yourself a drink.

Just as the first sip of cold juice touched your lips, a sudden grip on your hips sent a sharp jolt up your spine. Your breath hitched, fingers tightening around the glass as a shiver coursed through your body. The grip was firm, possessive even, harshly pushing your back against their chest. 

For a split second, your mind raced. The silence behind you felt heavy, the presence lingering close. Immediately, you knew it was Haechan, the fear in your body being quickly overridden with irritation as you grabbed his wrists and forced his hands off your body.

“Don’t touch me, Donghyuck.” Your voice was a weird mix of soft yet stern, it only made his smirk grow wider. His hands immediately moved back to your hips, fingers digging in so harshly you were sure it would leave bruises. A small hiss slipped past your lips before he rested his chin on your shoulder, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. 

“Why not? I know you miss my touch, baby.” He whispered sweetly, his hands pressing you further against him. Your ass flush against the bulge in his swimsuit made you wince, the pressure of his fingers digging into your hips sent an intense pain through your body. You hesitated for a second, your breath catching in your throat, before you reluctantly set the cup down on the counter.

“No need to get all dumb and quiet, you're shaking so much… just let Hyuckie take care of you the way he always did. Yeah, angel?” He spoke again, his hands abandoning your hips to slide down to your thighs, gripping them tight as his lips pressed hot, hungry kisses down the back of your neck and shoulder. You shook your head, a small, desperate "no" slipping from your lips, barely more than a breath.

Too many emotions surged within you, too disoriented to make sense of them all. A mixture of irritation, confusion, and fear gnawed at the pit of your stomach. You could feel the heat of his body behind you, his every movement making your pulse race even faster.

Something inside you screamed to get away, but another part of you… made you hesitate, made your mind make excuses telling you to stop trying to squirm out of his grasp. Maybe it was the slight yearning you've had for his touch since you've broken up, but you couldn’t admit that to him. Let alone yourself. You hated everything about this interaction, it made you sick to your stomach and you wanted nothing more than to get away and forget all about it. Everything about this made you feel so vulnerable.

“No? Not something my pretty girl would say… You don’t have to lie, baby, I know deep down this is what you want. Isn’t it, yn?” He spoke smoothly, his voice low and almost commanding. 

You hated the way his words rang in your head, you especially hated the way your body reacted to his voice. Your legs subconsciously squeezing together before your breath caught sharply in your throat once more, feeling his hand slide from your thigh straight to the lining of your bikini bottoms. 

Gently yet urgently he tugged the cloth aside, the cool air brushing against your warm core making a small whine leave your mouth. He chuckled deeply ー his fingers wasting no time circling painfully slow motions to your swollen bud. 

"C'mon, angel, say it." He cooed softly into your ear, his chest somehow pressing even more into your back. His breath, warm and unrelenting against your skin, it made goosebumps rise across your arms and legs. You felt a chill despite the heat of his presence, your body instinctively tensing under his touch.

You knew, deep down, that no matter what you said, he wouldn't stop. That was how these situations always played out after all. But you also knew Haechan, you know the one thing he hates most is not getting what he wants, the thought of saying no and the lingering uncertainty of what he might do next made your stomach churn. 

Not knowing what else to do besides pray that one of your friends outside just a few feet away would walk in and end this before it went any further. You hesitated, your body trembling ever so slightly as you nodded, almost unwillingly.

“I… I want this,” you murmured, the words slipping from your lips before you could stop them. “Hyuck…”

He hummed softly, his warm breath fanned against your skin, sending another shiver down your spine as his lips trailed lower, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat. His pace was slow, deliberate as if he was savoring every reaction he pulled from you. His teeth grazed the delicate skin just below your jaw, a teasing bite followed by the soothing heat of his tongue. All simultaneously followed by his fingers moving faster against your poor clit.

A quiet chuckle rumbled in his chest, the sound low and pleased as he tilted your head further to the side, exposing more of your neck to him. His hands, warm and pace steady. You did everything in your power to fight back the little whines and moans escaping your lips, you couldn’t stand how much you loved the way he touched you, you wanted to hate this, wanted that escape still but your body completely told him otherwise. Your legs slightly shaking and hands tightly gripping the counter in front of you. 

Your noises had him smirking against your skin, his grip on your thigh tightening as he pulled you closer like he couldn't stand the thought of any space between you. His hips now rolling against you in his own desperate but steady motions. 

"You like that, don't you?" he murmured, voice dipping into something lower, rougher. His teeth grazed over the fresh mark he'd left on your skin, a silent claim, before he moved lower, trailing kisses along the curve of your shoulder.

His hand on your leg slid up your back, fingers tracing lazily over your spine before tangling into your hair. He gave it a soft tug, guiding your head back just enough for him to meet your gaze. His eyes were darker now, half-lidded as he studied you the way your lips parted, your chest rising and falling a little faster than before. 

"You're always so sensitive," he spoke, his voice dripping with amusement as he added more pressure. The pads of his fingers rough against your clit made you whimper louder than intended. "You need to be quiet, baby. Want all our friends to hear how good i make you feel?"

You weakly shook your head, your mind far too dazed to comprehend anything he was saying. The heat between your legs was unbearable, every nerve in your body still buzzing from his touch. But before you could even catch your breath, the sound of the patio door sliding open made your stomach drop.

Haechan didn't hesitate. In one swift motion, his hands were off your aching clit and immediately readjusting your swimsuit bottoms back into place, hands pulling away from you like he hadn't just been driving you insane seconds ago. His expression didn't falter, not even a flicker of guilt or hesitation crossing his features as he reached for your glass on the counter, bringing it to his lips as if this was just another casual moment.

Renjun barely had time to take in the scene as he stepped inside, his gaze flickering between the two of you. His eyes briefly landed on you— your messy hair, your flushed cheeks, the way your arms instinctively wrapped around yourself like you were trying to shrink into the background. Embarrassment weighed heavily in your posture, but Haechan? He was completely unbothered, standing there with the same nonchalant douchebag grin you were used to seeing him with. 

Renjun blinked, his confusion evident for a moment before he shrugged, deciding not to question it. Haechan, who was proud of himself for getting away with this, stepped away from you with an easy stretch, barely sparing you another glance as he made his way past Renjun. 

And just like that, he was gone, slipping back outside to join the others without so much as a second thought, leaving you standing there messy, breathless, and weirdly turned on.

For the rest of that night and the entire next day, you did everything in your power to avoid Haechan. The situation alone left you unsettled, a shiver running down your spine whenever you thought about it. You hated everything about it — the way it happened, the way it made you feel. But what you loathed most was yourself. How you let him take advantage of you like that. How fear had rooted you in place, keeping you from standing your ground.

Now, late into the night, the house was quiet. Everyone had retreated to their rooms, either fast asleep or winding down from another relaxing day. But you were restless. Lying in bed, replaying everything over and over, had become unbearable. Eventually, you’d had enough.

Slipping on a clean bikini, you made your way outside to the hot tub by the pool. The cool night air contrasted with the steam rising from the water, the moonlight reflecting off its surface in shimmering waves. The soft hum of crickets mixed with the bubbling water, a gentle, rhythmic sound that finally eased the tension gripping your body. As you sank into the warmth, the heat wrapped around you, melting away the stiffness in your muscles, a contented sigh leaving your lips. 

Your eyes fluttered shut, head tilted back as the soothing warmth of the water surrounded you. You didn’t notice the soft, subtle sound of the patio door sliding open or the quiet patter of footsteps approaching you. Your mind was too consumed by the quiet, the weight of everything else you had been trying to push aside.

But then, you felt the shift in the air as legs brushed against yours. Your head snapped up in surprise, only to meet Haechan’s gaze. A cold rush of panic ran through you, and your body tensed instantly. The chill spread down your spine as the faintest shiver of fear crawled up, uninvited. The instinct to run surged, but something about the way he was looking at you, something almost… apologetic, stopped you cold. You stayed rooted to your spot, too nervous to speak, your heart hammering in your chest as his eyes locked with yours.

Haechan studied you, his gaze narrowing slightly as he noticed the stiff tension in your posture. It hit him, a soft pang of regret, that you might be afraid of him right now. The thought twisted in his chest. He shifted, eyes dropping to the bubbles swirling in the water, giving himself a moment to collect his thoughts. When he looked back at you, his voice was gentle, almost too soft, a stark contrast to the way he last spoke to you.

“Why are you so scared? You know me better than anyone… I would never do anything to hurt you.”

His words made your stomach churn, the sudden tenderness sending an unsettling ripple through you.

The way he said it, so calm, so careful, it made your skin crawl in the worst way. It was all wrong— this soft tone wasn’t the one you were used to. Either he was always cocky and annoyed when he talked to you, or you truly haven’t heard this tone from him since you guys dated. 

You could barely manage to hold his gaze as his words hung in the air, thick with something you couldn’t place, something that felt all too fragile. Your eyes shifted back to him, your lips twisted into a small, tight frown. “Your actions say otherwise, Haechan.”

Haechan’s eyes flickered with regret. Softly, he shook his head. “I know. I’m sorry, okay? I just… I lost control. I let my thoughts get the best of me. You didn’t deserve that.”

“What’s with the sudden change? How do you go from loving me to hating me to… doing what you did and now being sorry for it? It doesn’t make sense at all.”

The words hit Haechan harder than he expected. He leaned back slightly, running a hand through his hair, frustration building. 

“I never hated you.”

“Felt like you did. And the feeling was strongly mutual.”

“No, come on, you know that’s not true.” Haechan’s voice was pleading, but it was strained with his own guilt. “You ended our relationship, your own free will, because in your words, you ‘couldn’t take this anymore.’

The fear in your demeanor quickly faded, immediately being replaced with irritation. You exhaled sharply, staring at the water for a moment to ground yourself. “You literally cheated on me,” you finally said, your voice trembling but still firm. “How do you expect me not to hate you?”

Haechan froze for a moment, his heart sinking. He knew he had done something unforgivable. He couldn’t deny that. But hearing it out loud, it was still a punch to the gut. “You cheated on me first,” he shot back, but the words felt hollow, even to him. “I just… I wanted you to feel the way I felt.”

Your expression twisted into disbelief. “What are you talking about? I never cheated on you?” You turned fully to face him now. “Even if that was true, how the fuck would two wrongs make a right?”

Haechan bit his lip, staring down at the water, avoiding your gaze. He had nothing to say to that. “I didn’t know better. I just did the first thing that came to mind. But I know the truth now, yn. You don’t need to lie about it.”

“Donghyuck,” you said softly, but it was almost like a warning. “You don’t know anything. Why would I cheat on you?”

The silence stretched for a moment, thick and heavy. Finally, Haechan looked up at you, his face softened with regret. “You tell me. I saw you unblock your ex on Instagram. His name was constantly popping up on your phone, and you were going out more often. Obviously, I assumed the worst.”

Your eyes narrowed at him once again, desperately trying to make sense of his words. “Okay… so you could’ve talked to me like a normal person?” You paused for a moment, sighing softly. 

“I unblocked him because we ran into each other at a café, and honestly, we had a nice conversation. He started texting me more because he wanted to apologize for the way he treated me and ask me how I was doing. I only started going out more because you were always hanging out with Mark, and I wanted to be with my own friends as well.”

Haechan swallowed hard, his hands now gripping the edge of the tub as if to anchor himself. “So you guys never met up again?”

“No,” you replied, your voice laced with annoyance and slight disbelief that he’d even ask. “God, fuck no. I didn’t even accept his apology. My replies to him were so dry, and I kept mentioning you so much that he gave up and stopped talking to me.”

Haechan’s face flushed with shame. His eyes softened as he let out a quiet, “oh… I’m so sorry, yn..”

You looked at him for a long moment, as if assessing him, as if trying to decide if you could still be mad. You shook your head softly, your frustration still there but it was slipping. Your shoulders sagged, as you let out a breath you didn’t realize you'd been holding. “Yeah, you should be. I can’t believe you didn't just talk to me in the first place.” Your words were more tired than angry now, but they still carried weight.

But despite it all, despite the anger and the hurt, there was a crack in your resolve. You missed him, he missed you too, and you knew that. The silence between the two of you grew heavy again as your gaze softened, just a little. 

He inched his way closer, the warmth of his palm grazing your skin as he cupped your cheek with delicate hesitation. His pleading searched yours, as if he was begging for your forgiveness.

“Yn, let me make it all up to you…” His voice was barely above a whisper, thick with something between regret and desperation.

You turned your head slightly, just enough to put distance between his touch and your resolve. “Hyuck, I don’t—”

“Please?” he interrupted, his thumb ghosting over your cheekbone. There was no force in his touch, only quiet insistence, as if the weight of his remorse alone could change your mind.

You let out a small breath you didn’t realize you were holding, your resolve crumbling at the way he looked at you, like you were the only thing that mattered. With a slow nod, your fingers found their way to his shoulders, pulling him slightly closer to you. 

That was all the permission he needed.

Without hesitation, his lips crashed onto yours, desperate yet careful, as if he was scared you’d pull away. His hands trembled slightly as they found their place, one still cradling your cheek, the other gripping your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. You could feel the way his fingers dug in, not enough to hurt, but enough to make it clear that he wasn’t letting go.

The kiss was deep, laced with something far more potent than just lust. There was an unspoken desperation, a need to feel, to forget, to forgive. Quiet hums and breathless moans melted into each other's mouths, the heat between you building with every passing second. Your fingers slipped into his hair, tugging just enough to make his breath hitch, a quiet groan vibrating against your lips.

His grip on you tightened. His hands roamed, one splayed against the small of your back, the other trailing up your side before settling just beneath your ribs, as if he needed to feel every inch of you. He let out a shaky exhale before his tongue slid past your parted lips, deepening the kiss, making it messier, hungrier. His lips moved against yours with urgency, like he was afraid to let go.

The way his body pressed flush against yours sent a heat straight to your core, your legs instinctively tightening around his waist. He couldn’t help but moan at the feeling, his restraint slipping with every desperate press of your lips, every soft gasp that fell from you.

His hands gripped your waist, lifting you effortlessly onto the edge of the hot tub. The cool air met your damp skin, sending a shiver down your spine, but his touch, his mouth on yours, burned hotter than the water that lapped at your calves.

His lips never left yours, kissing you like he could pull you deeper into him, like if he kissed you hard enough, it would erase the distance that had once existed between you. His fingers kneaded into your hips, thumbs rubbing slow, teasing circles against your skin. He swallowed your whimper, his own breath coming out unsteady as he pressed himself closer, needing more, needing you.

"Missed you so much, pretty girl... could never forgive myself for letting you go." His words were whispered against your lips, each syllable dripping with regret and longing. His voice was low, raspy, barely holding together the emotions threatening to spill over.

Before you could respond, his lips left yours, trailing soft, lingering kisses down your jaw, moving slowly and deliberately, as if savoring the moment. His breath was warm against your skin, sending shivers down your spine as he nipped at the delicate flesh of your neck.

Instinctively, you tilted your head back, granting him more space to roam, your grip tightening in his hair as breathless pants and whimpers spilled from your lips.

His hands, firm yet reverent, traced down your sides as he continued his descent, mouth exploring every inch of you like he was trying to memorize the feeling all over again. Lips pressed against your shoulders, slow and sensual. His teeth grazed over your collarbone before he kissed his way lower, down the swell of your chest, your stomach, your thighs, taking his time, as if each kiss was an unspoken apology.

He missed this. He missed the way your body reacted under his touch, the way you shivered and tensed, the way your breath hitched with every kiss. His fingers caressed your skin with a delicate kind of desperation, like he was afraid you'd slip away again.

“God, you're so beautiful," he murmured against your thigh, voice drenched in need. His hands squeezed at your hips, holding you in place as he looked up at you, eyes dark with lust. He wanted to worship you, to love you in every way possible, to make you feel just how desperate he was for you, for your forgiveness.

You looked down at him, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths, lips parted softly as you tried to steady the emotions rushing through you. Your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

“I missed you just as much, Hyuck," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper, thick with longing. “I needed your touch more than anything."

A slow, satisfied smile curved at his lips before he leaned in, pressing delicate kisses up your thigh, inching closer, making sure you felt every lingering second of his touch.

"You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear that," he murmured against your skin, lips grazing over sensitive flesh. 

Then, without breaking eye contact, he pressed a sweet, lingering kiss straight to your clothed core. The gesture was both reverent and teasing, a silent promise laced in the way he held you, the way his fingers squeezed at your sides like he was grounding himself in your presence.

"Let me take care of you, baby," he whispered, voice deep and filled with a tenderness that made your breath hitch. "I'll be gentle, the way you always liked."

His fingers traced slow, featherlight patterns along your thighs, his lips followed soon after, trailing soft, open-mouthed kisses, leaving warmth in their wake. Every motion, every touch, was deliberate like he was savoring you, worshiping you, determined to make up for every second you'd been apart.

You shivered at his words, your fingers instinctively threading through his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan softly against your skin. The heat pooling in your core only grew as he pressed another kiss over the dampened fabric between your thighs, his nose grazing against you in a way that had you biting back a whimper.

"Hyuck," you breathed out, barely able to keep yourself still under his touch.

His hands gripped your hips tighter, anchoring you in place as his lips moved deliberately, teasing, testing your patience. "Shh, baby," he murmured, his voice sending shivers straight through you. "Just let me take my time with you."

Another slow, lingering kiss against the sensitive spot between your legs had your back arching slightly, a needy whine slipping past your lips. He chuckled lowly at your reaction, pressing his mouth to your inner thigh, sucking just hard enough to leave a mark. His tongue soothed over the spot immediately after, his free hand sliding up your stomach, fingers tracing over your ribs like he needed to feel every inch of you under his touch.

"So pretty," he murmured against your skin, "Missed touching you... missed tasting you."

Your breath hitched at his words, your body reacting to every bit of his attention. His touch was gentle yet possessive, his lips slow and deliberate, as if savoring the way you trembled beneath him. His hands roamed, memorizing every dip and curve, pressing soft, warm kisses along your hips before his fingers toyed with the waistband of your soaked underwear.

"Tell me you want this," he whispered, his lips ghosting just above where you needed him most. His voice was soft, pleading, as if he needed to hear you say it, to know you wanted this just as badly as he did.

You looked down at him, eyes hazy with need, your fingers tightening in his hair as you gave the smallest nod. "I do, Hyuck," you whispered breathlessly. "I need you."

His eyes darkened at your words, his grip on you tightening ever so slightly. "That's all I needed to hear, baby."

And with that, he wasted no time sliding off your bikini bottoms, tossing them aside carelessly before spreading your thighs apart, his eyes darkening as he took in the sight of you. Without a second thought, he dipped his face into your heat, his lips brushing the sensitive skin with an intensity that made you gasp.

You could feel the heat radiating off him as his breath fanned over you, a soft shiver running through your body. His fingers sunk into your thighs, keeping you steady as he kissed you slowly, teasingly, taking his time to savor every inch of you. You couldn't help the soft moans that escaped your lips as his tongue finally made contact with your aching clit, warm and relentless, moving in slow, deliberate strokes that had you bucking against him instinctively.

His eyes flicked up to meet yours, "You taste so fucking good," he murmured against you, his voice husky and laced with need. 

He was quick to pick up his pace, lapping at your pussy like his life depended on it. The way his mouth moved against you made you forget everything time, space, the world around you. All that mattered was the heat that coiled inside you, building with every passing second as his hands tightened their grip.

You felt yourself unraveling, the pressure in your chest mounting, the tension in your core winding tighter and tighter until you couldn't hold back any longer. The way he drove you to the edge without hesitation, without mercy, was maddening. You gripped his hair, tugging him closer, your body unable to stop itself from reacting to him.

"Hyuck.." you gasped, your voice breathless, barely a whisper as you dug your fingers into his scalp.

"Please..."

He smirked against you, the feeling of his lips curving into a grin sending another surge of heat through your body. "Please what, baby?" he teased, his voice low.

"I need you," you whimpered, barely able to keep your composure. "so bad.."

He chuckled softly, his breath warm against your sensitive skin, lifting his head just enough to lick his lips with a sly grin. "Be patient, angel," he murmured, his voice low and teasing. "Can you do that for me?"

You whined softly, the sound barely escaping your throat, before nodding eagerly, your body desperate for him, hips arched forward instinctively, silently begging him to continue.

He smirked, the dark gleam in his eyes full of satisfaction as he saw the way you squirmed under his gaze. "Good girl," he praised, his voice smooth like honey, almost cruel in how calm it was. "Just sit there, keep making those pretty little noises for me."

And with that, he dove back in, his mouth moving against you with newfound urgency, his tongue working you over with perfect precision. The wet sounds of his lips against your cunt mixed with the breathless moans spilling from your mouth, the pleasure so overwhelming it left your head spinning.

Your hands gripped at his hair, tugging sharply as your hips rocked forward, meeting his movements in a desperate attempt to chase the high only he could give you. He groaned at the sensation, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure shooting through your body.

Then, without warning, you felt his fingers tracing along your folds, teasing you with slow, torturous strokes.

"So wet for me," he mumbled, his breath hot against your slick skin. "You want more princess?"

You nodded frantically, your grip tightening on him.

"Please, Hyuck," you whined, your voice trembling.

A deep chuckle rumbled through his chest before he finally slipped two fingers inside you, slow and deliberate, letting you feel every inch of him. Your walls clenched around him immediately, a sharp gasp leaving your lips as he curled his finger just right, pressing against that perfect spot that had you seeing stars.

"There you go," he cooed, watching your body react to him. "Always take me so well, pretty girl."

His lips quickly made their way back to your clit, tongue flicking gently as he wrapped his lips around it, sucking you with a newfound passion. 

The sensation was overwhelming, the combination of his mouth and fingers sending a hot, electric pulse through your veins. Your legs trembled, your breath coming in ragged gasps as the pressure in your core built higher and higher, coiling so tightly you thought you might snap at any second.

"Hyuck-" you choked out, your thighs tightening around his head.

He hummed against you, the sound vibrating through your entire body as his fingers quickened their pace, fucking into you with more intensity, more purpose. He could feel you getting closer, your body tensing, your moans turning into desperate, broken cries.

"That's it, pretty," he murmured against your heat, his voice rough with desire. "cum for me, baby."

And with one last flick of his tongue and a perfectly timed curl of his fingers, you shattered. The pleasure crashed over you like a tidal wave, your body convulsing as your release hit you with blinding force. Your back arched off the edge, a strangled moan tearing from your throat as he worked you through it, not stopping until your body was shaking from the overstimulation. 

Only then did he finally pull away, his fingers slipping out of you slowly, as he pressed one last kiss against your sore soaked pussy. He looked up at you, his lips glistening, a cocky smirk playing on his face.

"That's my girl," he murmured, bringing his fingers up to his lips and sucking them clean, his eyes never leaving yours. 

"I’ll never get enough of how good you taste."

love letter from mae 💌 augegsgshsj 😵‍💫,, i wanted to add more to the end but i physically cannot bring myself to.. maybe one day a pt2 will be in the works if people actually enjoy this! lmk lmk lmk!

ty for reading!! ♥︎♪ヽ(*´∀｀)ﾉ

[cookiekissers]

Hello, can I get a request of Longan Dragon Cookie Smut :)

🔥🔞 [Longan Dragon Cookie x Reader NSFT]

Notes: Contains Consensual Master/Servant relationship, Free Use Kink, Breeding

For millennia, in return for your unwavering loyalty, you slept deeply next your master, Longan Dragon Cookie. Once you had awakened, the world was vastly different from what you remembered. You had wanted to scout out the new landscape, but Longan Dragon Cookie was disgusted by the abundance of Cookies inhibiting the land that once belonged to dragonkind, and ordered you to stay within the palace.

No lower, worthless pile of crumbs would sully you, Longan Dragon had said. You always did as your master said, and followed their orders to the letter. And Longan Dragon Cookie would reward you handsomely for your undying loyalty.

Your cries were muffled as you buried your face into the cushy throw pillow. Your Master thrusted eagerly into you from behind, their claws digging into your hips. Nearly after every session with your Master, you would have bruises all over you from their claws and teeth. You didn't mind, Longan Dragon Cookie didn't have a mate, so you were more than happy to take on the task of servicing them when they needed it. But tonight, Longan Dragon Cookie wasn't using you simply to relieve some stress or satisfy their mating urges. They had you lying prone underneath them as they thrust roughly. Longan Dragon Cookie head rested on your shoulder, their breaths coming in harsh rasps, and their clawed hands gripping tightly into the bedding. They remained pressed close to you as if afraid you would disappear into thin air. You knew something was bothering Longan Dragon Cookie as they were being far rougher with you than usual, and even before that, they were acting more noticeably possessive. You lift your head from the pillow, trying to keep your mind focused enough through the pleasure your Master was giving you to question them.

"M-Master, is everything alright?" You ask hesitantly between thrusts. Longan Dragon paused for a moment, panting quietly. You felt their clawed hand grip your hair, and they forced your head back down to the mattress.

"Hush. Stay still." Longan Dragon Cookie commanded. You obeyed without question. Longer, harder thrusts began. Your Master continued to push themselves deeper and deeper inside you, until your whole body trembled with the force of your ecstasy. Every thrust sent a wave of intense pleasure through you, and your walls squeezed Longan Dragon eagerly. You bit into the pillow to ride out each thrust and keep yourself quiet but despite your noises were muffled, your moans and whimpers were loud and clear.

If you didn't know any better, you would have thought your Master was trying to breed you. Sessions never went on for this long, and Longan Dragon was never attentive to your pleasure. Not that you minded. Even if they put their pleasure above your own, nothing was more enjoyable to you than serving your Master.

Longan Dragon Cookie suddenly stopped, allowing you to catch your breath for a brief moment. They growled lowly, seemingly unsatisfied with something and released your head.

"Get on your back." Longan Dragon ordered. You hesitated for a moment. Not out of reluctance, but merely because you had never done this position with your Master before. Longan Dragon Cookie never looked you in the eye or had you face them when you had sex.

Longan Dragon Cookie quickly grew impatient and flipped you onto your back. Your heart hammered in your chest as they grabbed your legs and pushed them to your chest. A deep moan escaped your throat as Longan Dragon slammed their length into you. Now with your master looming over you, their cock pistoning in and out of you, you couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by the sudden intimacy of it all. Longan Dragon's shining yellow eyes gazing into your's filled you with a warmth that made you clench around their cock tightly. The feeling was indescribable and the position only made it better. It truly felt like you were mating with your Master, and the thought gave you butterflies. Longan Dragon Cookie's scent, touch and presence filled your entire body with excitement and desire. They had never done anything like this before, and you weren't entirely sure why they decided to do it tonight, but you never wanted it to end.

Your face was flushed, and you kept your hands over your mouth to stop yourself from crying out. Longan Dragon continued to pound into you, fast and hard, driving you further and further toward your first orgasm. Your Master's eyes were locked onto you, and you couldn't look away. Longan Dragon Cookie then grabbed your hands and pulled them away from your mouth before they thrusted sharply, hitting your sensitive spot and causing you to let out a loud moan. The sensation was unlike anything you'd ever felt, and you loved it. It felt like your Master was playing with you, teasing you.

Longan Dragon Cookie held your hands and intertwined your fingers together affectionately before pining them to the mattress. You gasped as Longan Dragon didn't slow down or soften, instead they drove into you faster, filling you completely and leaving no part of you untouched. You writhed, pinned underneath your Master, completely at their mercy. And to your surprise, Longan Dragon lowered themself quickly, and captured your lips in a hungry, heated kiss. You couldn't believe it as they deepened the kiss, their tongue plunged deeply into your mouth, eagerly licking and exploring. The heat in their kiss left you dizzy.

It only took a moment, the thudding of your heart in your chest, the overwhelming pleasure making you lightheaded, and the sudden intimacy your Master was giving you was too much to handle. You jolted, arching your back as you came undone on Longan Dragon's cock. Your Master didn't slow for even a moment, prolonging your orgasm. They grunted as their thrusts quickened and grew a bit erratic, and a loud groan escaped Longan Dragon Cookie as they pushed themself against you, and filled you with their thick seed. Their mouth stayed glued to yours, refusing to pull away for even a moment as they made sure you took every drop of their cum. You could barely breathe after the intensity of the release, but you enjoyed every second of it.

Longan Dragon Cookie pulled away from you, tearing their mouth from your's and panted heavily, sweat beaded on their brow. With their eyes heavily lidded, Longan Dragon simply stared at you quietly.

"My love," Longan Dragon cooed, suddenly grinding against you and pressing eager kisses to your neck. Through the mix of coming down from your high and the haze of pleasure, your heart jumped once you registered what your Master had said. At first, you wondered if they were talking to you at all until you felt their length harden inside you.

"M-Master? You want to go again?" You said shyly, your cheeks flushing red. This had never happened before. What had come over your Master all of a sudden?

Longan Dragon Cookie paused from kissing your neck tenderly to whisper in your ear.

"I have neglected you for long enough. As a dragon, I have to breed my mate properly." They said in a low voice.

Your heart jumped into your throat. Your Master had chosen you as a mate? This was news to you. But... it made sense, as you were the only one Longan Dragon chose to be intimate with. Your heart soared at the realization. But that was until Longan Dragon Cookie began to slowly move inside you again, pulling you close so you couldn't squirm. You whimpered softly as your still sensitive hole pulsated with each thrust, the hot friction of your Master's cock rubbing against you caused your legs to shake. You knew you were in for a long, and pleasurable, night.

[thesunisatangerine]

against all odds (to wait for you is all i can do) – part nine

alexia putellas x photojournalist!reader

warnings: mentions of grief, suggestive material, hurt/comfort

(a/n in the tags) [parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve]

word count: 6.6k

words in italics: whatever language you like

Before this misunderstanding could get any bigger, you stepped in quickly. 

“Alexia, this is Elisa, my daughter and that’s my brother’s husband, Robert. Elisa, Robert, this is Alexia.”

At that, Alexia’s gaze softened but when she met your eyes, questions swam in those hazel pools, ones that you sensed concerned your daughter. You gave Alexia a tight-lipped smile in answer–this was neither the time nor place to talk about something like that. 

“Oh, I see. It’s nice to meet you both,” Alexia spoke in English.

She walked closer to the stands to where Robert stood and reached out a hand for him to shake. Robert–who finally got some of his color back after Alexia stopped leering at him–regarded Alexia’s hand with an uneasy look like it was something dangerous before he eventually shook it. Then Alexia turned to Elisa and offered her a closed fist while your daughter only gawked at Alexia, obviously starstruck. “And it’s nice to meet you, too, Elisa.”

Elisa remained still and unusually quiet so you coaxed softly, “ladybug?”

That seemed to snap Elisa out from her starstruck stupor and as she came back to herself, her eyes darted to you. You smiled at her, encouraging, then you tilted your head at Alexia’s direction. Slowly, Elisa bumped her fist against Alexia’s, cheeks reddening immediately as she scurried off behind Robert right after, peeking through the gap between her uncle’s hip and arm to look at Alexia shyly. 

“Do you want me to sign your shirt?”

Elisa nodded. Robert passed the shirt to Alexia, who signed it, before she passed it back to Robert.

“Thank you,” came Elisa’s bashful gratitude.

When your eyes flitted back to Alexia’s face, you found her brows tilted upwards which allowed the stadium lights to brighten her already fair eyes. She looked on at Elisa’s timid display with warmth and the sight of such softness in her demeanour tugged at your heartstring. 

Without tearing her attention away from Elisa, Alexia said through a small smile, “she’s adorable, no?”

“She’s a little shy but she’s actually a big fan of yours. You should see her practicing your moves–”

“Mom…” Elisa whined, stopping you from embarrassing her further. You sent her an apologetic smile before you mouthed an ‘I’m sorry’ to her.

“Oh, you play football? How old are you?” Alexia asked softly. 

After  a moment of silence, you took the helm when you noticed Elisa wasn’t going to answer. Her reaction to Alexia was completely understandable. Alexia, despite being one of the warmest people you knew, could easily intimidate some with her presence due to her reserved and stoic nature. Her gaze–especially for the ones who were new to meet her–could be so intense and disarming that it was hard not to look away or, in this case, shy away from her.

“She turned twelve last February. And yes, she’s actually enrolled in a Barça Academy located near our city.”

Alexia’s brows rose with interest. She regarded Elisa again as she spoke, switching to Spanish this time, with clear approval in her tone. “So she has Blaugrana in her blood. What position does she play?”

“Barça is by far her favorite club and it doesn’t help that you play in it. And she plays forward.” You answered in the same tongue. 

Alexia hummed, the corner of her lips quirking up. You knew that look so when she turned back to you, you raised a brow at her.

“What? Disappointed she doesn’t play midfield like you?” 

She flashed you a sheepish half-smile and rubbed her cheek with a finger, a gesture that you still found so endearing, before she threw her hands up in false surrender. “I’m just saying! And you can’t really blame me for having a bias.” 

“No, of course not. How could I hold that against you?” You said in an excessively dry tone. What you didn’t expect was for Alexia to throw her head back as laughter bubbled out from her throat in a familiar melody that tickled your ear, and you couldn’t help the grin that made its way to your lips at her amusement. She looked so beautiful like this: her hair–now back to its light brown shade–untamed with the way baby strands clung to the slight dampness on her temple, and the rosy blush painted upon her cheeks and nose from the events that just occurred; she looked so carefree in this moment, in the aftermath of their victory, that the glow of her youth shone right through, unfiltered.

When your eyes flitted over to Elisa and Robert, you found them gaping at your interaction with wide eyes, looking very much unsure on what to make of it. Then you also realised Alexia’d stopped laughing and she was now looking at you with a small smile on her lips. Your cheeks warmed at the attention, at having been caught staring, so you casted your eyes down to your feet, clearing your throat as you kicked an invisible pebble.

It surprised you, the ease with which you were able to fall back in playful banter with Alexia as if the fifteen months that made strangers from the both you never existed. Alexia must’d thought the same thing because when you looked at her again, Alexia’s smile had dimmed somewhat but the warmth in her eyes never left.

“Congratulations on the win, by the way. You earned it. All of you did.” You said, indicating at the golden medal around her neck. The urge to hug her as you spoke pervaded you but you managed to brush it off. 

Alexia looked down at it, her lips quirking up into a small proud smile.

“Thank you.” A pause as she regarded you. And then, “want to hold it?”

The suggestion took you aback and you were quick to dismiss her. “Oh, no, I’m good–”

Alexia, being Alexia, stepped into you space anyway, took your right hand and placed the medal on your palm. You tried not to focus too much on how her touch electrified you by focusing on how the surface of the metal cooled your skin, its weight surprisingly heavier than it looked, and you traced its intricate engravings with the pads of your fingers, admiring the details. 

“Can we talk?” Alexia said in a low voice that only the both of you would be able to hear. She was standing less than an arm’s length away from you–when did she get so close?–and the softness you found in her hazel eyes when you gazed up at her made you want to reach out and brush your thumb over the skin beneath them. 

At your silence Alexia touched your right wrist and you felt her thumb grazed ove the bracelet she gave you. Her gaze was magnetic and you were powerless against her pull.

You began, “I–”

“Alexia! Come on, we have to go!” Both of your heads turned to the voice. It was Misa who was waving Alexia over to where their other teammates were gathering. Alexia gave Misa a gesture to wait and she looked back at you again but with desperation now in her eyes. 

“Go. I’ll be in Barcelona for a week starting next Thursday. We can talk sometime then?” 

Alexia nodded, gave you a small smile before she turned to walk away. She startled you when she faced you again and before you knew it, her arms were wrapped around your shoulders.

“Same place?” She whispered in your ear.

You snaked your arms around her waist. 

“You know where to find me.”

So it was then on this late, warm Friday evening in Barcelona the week after the Olympics final, you found yourself opening the door to Alexia. 

You had agreed to meet the next day for lunch so it was more than a surprise to you to find her under the warm glow of the porch light right then. And before a word could even leave your mouth to voice your confusion, Alexia strode into your space, crowding you until your back hit the cool surface of the wall next to the door as it swung close.

Alexia was in front of you now, the distance between you so sparse that you could feel the heat that emanated from her body. You stared up at her, breathless when you were finally able to speak, “Alexia–”

“Are you seeing someone right now?” Her tone was even though the crease in her brows and the fervid depth in her eyes made you shiver.

“Wait, what are–”

“Just answer me!”

“No! Why–”

Before you knew it, her hand cradled your jaw as she brought her lips to yours, and the only thing you could do was gasp from the sudden heat of it all. It was filled with such ardour, Alexia’s kiss, that each movement of her lips threatened to both destroy and mend you again, each pull as devastating and as sweet as the last. But the sweetness didn’t last long; not after you felt the warmth against your cheeks and tasted salt on your tongue.

Alexia was crying.

She was aching, you knew it–could feel it in the slight quiver of her lips, in the frantic way with which her fingers tangled in your hair. And from her pain came yours, unfurling from your heart, into your throat, longing–reaching–to comfort and be soothed by her, your almost lover. Though it hurt, it made your teeth ache with the bittersweetness of it all because here she was breathing the same air as you, sharing the same heat as her lips melted with yours, and, god, how it felt like coming home–like the first breath once you breached the surface after being submerged for so long.

Was this what it felt like to be exhumed? Was this what life tasted like?

The kiss was slow and deep, the way only two almost lovers knew how to; the both of you took your time mapping each other’s lips, learning how to move in the same rhythm again. It was familiar but the tenderness–that gentle ardour–was above all else amplified, warming your flesh and blood to a delicate simmer. 

You sighed against Alexia’s lips as you pressed your body further into her, and in response she to you, and you relished how in spite of the strength that rested beneath the firmness of her self, everything about her remained, oh, so soft. And it was this want for more closeness that prompted you to tighten the grip around her hand that cupped your jaw, an unspoken plea for her to not let go–to not let you go.

How had you gone on for so long without her touch?

A familiar scream ruptured the silence, shattering the moment instantly.

It was automatic and immediate your reaction to it: you tore yourself from Alexia’s embrace and rushed towards Elisa’s bedroom, ignoring the way your vision blurred from the sudden exertion, your lungs protested as you hurried up the stairs. You were already expecting it but like all the times you were faced with it, your heart broke all the same at the sight of Elisa sitting up by the headboard of her bed, spine crooked as she curled in on herself, head lowered to the top of her knees while her hands pressed against her ears. Upon your intrusion, she lifted her head to reveal wide eyes that darted to you, frantic at first, but the apprehension in them dimmed when she saw you. 

You tried to compose yourself as you approached her slowly, before you placed yourself just by the edge of her bed.

Gently, you called out, “ladybug?”

Not a second later did Elisa throw herself into your embrace and immediately hid her face in the crook of your neck, her hands clawing and gripping at the fabric of your shirt while her sobs made rattles from her bones. All of her self was tense, taught and coiled, her pain’s physical manifestation–all the intangible grief violently wrought into existence. 

Elisa clung to you as she cried and you could do nothing in the moment but offer comfort through your embrace, hugging her just as tight, brushing back her hair–consoling–as you began a common lullaby in her mother tongue, rocking her to its gentle rhythm in the hopes that it could salve the wounds of her past even a little. 

In her own time, Elisa emerged from the throes of her grief, her grip on your soaked shirt loosened, her sobs now reduced to hiccups and sniffles. You carded your fingers through her damp hair and wiped the sweat that lined her forehead.

As softly as you could, you whispered, “want to talk about it, ladybug?”

Elisa didn’t answer as she seemed to gather herself, gnawing on her lower lips, brows creased in a pained frown. You were about to remind her that she didn’t have to when she answered in a voice so small that made the rawness in it all the more pronounced. 

“I saw Mother’s… I saw her dead beside me again.” She cuddled closer to you before she continued, “it’s always been her but when I looked this time I–”

Fresh tears sprung to her eyes, they fell when she squeezed them shut, and your heart broke a little more. You were quick to hug her tighter, pressing a kiss on the top of her head to console her. Elisa sniffled then she continued, “this time I–I saw you instead. I saw you dead.”

Elisa whimpered and she clung to you again.

“Oh, ladybug. That must have been difficult to see.” You hugged her tighter. “Were you scared?”

Nod. 

“What were you scared of?”

Silence. 

“I was scared because I thought I was alone again. I was scared you left me, too.”

Her answer made you pause and you regarded her, your worry now twofold. 

“What else do you feel, Elisa?”

“I don’t know,” Elisa shrugged. She pressed a fist to her chest, “but it hurts right here. I hate it. I want it to disappear. Why does it still hurt so much?” 

The state of her pained you enough as it was but how much more agonising this must be for Elisa? So you pressed your temple on her head as you began, soft but firm when the words passed through your lips. 

“It aches so it’s not surprising you want it to go away. And you hate it because it stays with you. And it hurts because you’re still grieving, Elisa. A year may feel like a long time but what happened to you is not an easy thing to move on from. You’re still trying to heal.” 

“If there is part of you that’s telling you it’s your fault your family died, I want you to remember that it isn’t. It isn’t your fault. You were so loved, Elisa, and you loved them just as much. And you still are loved.”

“I won’t leave you. As long as we’re here–your Uncle Derek, Uncle Robert, Nana, and I–as long as you want us to be, we’ll be your family and we love you. And death might come for all of us, and it is scary, terrifying and painful most times, but our love will never fade. The love given to you and the love that made you, they will never leave you, Elisa. Love comes and goes, and it may change its form, but it is never lost. You’re right here with me and you’re safe, and I love you. You’re never alone, ladybug, don’t you ever forget that.”

Elisa turned her head to look up at you and in the warm glow of her nightlight, you saw her chin quiver. “Promise you’ll never leave me?”

“As long as I breathe, I promise.”

You pressed a kiss on the top of her head, on her temple, then on her forehead before you hugged her again. Elisa sagged in your embrace as a watery sigh escaped her lips, and though she sniffled, she shed no more tears.

“I love you, too, Mom.”

In response, you kissed her forehead.

“How are you feeling now, ladybug?”

“A lot better, thank you.”

“Do you need me to get you anything?”

“Water, please?” 

“Okay. Do you want to come with me downstairs or are you alright with me going for a bit?”

Elisa thought about it before she said, “I’ll be alright here.”

You smiled at your daughter, half encouraging and more than proud, as your chest filled with warmth at her display of bravery. You stood, grabbed a fresh shirt from her closet and placed it on her lap so she could change out of her damp one. “Okay. How about you change into this while I’m gone, hmm? I’ll be right back.”

She nodded and you darted out of the room but not after you placed another kiss on top of her head and squeezed her knee for reassurance. So engrossed were you in your aim that you nearly ran into Alexia who was just standing off to the side of the doorway, an unopened bottle of water in hand. As soon as she saw you, she offered it to you without a word with a soft look in her eyes made warmer by the dim, yellow glow of the wall lamp beside her head. It was a simple gesture but your heart expanded from the thought behind it, so much so that you nearly cried when you took the bottle from her. 

“Is there anything else you need?” Alexia whispered as she stepped into your space, brushing the back of her hand over your cheek gently. You leant into the comfort of her touch and sighed, before you shook your head in answer.

“This is more than enough, thank you.” You met Alexia’s gaze one more time before you knocked on Elisa’s door and slipped back into it upon her consent. Once inside, you opened the bottle and gave it to Elisa and as she sipped from it, you ventured into her closet again to grab a small towel to dry her sweat with.

“How do you feel, ladybug?” You asked as you ran the towel over her face and the back of her neck.

“Sleepy,” she said with a small smile. You returned it in kind.

“Do you want to try going back to sleep? I’ll stay here if you want.”

Elisa yawned her agreement as she nodded so you tucked her in. Then you reclined against her headboard and began a lullaby, gently dragging the back of your finger in the space between her eyes until her eyelids fluttered close before her breathing deepened and eventually evened out. You remained there until you were certain Elisa had fallen asleep completely before you slipped back out, making sure to leave a slight gap between the door and the frame just in case Elisa woke up again. 

It wasn’t a surprise when you found Alexia still patiently waiting out in the hall, who pushed herself from the wall she was leaning on upon seeing you.

“Is she okay?” She asked softly, looking over your shoulder at Elisa’s door, concern apparent in her tone and the crease between her brows. 

“She’s… she’ll get there. She’s been through a lot for someone so young but she’s getting better.” It was getting frequent again, you noted with more than a hint of worry, Elisa’s recurring nightmares about the horrors she’d witnessed. You knew you needed to talk to Elisa about her therapy and if she’d be inclined to take more sessions to unpack this because there was only so much you could do to help her.

“What happened to her?” 

You looked at Alexia at that, unable to answer her–had no desire to if you were being honest. How could you come up with the words to explain it especially when doing so would lead to questions about what happened to you? And that was something you truly didn’t want to, or even knew how to, talk about. 

Alexia must had found something in your eyes because she just nodded at your reticence and casted her gaze down. You grazed your knuckles over the back of her hand, partly in appreciation for her respect and partly for her to follow you, while you stepped past her to the stairs down to the living room, Alexia’s footsteps not too far behind you. 

The both of you entered the living room in silence, the tension from what transpired between the two of you upon Alexia’s arrival and the weight of what you were about to talk about made the air thick for breathing. 

With crossed arms you settled on the wingback chair on the far side of the coffee table while Alexia situated herself on the other at the opposite side, leaving the couch unoccupied; the memories in it far too intimate for two people who’d grown apart.

During this reprieve, you finally allowed yourself the luxury to take Alexia in. You didn’t really get the chance to, it had all been a blur the moment she strode through the door, but now your eyes roamed over her freely. 

She had a pair of low rise denims on, a leather jacket over a white shirt that revealed a strip of her stomach while her loose, light brown hair framed her face. Even when sitting down, her character remained undiminished especially with the way she sat with her legs parted, one hand hanging over the chair’s arm while the other was on her chin, fingers splayed over her lips as she regarded you quietly in a fixing gaze that left you feeling exposed–vulnerable. 

Alexia brushed her lower lip with her fingers as she sank further against the upholstered back of the chair, tilting her chin up slightly as she kept her eyes trained at you. Her movement caused the warm glow of the light to touch her lips, drawing your attention to them, and you noted how they still glistened from the sheen of your lip balm from when she’d kissed you before, and the reminder made you burn, unpleasant in the way it ached, a bittersweet mixture of your immense desire and longing for the woman before you. It was intentional the way she moved; you knew it from the way Alexia’s eyes challenged you to speak up but you couldn’t quite find the words to say–you didn’t dare to. 

“Are they real?” Came the question. 

It was low and even, how Alexia posed it, but the abruptness with which the silence was broken made you flinch. That didn’t go unnoticed by Alexia it seemed because her gaze immediately softened. 

“Are what real?” 

“What you wrote in those notes you left me. Are they?” 

The silence that settled in the space between you pressed against your chest, made even heavier with the weight in Alexia’s eyes. You tore your gaze away from her and you didn’t dare look back up. 

“Look at me and tell me those didn’t mean a thing and I’ll leave.” ‘Just like you left me’, you heard the words Alexia left unspoken and then she continued, “I’ll leave and I won’t bother you again.”

She was serious. You knew if you lied and told her otherwise, she’d keep her word; she’d be out of your life completely. Were you willing to run? Were you ready to live a life without her for good?

Still without meeting her eyes you voiced barely above a whisper, “I… I can’t.”

Then you heard Alexia draw a breath, long and deep, followed by the unmistakable rustle of clothes before the air stilled once more. Not a moment later though a choked sound broke the quiet and immediately, your head whipped to the sound and found Alexia now bent forward, elbows resting on the top of her knees, her head bowed into the cradle of her open palms while her hair formed a curtain around her face. 

“‘What’s happening to me? I’ve not know desire like this–like how it is with you. How, then, can I go on without you now that I found you?’” Each word came out strained as her breath stuttered and yours, too, hitched at what Alexia just recited. Then she lifted her head up a fraction but it was enough for you to see the undisguised pain reflected in those eyes and the sight of them made yours burn. 

“You didn’t even give me a chance. You wrote and left those words to me but what was I supposed to do with them? What was I meant to do?” 

A pause.

“I thought I knew what feeling lost was like. My ACL taught me that and when my father–” Alexia screwed her eyes shut as she drew in a heavy breath. She continued after a moment, “but after you went away, I felt lost again. I didn’t know what to do with myself, didn’t know how or what to feel. All I knew was I was mad at you for leaving, for what you said to me, for not responding… I was hurt. And I felt so empty that I didn’t look through that damn bag you left me.”

“But I missed you. God, I missed you, so I opened it and what did I find? Your fucking notes.” Alexia laughed, flat and void of any warmth, and she shook her head as if in disbelief, digging the heels of her palms into her sockets before looking back at you with raw eyes. “‘With every kiss, every touch, I become more yours. If you ask me to, I will surrender myself to you.’ If you truly meant that, why did you leave?” 

“Won’t you even tell me why?” Alexia repeated, now pleading. 

“I–” You began but the words caught in your throat as you turned her question over in her head because why, why did you leave? 

“I was… I was afraid.” You admitted finally, your voice barely above a whisper. 

“Afraid of what?” 

“To hear that I meant nothing to you, to know I felt more for you than you did for me. I was just one of your girls, right?” You laughed bitterly, hating the way tears immediately fell down your cheeks, as you looked over Alexia’s shoulder, unable to look her in the eye as you spoke. You were weak enough as it was, so bare that one word from her could make you bleed if she wanted to.

“I couldn’t bear to hear that from you so I left. And perhaps it was cruel of me to leave those notes behind but I didn’t want to take them with me. I didn’t want the reminder of what we had and what we could’ve been. And I guess, deep down, I just wanted you to know how you made me feel because even if it ended, even if it meant nothing to you, that doesn’t change the fact that you made me happy.”

“‘Nothing?’ What do you mean–” Confusion first swam in her hazel eyes but her eyes suddenly widened. “That day… you were there?”

You hastily wiped your tears away with the back of your hand. “Yes.” 

“Oh my god,” Alexia whispered as she lowered her head even further, fingers digging into her scalp as she shook her head. You heard her mutter something in Catalan that you couldn’t quite understand, barely catching the familiar Spanish words for ‘kill’ and ‘two’ from whatever she said. 

Then Alexia gazed up at you with fire in her eyes. “If what we had meant nothing to me, I wouldn’t be here. Whatever you heard that day, there’s no truth to it.”

“All of it? Then tell me, what did Mapi mean when she said I’m one of your girls?” 

At that, Alexia opened her mouth before closing it again, then she casted her gaze aside. 

Your heart dropped.

She wrung her fingers, the muscle in her jaw ticked while her frown deepened but she found the courage to look you in the eye again as she began to speak. “After I got injured, I was a wreck. It was one of the lowest points of my life. I felt like I was stuck, like my life was playing out in front of me and I couldn’t do anything but watch.”

“The world moved on but I couldn’t. I couldn’t get past it, what happened and what would come after. It was a constant one step forward, three steps back. So I… I slept around because I needed control. I was spiralling when you met me and it’s–it’s true I had others while I was with you.”

Oh, how her words branded you! Perhaps there was still a small part of you that hoped Alexia would deny it but as the words spilled from Alexia’s lips, that vision was immediately dashed and in its place bloomed anguish. Your eyes burnt as you took Alexia in, she–with her lips pressed in a thin line and the corners of them crooked downwards, brows furrowed so deep her eyes were almost covered–looked guilty and in as much pain as you upon her own admittance.

“I had others but not after the first time we had dinner together. At that point, I stopped. I stopped because I hoped… I hoped that we could be more. I still do. But it never meant nothing to me, you never meant nothing to me. I just want you to know that.”

You bit your lip as her words sank in, and your stomach dropped even further as you realised something. The falling out, it was all your fault, wasn’t it? If you’d just talked to her, none of this would’ve happened. 

The silence must had lasted longer than you realised because you heard Alexia’s whispered plea, “please, say something.”

“I… I want nothing more than to be with you, Alexia. In my mind, it had always been you and instead of telling you, I didn’t do anything. I didn’t make my intentions clear and it was unfair of me to expect you to know them. I was going to–I was going to ask you to be mine that night but when I heard you say those words, I lost it.” 

Tears tracked down your cheeks as you choked out, “I’m sorry. I broke us, didn’t I?”

Alexia was quick to answer. 

“No, you were scared and hurting. I can’t hold that against you. And it’s not just you, it’s not like I was very vocal about what I wanted either. I should’ve told you what you meant to me, I should’ve made it clear what I wanted from this–from us.” Alexia looked into your eye with an ardent disposition that made you shiver while a small, hopeful smile graced her lips. “I still want you. If you still want me, have me.” 

Her declaration moved you and this wasn’t the first time tonight that her words made your heart ache–fed fuel to the fire that was your yearning. The temptation to accept her offer was too much but you stopped yourself; the logical part of you who knew that you weren’t the same person as the one Alexia met prevented you from saying yes. 

“I’m not the same person I was from before, Alexia. And I have a child. I don’t want you to trick yourself into thinking you want what comes with me just because you want me.”

“Then let me in! Let me know this version of yourself and don’t decide for me if I want or don’t want to be with you. Let me make that choice this time.” Alexia said, almost exasperated in the way she threw her hands up but desperation weighed heavier in her voice. “We don’t need to label it. You’re mine and I’m yours, isn’t that what matters?”

“And if it doesn’t work out?”

“And if it does? And now that we know what we want from each other, it’s not like how it was before.” Alexia countered easily. Then she added with a half smile, teasing. “C’mon. I thought you’re the optimistic one in this relationship?”

You couldn’t help it, you smiled at her lightness. Then you nodded. 

“Okay. So, can we start over slow?”

“That sounds good.” Then Alexia grinned, mischievous with the way she brushed her thumb over her nose and how her dimple gilded the corner of her lips. “Hi, I’m Alexia. What’s your name?” 

The absurdity of what she said caught you off guard, even more so the laughter that bubbled out from your throat. As your laughter faded and Alexia’s grin dimmed to a small smile, a vacuous silence settled over the both of you, a welcome reprieve from the weight and tension that filled the air moments ago. Your eyes roamed over Alexia’s figure in silent appraisal, and hers over yours, as you mapped the familiar contours of her silhouette. Then you noticed a change in her demeanour: her eyes darkened, a look you were well acquainted with fifteen months–a look that your body remembered all too well with the way your flesh burnt. 

“Did you have others?” The question took you aback and you were sure that you weren’t able to hide the surprise from your face because where the hell did that come from? Still, you indulged her.

“Not in the way you think. I can’t even kiss anyone without thinking of you. It’s not fair to them if I take them on as my lover when I know I’m still hung up on you.”

“‘Still’, huh?” Alexia hummed in response and her gaze only became darker, eyes now lidded.

You scoffed at her arrogance but it lacked any real bite because it was true anyway. Your cheeks warmed at her attention and you crossed your legs, something that didn’t go unnoticed by Alexia–the way she bit her lower lip made it known to you she knew just what she was doing to you–before you casted your eyes aside, down to the floor. “Don’t be an ass about it.” 

At the sound of clothes rustling, you looked back up only to find Alexia had already crossed the distance and now stood an arm’s length away. Your body, always in tune to her presence, parted your legs before you could think better of it and Alexia claimed what little space between you, her knees now against the edge of the chair. 

She planted both hands on either side of your chair’s arms as she leant down, craning her neck so that you could feel the warmth of her breath against your cheek.

“I’m being serious.” 

The words were whispered so close to your lips that you could feel the heat of hers as they brushed over yours. 

“I tried. But you… you had others, didn’t you? I saw the photos.” You tilted your head, relished the way Alexia followed and ghosted over your lips as you did so, whispering the words against her jaw. 

She shivered.

“One. Just the one before I read your notes.” And she leant in again and this time, you could almost taste her lips from how close she was to you. “She never touched me. And besides, who do you think she looked like?”

An image of the woman came to your mind. You didn’t realise it then but now her resemblance to you became apparent: the colour of her hair and the length of it, the colour of her eyes, her height. They were all similar to you.

“But you touched her.” It wasn’t a question and the silence that followed was confirmation enough. You didn’t hold that against her–couldn’t–but it hurt you still. You didn’t even know you’d teared up until Alexia swept her thumb over the corner of your eye, soft and careful; apologetic. And then a fire sparked in you, an all consuming green that prompted you to ghost your lips back to Alexia’s neck. You didn’t miss the way her pulse jumped when you left a light kiss there.

“Tell me, Ale. Did she feel better than me?”

“No,” Alexia choked out and the heat of it warmed your ear.

A kiss to the corner of her jaw. “Did she moan your name like I did?”

“No.”

You placed another kiss to the lobe of her ear before you whispered, low and cruel, and obscenely shameless. 

“Did she come for you like I did?” 

That did it.

Alexia took the back of your head in her hand and pulled you in for a kiss. A soft moan left your mouth–or was it from Alexia–as you surrendered to her heat, melting instantly and lips parting for her and her only. You felt her other hand creep down to the small of your back where she pulled you forward, urging you to stand up. When you did, and without breaking the kiss, Alexia manoeuvred the both of you until you felt the soft texture of the couch against the skin of your calves.

You pulled away with a gasp and before Alexia could upon her eyes, you stepped aside and pushed her just enough for her to end up on the couch, eyes flying in surprise at the sudden change of position. She opened her mouth, as if to protest, but she quickly shut it when you straddled her lap, hands automatically over her jaw and neck as you sank into her lips again. 

Alexia dragged her lips away from yours and you were about to sigh in disappointment until you felt her tracing the lobe of your ear with her tongue. Then she nipped along your jaw as she whispered, a smile clear in her voice, “that’s right… You like being on top.”

You shivered as her hands traced your silhouette but when you felt her hands move from your ass to the edge of your shirt, brushing against the skin of your back with clear intentions, the haze lifted immediately as apprehension filled you. The words didn’t even leave your mouth before Alexia stopped her ministrations, pulling away from your lips gently, and she opened her eyes, which revealed at first the deep desire in them, now replaced with concern as she met your gaze.  

“Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?”

Shaking your head, you placed a slow, lingering kiss on her lips before you broke away again, breathing heavily as you rested your forehead on hers.

“I’m sorry. And no, you didn’t. It’s not that I don’t want you because I do. God, I want you so much, you don’t even know, but I’m not–I think we’re going too fast and Elisa…” You trailed off, cheeks warming. 

Without another word, Alexia fixed the hem of your shirt so the strip of exposed skin was covered, and placed a tender kiss on your cheek. Then she shifted beneath you, shrugged off her leather jacket and placed it on the coffee table, before she lied down. 

A gentle hand on your back urged you down on her chest and upon doing so, you sighed as a sense of peace washed over you and you found yourself sinking into her tender warmth, into the safety of her arms wrapped around your waist.

She brushed back hair from your temple and you felt the flutter of her hum against your cheek before you heard it. “Are you comfortable?”

The gesture made you ache and you feared your words would fail you if you spoke so you only nodded, nuzzling the column of her neck with your nose and placed a kiss there as a form of gratitude.

Alexia pressed her lips on top of your head and then you heard her sigh, content. “Good.”

[sweetestflow3rs]

♡ NOEL THE VENDOR ♡

A rejected "PC", now become NPC. Can be found in Connudatus Street Stalls & the bus stop in the Forest at Midnight to 4AM. They seem to be ordinary, but all the customers lined up seem to regard her with a certain politness, perhaps even fear. Proceed with caution.

For more info regarding Noel below:

Noel was formerly a student and orphan named Riley, who was the town's rising track team star, being the best amongst her peers. Despite her popularity, though, it was agreed by most that Riley kept a small handful of friends. One in particular being a fellow orphan who was a few years older than her, before they eventually went missing; and Riley then, after.

Some assume it was due to grief, some think she was swooped away by what took her friend.

The reality of it being that Riley has always been someone with a hyper sense of awareness. Since she was little, she knew something was deeply wrong with the Orphanage: seeing the people frequent in and out of her older friends' rooms, the whispers of payment, debts. Eventually, hearing whispers of bodies found in the woods.

Hearing nothing for weeks regarding her friend's disappearance, she went looking and amongst the numerous shallow graves, Riley found the corpse of her friend. Spiraling into the worst mental breakdown, the night was a blur.

But, it can be agreed, that amongst the blood coating her body, dragging her feet to an abandoned home in the Moor, that Riley was no more.

Noel as a person is someone who always seems... off. For being someone that some in the criminal underground whisper carefully about, Noel often speaks hesitantly, unsure. As if gauging whether or not what they are saying is going to garner the right response. Often cagey, never really one to talk about themselves and often giving short, dry responses. Or just silence.

However, as the PC gets to know Noel, they come to find out that Noel is actually quite easily irritable. Squinting, and sighing at the slightest inconvenience and yelling and hitting at the largest ones. To Noel, everything can be solved with some form of violence.

They aren't really one to tell jokes, and aren't impressed by them either. Noel is actually quite a serious person.

Though Noel values themself and their survival above all else, at high love, Noel can be consider doting on the PC. Often fixing frayed clothing, 50% chance of being carried back to rest in her home if you pass out in the streets, and having a figure to vent to that won't say "that's terrible! i wish i could help you!" or "i should've been there!", but rather instead "why are you struggling so much? i sell weapons, buy the weapons i sell, use them, i am selling them for a REASON-"

SPECIAL TRAIT

Noel's special trait is her Paranoia.

On immediate first encounter, Noel's Paranoia is 100%. Any little action can increase Noel's Paranoia and the only way to lower it is by constantly interacting with her without doing any actions that would garner the wrong attention to her. ( Police, Bailey, etc. )

This takes time, and can take awhile for Noel's Paranoia to go down, making the process a bit tedious.

However, it does pay off, as Noel with low Paranoia will give the PC discounts at their store, give them protection charms for free and offer their home as a safehouse if they ever need it. They'll even take the mask off for the PC.

ROMANCING

Noel is... difficult to romance.

Due to having a volatile nature that is prone to violence and mania, romance is the furthest thing from their mind. And sex is almost non-existent in their head. If the PC tries to do promiscuous actions towards Noel, it decreases their love drastically as they are in fact, mostly repulsed by the acts of sex. They tend to sigh, and give the PC a tired look, or one of disdain depending on the love level.

And PCs with high exhibitionism, if approaching Noel with little to no clothing; the sexual act of it flies over her head. Instead, she urges you to buy clothes at her shop, dropping the price drastically so you don't run around the town nude.

However, sexual acts are still possible with Noel. It will simply have to be done in the condition of "fuck or die(not literally)", which, she will complain the entire time.

DISMISSING

it is possible to dismiss Noel when they are at 0% Love and 100% Paranoia. If Noel is convinced that the Player is a threat, Noel will try to make attempts on the Player's life; either indirectly or directly.

To protect themselves, the Player can either go to Bailey or the Police, creating two branches of Dismissal.

Telling Bailey results in Noel going missing for a week, before appearing again at her storefront. If the PC tries to approach, Noel will deny any interaction or offer of service, saying that their new employer has told them not to sell to any of their wards. Buying & Bonding with Noel will be locked out, and protection wards can longer be bought.

Telling the Police, however, results in a unique, variant event. During Avery's Poker Date Night, if Avery wins and brings the PC to the Elk & Fox party, when the sacrifice is being chosen, they notice a commotion coming from the guards and guests, with guards being beaten and bleeding on the floor. Numerous guards have to storm in to hold down & drag the surprisingly small sacrifice to the center of the room, a familiar face peeking out. Before they are sacrificed into the rift, Noel still has enough anger & fight in them to snatch off the masks of Remy & Harper, revealing their faces to the party, before grabbing another unsuspecting guest and dragging them into the rift with her. With the glare she sends the PC's way, full of vindication and rage, it felt like she was trying to grab at the PC, but took what was closest.

Noel will no longer be available in any way. Her character card only saying: "Noel has been sacrificed."

[reyolfx]

destiel fic excerpt - claire kinda tricks dean into going to pride with her

okay i've been in a massive block lately for any writing whatsoever but i'm TRYING to get back into it. mentally i'm just not really anywhere but i would like to be anchored back down into writing mode.

so here's a little bit of the destiel fic i have in progress. it's a dean focused post-15x19 (lol what finale) fix-it that deals a lot with dean's grief. this particular excerpt is quiiiiite a ways in, cas has been dead for almost a year at this point (happy destiel ending guaranteed fam). dean is still absolutely grieving but he's been doing a lot of work.

(warning dean does use the word queer here in a way that's like, halfway between accepting and internalised homophobia - it's not made out to be a big deal in this but i thought it would mention anyways)

***

"I'm not a parade guy, Claire, and I sure as hell ain't a flag waving queer. I'm not - I'm not this." Dean gestures vaguely to the revelry and upbeat atmosphere around him. He feels like a fish on a bike.

Claire shrugs with her whole body. "I don't give two shits what you think you are or aren't, grandpa. Every baby gay needs to attend their first Pride, it's like a right of passage or whatever."

Dean gawks at her. "What the fuck," he sputters. "Baby- did you just call me grandpa and a baby gay in the same sentence? What the fuck is that?"

Claire rolls her eyes like Dean's a fucking idiot. He feels like one right now, in his jeans and flannel with a knife tucked into his waistband, surrounded by rainbow everything and kids making out in those weird napkin tops that don't pass their navels.

She says, "exactly what it sounds like, loser. You're old, but you finally had your big gay realization, it's fresh and shit, erego, baby gay. Reborn a queer, hallelujah."

Dean stares at her like she's speaking another language, but he latches on to one bit that's plain. "Ain't that fresh," he mutters.

Because. Because it's not like Dean never had an inkling he was into dudes as well as chicks before. Not like he never had any tiny lightbulb moments while drooling over Doctor Sexy or being 16 and watching a hunter in his 20s clean a gun in front of him. It's just that every time that lightbulb flicked on, Dean had been very quick and very thorough in burying it 6 feet under like it was a body in a grave after a salt'n burn. Expert, even. Like he was was with real graves. He could go years without that lightbulb resurfacing, and he could forget. He could flirt with women and forget, kiss women and forget, take women back to his motel room when he was 24, haunting small towns all alone, and forget. It was easy. Because women's waists and women's hair and women's voices made it easy. When they pitched their words low and came on to him with confidence and a shadow, a daintier echo of violence than what he was used to, it was easy. What would have been the point in—in anything else?

Nothing. No point.

Until his best friend told him he loved him and his graveyard of buried lightbulbs was flooded, upturned, exposed. Electrified. He sees the bones of every man he ever desired like they're cartoons sticking their fingers into sockets.

Bzzzt. That hunter with his rolled up sleeves, exposed forearms, cleaning his gun while chatting easily to John. Dean sitting there, trying his best to be a part of the conversation, puff himself up like he belonged at the table, 16 in a too-big jacket, a real hunter, a real man, dragging his eyes away from the hunter's hands again and again until he could unfocus them entirely with the beers his dad let him sip.

Bzzzt. A shop teacher of his, once, during a 9th grade stint somewhere in Nebraska. Mr. Callaghan. Showing the class how to use a circular saw, sparks flying, Dean's eyes wide, mouth a little dry.

Bzzzt. Benny in purgatory. Slicing and hacking his way through monsters to get Dean to Cas before they could escape. Dean's weird, twisted up, sickening feelings of - I love you because you know my secret. Because you know I love someone else even though I won't let my own self know. I love you because you have big hands and a big heart and an appetite for blood and because I can bully you into staying, searching, endlessly, for the one. The one I love the most. I love you until I find him and then I still love you a little because you helped make that possible and because you did it for me.

Bzzzt. Cas. Castiel who walked into a barn, sparks again (maybe men are electric and women are grounding, or - fuck, who knows, maybe sparks are just hot) a few days after Dean rose from the dead. Castiel who walked towards him with steady eyes of blue fire and withstood every act of violence Dean could commit against him (or so he thought). Castiel who saw into his soul, maybe not even into it, just the whole scope of it, macro and micro. Cas who shoved him into walls, laid hands over his mouth and a knee between his thighs (accidental?), Cas who spoke to him vulnerably one moment and then disappeared the next, Cas who stared into his eyes and made Dean's chest feel molten, his tongue feel heavy. Cas who wore a stupid trench coat, even when given a fresh start, an opportunity for reinvention. A trench coat Dean grew to hate because of the sheer amount of times he imagined pulling it gently off the angel's shoulders. It always stayed. Dean could burn that fucking coat.

He kept that coat. He carried it. He misses it.

Dean comes to in the middle of a fucking pride parade with the desperate, overwhelming urge to press a coat that he no longer has into his nose. He needs—

"Earth to fuckin' Dean Winchester," Claire is saying, eyebrow cocked kinda like Cas, which is weird because he doesn't remember Jimmy ever doing that. He guesses he didn't know Jimmy very long though. Maybe he's just seeing Cas wherever he can manage it.

"Sorry, kid," he says lamely. No follow up. He feels the hole and it aches and aches and he needs to get a hold on it before it engulfs him.

"Dean," Claire says gently, and she sounds like she knows where he is. Like she can find him back here among his grief that is so far removed from, and unrelated to the situation.

He looks at her and forces a grin that cracks his face. Painfully. Half rolls his eyes.

"C'mon kid, show me the ropes then," he says. He's here now. Probably wont ever be again, but he's with Claire.

And he loves Claire. Because she reminds him of his not so long ago self—young and angsty and passionate and angry and full of mistakes past, present and future—and because she reminds him of Cas. Her face, her independence, her stubbornness, her smile. Because Cas loves (loved, Christ) her, even if her feelings towards him might be more convoluted.

She doesn't let him off easy, a trait she kind of shares with both of them.

"Dean... I miss him too".

Years ago, maybe even just months ago, Dean would have rolled his eyes and changed the subject. He would have deflected: "so how do you get on one of those floats" or "why is there so much mesh here" or maybe mouthed the words to You Make Me Feel (Mighty Real) right along with the drag queens in the parade without even realising it.

But now—

"Claire—I can't. Not if we wanna— not if today's gonna be any good."

His voice sounds far away and raw and he feels tears in his eyes even still. Even still after all these months. He wants. Wants Cas back so hard it scalds his insides.

Claire's mouth sets hard and she nods once. There's a grim-feeling cloud around the two of them, a black hole in the middle of this rainbow candy-land ass street block on a sunny day.

And then Claire scares it away. Physically waves it off like she can see it and then plasters a grin on her face that's almost conspiring. She can rally, Dean'll give her that. It's not as if Claire completely fits here either—she looks more like him than she does most of the other revelers. Black tank top, red flannel tied around her waist, black shit kickers. Hunter get-up. But she grabs some stickers from a drag queen that's handing them out and slaps one on her chest - it says "I support gay rights and gay wrongs" on it and the circle behind it is striped orange and white and pink. Dean snorts. He doesn't know for sure what that means but he guesses it's probably for lesbians cause he knows everybody gets their own flag in this world. He's learned that through osmosis at group*.

She grabs his hand and slaps another sticker on the back of it. The circle is blue, purple, and pink, and he does know the bi flag, has figured that one out at least. The words in the centre say "oh no, everyone is so hot".

Dean rolls his eyes so hard he almost throws his neck out. "There's no way in hell you think I'm keeping this on," he says.

"You are keeping it on, old man, and if i see you've taken it off I'll take you to the face painting tent and make them give you full bisexual glam." The threatening tone of her voice contrasts too deeply with the contents of that sentence and Dean huffs out a surprised laugh.

"Oh yeah? How do you think you're gonna make that happen?"

"You're not the only one packing here, Winchester."

Dean keeps the sticker on his hand. Stares at it for a minute, then looks all around him, taking in the colour and the joy like a thing that's not used the sun would. A rodent or a worm. Maybe a monster.

"Don't get me wrong but this doesn't really seem like your scene," he says.

Claire shrugs. "I dunno. Maybe a couple years ago I woulda felt the same. Used to think it was all real frivolous and silly y'know?"

She pauses for long enough that Dean's pretty sure the conversation's over. Finally, she speaks again, just a bit quieter: "But, I kinda figure, I can be more than just one thing, right? I can be a hunter and still enjoy some of the nice shit in life. Frivolous and silly is kinda fun."

She's not wrong. Dean doesn't get a lot of moments to be frivolous and silly, but he takes them when he can. Feels like maybe if he'd been born in an different universe he could've known those feelings full time like they were an engrained part of him rather than just fleeting visitors.

Then Claire says, "you're more than one thing, y'know. You're lots of things"

Dean huffs a little laugh and shakes his head, not really sure what he's denying.

"Don't make me give you a whole rundown on your own personality dude. You're not just some workhorse hunter, you got other stuff. Like, gay shit like this doesn't have to be one of your things. But everything's worth a shot once, right?"

He wants to agree. Thinks maybe he'd like to be a lot of things, but everything is kind of blur right now, has been for a while. What are the things he'd like to be? Like to enjoy?

He shakes his head again, not so much denying as delaying.

"Okay Oprah, what got you so wise?"

Claire smirks. She nudges him forward to follow the parade and says, "the internet mostly."

[elevant39]

It´s a wizard and fairy kinda thing

So... I decided to drop another post here... I am so sorry it´s so long... This time about the connection between Wizard 1 and Pixy. (I will refer to Wiz 1 as Lucan for the rest of the post) Mostly because for how little we get, the implications do have a pretty big impact on Pixy as a character (his motives to join AWWNB specificaly). At least that is what I believe. So once again I am need to reference the perfect guide: https://www.skywardfm.com/aczpg-ace-pilot-profiles Now let´s get started. Connection between Pixy and Lucan Thanks to the Perfect guide we can get a really important clue about Pixy and Lucan right from the start. And that is that they are a long time acquaintances. This on it´s own gives us a verry important info about Pixy´s idiology. Pixy most likely had anarchist views before the start of the game. We just never heard about them before Directus because well... Up until that point Pixy didn´t really have a problem fighting in Belkan war. It´s only after he is kinda forced to be part of the counter attack (aka he is on the offensive side) he starts to talk about some of his views. Mission 7 and 8: "Nuclear inspection”, huh? What a joke…"; "Hey Cipher, you hear me? Just look at the view. There’s not much difference between those countries from up here." This does kinda beg the question about how they know each other: Are they long time acquaintances because Pixy always had anarchistic views? Or are they long time acquaintances because Lucan was the one who introduced Pixy to these views? Unfortunately we can only guess because this is all we get from their past. That being said it´s obviose that Pixy does trust Lucan, now I personaly can´t say how mutual this is with Lucan acting like a cult leader and all that. But concidering that Lucan is the only person who calls him by his 1st name in the middle of combat (a furrball no less). And this is the only time something like this happeneds in the game. I honestly wouldn´t be suprised if it was mutual (not to mention with the whole Larry thing it almost feels like Pixy is getting some special treatment from Lucan). However another factor in this is that Pixy is a Belkan war orphan who grew up in a foreign orphanage. Who after leaving became a merc pilot. Meaning that Pixy most likely doesn't have a secondary education, and might not even have primary one depending on how much access to education the orphanage he lived in provided. To tie it back, it makes sence that Pixy would probably trusts Lucan with some of his more philosophical ideas, since Lucan is described as "A deep thinker and has philosophical thoughts. Often pulls quotes relating to philosophy from books and poems." And that is not mentioning that there is 10 years between them. This leads to another conclusion. Lucan is clearly the one who has more intellectual influence in this dynamic. We can actually see this influence if we look at how Pixy talks before Stage of Apocalipse and later in Avalon. Before he is more straight forward with Cipher and PJ. While in Avalon he starts to use more metaphor and more symbolic language (like Lucan). Notebly Lucan and Pixy are the only members that talk about how they will cause a lot of destruction to create the new world. Lucan with his whole "new creation of destruction" and Pixy with his "reset to Zero". Gault 1 mostly talks about his problem how politicians are the one in control and how they never had to go through what they did, Sorcerer 1 is mostly concerned about how borders will create new conflicts in future and how getting rid of them will libare them..

Another interesting connection is that both Pixy and Lucan are the only enemy aces that will use obvious technological advantages against the player in Zero (when I say this I mean something only Belkan magic can explain). Lucan with his Black Widow YF-23 (which somehow has the power to be invisible?) and Pixy with Morgan (I don´t even want to get into to levels of Belkan witchcraft needed for that ECM system).

Now am I saying that Pixy was brainwashed into joining AWWNB? I am honestly not sure, but I would have to say no. Mostly because I think that Pixy is not a case of brainwashing but a case of slow radicalization and how his few connections and world around him as well as his past shaped him into thinking that lauching V2 was a good and moral idea (from his point of view). But that is only how I see it. With all of this out of the way I will focuse on their 2 conversations and what they mean. In game interractions 1) Mayhem Wizard 1: Wizard 1 here, the enemy has broken formation, take them out. Larry, can you read me? Pixy: Looks like you’ve still got the touch. Wizard 1: It’s happening just as you thought, it’s about time we got out of this dead-end job. Pixy: Not just yet. So this one tells us that they know each other but there is something more important. Lucan already gave Pixy an invatation before this mission to join AWWNB and Pixy is considering it. And not turning it down. Meaning that he was probably thinking about joining AWWNB before Hoffnung. That being said just look how casualy this is said in the middle of a giant furball. Implying that they might be more in contact that we think and this is not the 1st time Lucan is suggesting this to Pixy. Also notice that it almost feels like Lucan is trying to push Pixy to accept his offer. Another interesting fact is that after this conversation Pixy´s and PJ´s talks about fighting for peace takes place. If you do keep in mind that Pixy is thinking about joining AWWNB the convo creats another dimension to it. Mostly that PJ is kinda accidentally acting like an intrusive thought to Pixy, basically telling him all the reason why Pixy should join AWWNB while Pixy is trying to grownd himself with every exuse he has. 2) Stage of Apocalypse Wizard 1: Larry, can you read me? Your fairy godmother’s here, Cinderella. Pixy: How could you after what just happened? Wizard 1: [laughs] Today is your lucky day, Larry, just like your birthday. Pixy: And you’re here to pull me off in a magical carriage, huh? to hell, I suppose…

So this dialogue is important because when exactly it takes place. It mostly happeneds right after the 7 nukes are set of, but more importantly it´s also probably happened in the moment that Pixy is most likely in the worst possible psychological state he can be (with Hoffnung before and all that). And right at that moment Lucan just appears out of nowhere and (at least how I read this) starts to reassure Pixy that everything will be alright now that his fairy godmother is there to make things right and pull him of on that carried to that beautiful ball in that fairytale castel that is Avalon. Just like Fairy Godmother did with Cinderella. In her darkest hour she just appeared and helps her and reassures her that everything will be right now that she is here. This is where I once again do need to get into more of a interpretation territory, from what I can come up there could be 3 explanation why Lucan appears at this moment: 1) Pixy already contacted Lucan that he would be joining Meaning Lucan was there to ensure that Pixy would be able to not only join but also to leave to AWWNB,it's just that 7 nukes worked in his favor. 2) Pixy still hasn´t decided yet and so Lucan wanted to give him one last chance to choose and it was an acident that he just so happened to arrive at the perfect moment when Pixy would be most likely to join him. 3) Lucan already somehow (most likely his connection to Gault 1) knew what will happened and just wanted to make sure that Pixy would be in a state where he will not refuse his offer to join AWWNB. Unfortunately this really is up to how you see it. It could be one of them, or a combination of all of the, or it could have been something completely different. I personally fall into a mix of 1 and 2. But this is most likely because of my own personal reading here. That being said every outcome ends the same. Pixy does accept "help" from Lucan and joins him and his organisation. Bonus mission 16: In Wizard squadron fight (knight route), Lucan does mention with his line Pixy, implying that they did talk to each other. "It's just as he said. He flies with aggression." Interesting thing is that only Lucan said this implying that Pixy might have out of the 4 squadron leaders only talk to him about Cipher. With this I believe I already said everything I could from the text it self. However I would still like to talk about some other interesting parallels between Pixie and Lucan that I found.

Parallels of this relationship Morgan and Merlin It´s interesting that Pixy and Lucan seem to mirror the student/mentor aspect of this relationship. Not only is Pixy parallel to Morgan, but Lucan does share some similarities of Merlin too, with his Nick Name “the Blue Magician”. Combine "Often pulls quotes relating to philosophy from books and poems." As well as the fact that you know he literally has Belkan witchcraft on his side (I still have no idea how you can even explain the invisible jets). Cinderella and Fairy godmother I already mentioned this connection in my dialogue 2. I just wanted to mentio it here. That being said this again goes back into the idea that Lucan is the one who holds more authority in this dynamic. Like a guardian over their and ward (at least at that moment). ACE Combat 3 spoiler START Rena and Dision So for those who haven´t playid it. I will be droping some important spoilers here so... yeah.... It´s interesting that they do seem to hold similar position in their organization respectfully. Both Dision and Lucan are leaders (well in Lucan´s case we can only believe that he is, but even then HE is the one who actually has connection to all the interview pilots so make of that what you will). That want destruction of the world Dision for his revenge and Lucan...honestly I do personally believe that he really is just that zealot and believes that is will create a new better world. And Rena with Pixy being the pilots of Super Planes (Rena being the one in charge of Night Raven while Pixy is the last plan of AWWNB with Morgan). The more interesting parallel is also that both Rena and Pixy are recruited and how.

Rena was groomed (and later even brainwashed) to join Ouroboros and be the pilot of Night Raven. Simular thing could be said for Pixy that he was slowly radicalise by war and probably Lucan to join AWWNB and was later choosen to be the Pilot of Morgan. And this is all I could find since I unfortunately have´t played AC3 fully (this is all that I could find from essays and wiki) ACE Combat 3 spoiler END

Ok so another thing my sleep deprived brain forgot to say is that there is also another parallels in how they are after Avalon and their interviews. After Avalon They are both the only members that still try to somehow continue in the ideology of AWWNB. Gault 1 is death, Espada 2 only was there because of Espada 1 and Sorcerer 1 gave up and lives a normal life (as normal as being watch by Osea can allow). On the other hand Lucan continues in his ideas same as before. Even trying to recreate AWWNB and even trying to assassinate the President of Osea. But was later lock up and turned kinda insane. Kinda going deeper into the dark both metaphorically and literally.

While Pixy thanks to seeing ground Zero and help from people (and probably the fact that he no longer is in contact with Lucan) is able to reflect and learn from all of this. He realizes that V2 wasn't the solution and that to fully understand the situation he needs to learn more about why borders exist and why people creat them. He in a sence returns to light (like there is a literal shot where beams of light are shining on him his last speech)

So yeah I somehow forgot the one thing that make me create this post..... sorry about that....

This is really the end (I hope this time), I hope that you all liked reading this brainrot of mine. So yeah... thanks for reading all of this and sorry for how long this was... and how I forgot to put the last part here Have a nice day

[lootsofathousandsworld]

Here he is guys! In a full Glory! 🤩👏🏻

And I imagine his voice be thick Russian when he speaks. lol.

Ivan. One of the pirate lords that ruled over the freezing galaxy area. Own 6 thousands ships under his command. He’s known to be ruthless and the most dangerous pirate ever to known history.

He is known to eat his prisoners and there’s a rumor he ate a terrian (human) once.

One of the most famous legend from him is he almost took over the Terrian Empire. He used his deception way to the king, earning his trust and helping the navy take down their enemy, the Procyon.

But thanks to Regina’s daughter, Admiral Elizabeth, his schemed never succeeded.

[anotherfandomtrash]

SIX the musical but it’s Kuragins messing everything up as ghosts

[xknivesandpensx]

Like Pieces of a Puzzle

Chapter 3

Summary: What if Harry wasn't the only extra student called upon to participate in the Triwizard Tournament? Far from the most popular candidate, Draco not only has to take on the trials but also deal with his unexpected feelings for Hermione. Will he be able to face the challenges as well as follow his heart?

Chapter length will vary. I'll be referencing both the books and movie versions. Some things from what I've previously written will be mentioned, all of which you can find here.

And for those who asked to be tagged: @dayane245love

The air held a slight trace of humidity, the wooded area retaining a distinctive earthy scent. Large pools of water persisted from the night’s rain, leaving little to no dry places along the trail. Trampling feet splashed their way along (although many skirted around) as they followed Hagrid through the dense forest. The overall atmosphere appeared dreary and downright mind-numbing. But Draco got a feeling the latter had nothing to do with the weather.

Sleep evaded him for the majority of the night, leaving him far more temperamental, almost coming off capriciously brisk in attitude depending on who decided to speak to him. Especially, given the reason he tossed and turned so frequently.

He still refused to admit it, even to himself.

Draco forced his attention to focus on his present surroundings. The uneven ground, the sound of endless chatter, how he absolutely hated this class.

If able, he’d erase it entirely from his schedule. Dropping the elective came to mind several times, but far be it for him to attempt something different.

Arithmancy seemed too difficult, his grades hardly hitting spectacularly high to begin with, the theoretical nature of Study of Ancient Runes lacked practicality, he couldn’t get away by guessing there, and he wouldn’t dare take Muggle Studies based on standards alone.

So, that left Care for Magical Creatures and Divination, which he easily managed to glide through if his predictions came off morbid enough to allow Trelawney to go off on a random digression.

During any other lesson, he’d sit at a table, attempting to pay attention only for his thoughts to wonder elsewhere. Here he stood on his feet, tempted to roll his eyes regularly.

In addition to their teacher, having the Gryffindors join the Slytherins for yet another year irritated him greatly. Harry eagerly rose to defend Hagrid, Ron commenting along in added agreement. And of course, Hermione never kept her mouth closed on the matter either.

Second class of their first day and he already felt ready to go back to bed.

They had to feed Blast-Ended Skrewts. The creatures smelled like rotting fish and their appearance came across as some disformed scorpion or shell-less lobsters. He still didn’t see the point of them, their usefulness a mystery. The dull quality of Hagrid’s sessions were anticipated by now, but raising those things over the course of the year, he thought it nothing less than a waste of time.

He purposely stayed a short distance from the crates, of which a couple of students circled, unwilling to grab a handful of frog livers in hope they’d take to eating them.

Plus, the only open space happened to be right next to Hermione. He still felt a little off whenever he caught himself looking at her. Being directly near her seemed far from appealing.

All the same, his eyes gravitated towards her despite his preference to look anywhere else, almost lured in her direction. He watched, for no more than a few fleeting seconds, how her cheeks dimpled when a smile overtook and laughter rang from her lips.

Ron said something to cause the reaction. Probably another stupid joke or funny comment, nothing Draco assumed took many brain cells to come up with.

His attention veered after Dean let out a complaint of getting his hand singed, his arm retracting swiftly from the Blast-Ended Skrewt’s reach.

Lavender too announced her grievances, sounding disgusted by them and regardless of Hagrid’s attempt to explain the creature’s general nature, Draco let out a huff, sauntering a couple of paces forward.

“Well, I can certainly see why we’re trying to keep them alive.” Sarcasm rolled off his tongue effortlessly, tone set in a typical degree of harshness. “Who wouldn’t want pets that can burn, sting and bite all at once? They are ugly little things, aren’t they?”

“Just because they’re not very pretty, it doesn’t mean they’re not useful,” Hermione snapped, unable to ignore the rudeness of his comment, even if she agreed in means of their harmful propensities.

“I don’t remember asking for your opinion,” Draco mentioned, his signature sneer in place. The butterflies in his stomach irked him so much he forced out another bout of cutting words. “But then again, you’re always so eager to stick your nose in other people’s business. Perhaps you want some attention. Waving your hand in the air doesn’t seem to quite cut it anymore, does it? To think you’re so desperate for it, you’re even seeking mine now? It’s quite sad, really.”

Why he chose to go there specifically, he’d never know. Maybe it had something to do with the fact of how she kept snatching his attention and not the other way around.

Hermione’s face grew hot under his scrutiny. His frosty assertion hit in a rather demeaning fashion, she found herself unable to produce a hasty comeback.

“Nothing to say, Granger? That’s a first,” he jeered. “Probably best to keep it up and spare us the torture.” There was something, a particular aspect he noticed which gave him reason to pause. Did the warm weather cause her cheeks to appear flushed, either that or a blush bloomed before his very eyes.

The emotional display caught him off guard, but it mostly sent a wave of confusion to overtake. Draco suddenly became very aware of the students around them, many eager for him to continue, others staring him down. Sure, Hagrid’s observation remained on the crates, so what? Did they expect him to further antagonize her or possibly her silence mystified them as well?

Crabbe and Goyle were a step behind, as per usual, hovering too close. Normally, he’d keep going, persistent in his hounding until satisfied (if not interrupted beforehand).

Hermione took a breath, for once she wished to act like a child and shove him in the chest. Clearly, for the sake of her self-respect and dignity, she restrained. “If anyone’s in need of acknowledgement it’s obviously you.”

“Oh, please. I’m a Malfoy, as if I need any help in that area.” Honestly, at this point he almost wanted either Harry or Ron to intervene. At least then he’d have reason to break their bickering spat before it escalated. Luckily, liberation from their conflict came quickly.

“Enough bickerin’ you two,” Hagrid interjected, finally noticing the lack of students around him as he appeared rather busy attending to his Skrewts. “We’re in the middle of class, are we not? Now ev'ryone gather round.”

Grateful for the escape, Hermione hurried to rejoin the others.

What a great comeback. What she wouldn’t give to stop herself from feeling anything towards him. She was only thankful he hadn’t come even closer, then she might’ve gone all wide-eyed like Ginny used too around Harry.

As Hermione went past a group of Slytherin girls, she felt a pair of hands collide with her arm, shoving her off balance. A loud splash muffled a surprised gasp as a rush of cold, murky water made contact. The puddle sunk surprisingly deep, soaking much of her clothing.

“You did that on purpose,” Hermione coughed out, a bit of water still lodged in her lungs. She went to push herself upright only to feel a sharp wrench of pain in her wrist as her fingers sunk into the wet dirt.

Pansy hovered over her, a satisfied grin on her face. “I don’t know what you mean. It was a complete accident.”

Hermione turned red with embarrassment once an eruption of laughter sounded, it froze her in place for a moment far too long. It shouldn’t surprise her to see Draco chucking alongside everyone else, though she couldn’t know he practically had to compel it out of his throat.

Not because he particularly felt bad about joining in. He simply wanted it to feel normal, to laugh until his ribs hurt from the hilarity of it all.

“A Mudblood in the mud. Exactly where you should be, if you ask me,” he attempted to add, yet not a single ounce of satisfaction registered.

“You’re going to regret saying that, Malfoy!” Ron advanced, soon held back by Dean and Seamus. Of course, he witnessed Pansy’s part but he thought twice about lunging at a girl. He was, however, more than willing to tackle Draco. It wouldn’t be the first time.

Harry rushed over, after giving Draco a rather unpleasant look, and extended his hand to Hermione. She slipped into him after being pulled up, leaving traces of dirt on his uniform. “You okay?”

“You mean besides being totally humiliated?” she asked almost angerly. Hermione unlatched herself from his arms and ran her fingers through her hair, frowning at the mess.

Draco became deaf to Hagrid’s voice nearly booming in the background the moment he spotted a glassy reflection of tears in her eyes (not that she’d let herself cry in front of everyone) as Harry attempted to help wipe away the mud from her face. Ron complained in a grumble off to the side, though he appeared hesitant to touch her, almost unhappy Harry managed to first.

Guilt slammed into Draco’s chest seconds later, an incessant, nagging throb beating so apparent it caused him to lose all sense of a smile. Never had he felt bad about making fun of anyone. A tiny part of his mind even started to whisper some vague drivel about apologizing for his callous behavior.

As if he’d ever.

Next thing he knew, Hagrid sent Hermione and Harry back to the castle to clean up minutes before class itself ended. And if he believed eating would satisfy his hollow stomach, he was rather mistaken. Lunch came next and not only did he not see Hermione, his hunger disappeared completely. Even the sweets and cakes he received in the morning from his parents, all of which he couldn’t wait to enjoy later on, lost their appeal.

He heard from behind, as Harry explained Hermione’s absence to Ginny in a somewhat hushed tone, about how she went to Madam Pomfrey for her wrist then straight to the library. Apparently, she wished to avoid any probable mockery from her fellow classmates. Fred and George got a little rowdy about it, otherwise Draco stopped listening.

All in all, the very fact of not receiving detention for calling Hermione a Mudblood in class worked out well in his favor. Hagrid noticed, but he got out before any reprimanding happened, not that he couldn’t inform Snape. Draco very much doubted the possibility.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” Goyle asked, noticing the way he pushed his food around on his plate instead of taking a bite.

“Shut up, Crabbe,” he impertinently rejoined, not paying any mind to who spoke to him at all, his temper already tampered with too much for the day.

“That wasn’t me,” Crabbe muttered, reaching over for a piece of chicken. His arm nearly knocked his cup over, threatening to spill its contents across the table.

“Like it matters.” He provided a glare, daring him to say another word. When the two settled on their meal once more, Draco took a sip of pumpkin juice.

He usually looked forward to the hour break in between classes, but his mind kept hounding him with more nonsense. Draco could practically hear his father chastising him for undergoing the slightest implication of guiltiness.

Specifically, when it centered on someone Muggle-born.

He glanced at the bruise he received for unintentionally eavesdropping. Maybe Lucius cut above severe punishments, but he never shied away from harsh reminders. And he didn’t need another.

Pansy sat across from them, her brows furrowing from his somewhat unusual behavior. “Why are you in a mood? I thought you’d be happy.”

As if she specifically mortified Hermione for his benefit. Knowing Pansy, perhaps that was her precise motivation. Though in truth, she naturally detested Hermione and likely took the opportunity when it came.

“I’m completely thrilled, can’t you tell?” he asked, a thin level of exasperation clinging to his voice. Draco pushed his plate aside. “I’m going to the common room. Alone.” He stressed the last word, forcing Pansy to sit back down.

The last thing he sought was her company or anyone else’s for that matter. Leaving the Great Hall, he passed Professor Moody along the way, taking note on the way his artificial eye followed him until he crossed into the hallway.

He got the impression their new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher didn’t see him in a very high light. He knew those types of looks all too well, at least the readable one from his good eye.

Draco shook off the notion and kept a steady pace, intent on avoiding the very direction of the library. He didn’t want to see Hermione or even think about her, so how did he find himself walking past shelves of books mere minutes later?

[prismagpie]

ANCHORAGE TASK 02 / MIROIR DATABASE

content warning for mentions of parental death, child abandonment, absent and negligent parenting (could be classed as some degree of abuse?)

I : THE LOVERS' MASK

A TALE CALLED THE MOON'S ANGUISH THAT HAS CIRCULATED ANCHORAGE FOR THE PAST SEVERAL DECADES HAS PROMPTED SOME YOUNG LOVERS TO EXCHANGE MASKS AS A PROMISE OF DEVOTION. WHAT DESIGN WOULD MUSE THEORETICALLY THINK FITS THEM ( LOOK BACK TOREVENGE OF KRAMPUS FOR REFERENCE, #ANCHORTASK01 ON OUR SERVER ) ?

Honestly, the mask I chose for Ash for the original task is probably not that far off the mark? I went with the idea of him making it himself and also totally forgetting he was supposed to stick to a theme so, at least in-universe, that’s as authentically Ash as you’re gonna get. So, yeah, black with chains and rings, a little bit of stud action. Not quite punk but sort of punk-adjacent. Maybe the one thing I’d add is some kind of padlock motif somewhere because I think that plays into the whole thief thing in a pretty fun way.

SOME MIGHT CONSIDER THEM LEADING A DOUBLE LIFE IF THEY KNEW ABOUT …

The whole thief thing! It’s not really as prominent a part of his life as it was when he was going up but he’s definitely still swiping shit behind people’s back and he’s good at it so most people aren’t aware unless he’s bothered to tell them. He doesn’t really tell people about his childhood because he thinks it’s kind of a downer and it’s not worth talking about but, if you’re his friend and he knows you don’t give a shit about petty crime, you probably know he’s good at stealing shit. You just won’t know why. So I’m not sure how much it qualifies as a double life now, in his adult life, even if most people don’t know. But growing up, he absolutely led a double life.

WHAT WOULD BE THEIR OWN DEAL BREAKER IN A RELATIONSHIP ? WOULD THEY DIE FOR LOVE OR KILL FOR MONEY ?

Ash has probably only had super casual relationships and, if anything, he’s probably the one who’s more likely to get dumped for being flighty and being a little emotionally distant. It’s weird because he doesn’t come off as emotionally distant and he’s generally open about his feelings but he tends to shut out any more complicated emotions. But, as for a real deal-breaker, the number one thing besides the obvious (cheating and so on) would be judgement. If he got the feeling his partner was unfairly judging him or getting morally superior with him, he’d probably bail on that shit fast. I also don’t think Ash would kill for money. Maybe if it was a LOT of money. But, even then, he’d have to be pretty desperate and it would haunt him forever. Not ideal.

THEY ONLY HAVE ENOUGH CHANGE FOR ONE CALL AT THE PHONEBOOTH, & SOMEONE WITH GLARING RED EYES & A SPATULA IS STANDING ACROSS THE STREET. WHO WILL THEY CALL ?

I’m not sure if Ash truly trusts anyone to the degree that he’d turn to them for help. Even the people he’s friends with, I think he’d take the stance that it’s his issue that he needs to deal with. He’s very used to getting on with shit by himself, even that’s a risky outlook. But Ash is also constantly trying to pull tricks to wriggle out of shit so I could see him pretending to phone someone as a distraction and using it to stall until he thinks of a decent escape plan. If it comes down to it, he’d probably try and bar the booth door for as long as he can. And THEN he might try and think of someone to call.

II : THE ZEIGEIST OF THE '90S

THEIR FAVORITE SLASHER FILM IS ( IF APPLICABLE ) …

I don’t know enough about the slasher sub-genre to say anything useful or meaningful here, sorry! However, I can see Ash going to the video store and finding the most obscure thing he can find, only to be like ‘why did i watch that??’ because it was a terrible film, in terms of quality and morals alike.

IN THEIR FREE TIME, THEY ENJOY GOING OUT AND …

Ash is actually quite content to piss about at home, not doing very much. I don’t know if he’s quite a homebody but he doesn’t really care either way, except that going out too often is eventually draining. There are a few specific places around town he likes hanging out though. Generally speaking, he’ll go anywhere if someone calls him up or finds him with the aim of dragging him along. He likes spontaneity.

A FASHION FAD OF THE TIMES THEY ADORE THAT THEIR FRIENDS WOULD DESPISE IS …

He’s not much of a trend follower but I’d say…maybe bucket hats? That’s the one sticking out to me. I don’t know if other people would hate that, I’m not necessarily a fan, but it seems very on-brand for Ash, especially if he’s dressing more casually. Let’s throw overly-customised jeans into the mix too. Ash tends to alter a lot of his own outfits.

HOW OFTEN DO THEY ORDER DELIVERY FROM PEPPY'S PIZZERIA ? HAVE THEY EVER SEEN THE WALLS OOZE GREEN SLIME IN THE PIZZERIA OR THE ANIMATRONICS MOVE ON THEIR OWN DURING THEIR TIME IN ANCHORAGE ?

Ash has a personal vendetta against Peppy’s because of the time his dad left him there. He’s not sure why or how that happened but he’s accepted it’s a 20 year old unsolved mystery). Regardless, he was five and already scared of being by himself so the animatronics seemed much more unsettling than they should have done. He’s not afraid of animatronics but he’s not a big fan of these ones specifically, for strictly personal reasons. He’s probably gotten delivery a few times though because, hey, he likes pizza. No robots are gonna ruin that for him. However, if someone else told him these rumours about the pizzeria? He’d be like ‘sure, that makes sense, place is evil’.

WHEN THEY BELIEVED IN CHRISTMAS, WERE THEY TOLD KRAMPUS WOULD PAY THEM A VISIT FOR BEING ON THE NAUGHTY LIST ? ( WRITE N/A IF NOT APPLICABLE TO THEIR RELIGION OR LIFESTYLE )

Nope! Ash has celebrated Christmas his whole life but it was always very minimal. His dad didn’t really bother decorating the trailer because it was deemed a waste of money but Christmas was always a BIG season for the pair of them, in terms of stealing shit and making money off of it. Ash is aware he probably unwittingly ruined Christmas for some people and, honestly, he does not feel great about it! His dad didn’t really bother with stuff like Santa so Ash knew from a young age that he wasn’t real. His aunt tried to keep up the charade for Ash’s sake but his dad couldn’t keep his mouth shut. In any case, there was no real need for something like Krampus. His dad raised Ash with a very skewed moral system, after all.

WHAT TALL TALE OR SUPERSTITION WERE THEY TOLD AS A CHILD THAT STILL GIVES THEM THE HEEBIE JEEBIES ?

Ash was born in Anchorange in 1998 to a pair of literal teenagers which means his dad was in the perfect age group that have been hearing and sharing childish rumours about the disappearances. I can absolutely imagine that, by the time he was old enough to understand scary stories, his dad would have told him rumours about the Hash-Slinging Slasher and the disappearances in general. Who needs ghost stories when Anchorage is bad enough?

III : THE CURSE OF THE SPIDER

ARE THERE FAMILY SECRETS OR SO-CALLED CURSES THAT HAUNT THEM ? ONES THAT ARE KNOWN PUBLICLY OR FOLLOW THEM FIGURATIVELY ?

Ash knows very little about his wider family outside of his dad and maybe his aunt. His dad had allowed his sister contact with Ash but drawn the line at his parents or anybody else. Ash doesn’t know anybody on his mother’s side. To him, even the most common knowledge is basically a secret. However, the fact that Ash’s father is probably one of the disappeared does kind of follow him, although less so now than as a teenager. Being the son of a potential victim and having everyone know about it but not even really care like they should because it’s so common is a lot to deal with. 

WHICH OF THE SEVEN SINS WOULD CORRUPT THEIR MORALS ?

Probably sloth? Not in the sense that Ash is lazy or anything but, overall, he’s pretty apathetic about a lot of things. Sloth is supposed to be the one sin that’s defined by inaction, rather than by immoral actions, and Ash’s approach to things is very much based on just getting on with it. Although, the seven deadly sins are very much tied to Christian morality so it’s hard to say to what extent this is really an issue. Would sloth corrupt him to the extent that he stopped caring about other people? I’m not entirely sure, I think he’s still generally empathetic about people. Just not always other stuff.

THE WORLD REMAINS THE SAME FOR DECADES NOW. IS IGNORANCE BLISS ? OR IS THERE THE SHAKY SENSE SOMETHING IS AMISS THAT CAN'T BE IGNORED ?

In terms of the stagnation of time? I mean, again, Ash tends to just get on with shit. Maybe once or twice, he’s thought it’s weird that stuff seems pretty stagnant but he also doesn’t have enough reference of the world before him so it’s easy to ignore. As for everything else, I’m not sure Ash has any concrete suspicions or any real ideas as to what might be going on but he’s always been curious, even since his dad disappeared. Maybe his dad was just regular old murdered, who knows? But it was so sudden. But it’s not something he’d necessarily admit to being curious about either.

DREAMS ARE OFTEN INFLUENCED BY THE SUBCONSCIOUS & SOMETIMES DISTORTED. IN THEIR DEEPEST, DARKEST NIGHTMARES, HOW DO THEY VIEW THEMSELVES ?

Afraid. A coward. He’s aware he tends to run away from his problems and his nightmares probably reflect that to some degree. Stressed out. Running from things. Feeling ashamed about it. And it’s weird because he knows he’s capable of fighting back and he knows he’s willing. He’s not really a coward in real life. Real threats don’t usually bother him that much. But he runs from things that are much bigger than him, things that are much more abstract. He’s just one person. And, maybe, he kind of hates that about himself.

IV : THE CROOKED FRAME

WHAT IS THEIR DEATH WISH ? MIROIRS ONLY ( BASTARDS GANG INCLUDED ) : THE PERFECT CRIME WAS CONSTRUCTED & SOMEONE ELSE TOOK THEIR PLACE. HOW DID THEY ORIGINALLY DIE ?

That his death not be something lame. If he has to die, he’d like to mean something. To have some impact somehow, just to make his mark and prove he was alive. But, failing that, it doesn’t really matter so long as it isn’t something embarrassing or really boring. He’d at least like for his death to be something that might make a person say ‘oh, wow…’ — not that he wants to die or is at peace with the idea of dying but he doesn’t really view himself as an especially important or memorable person so, if his adult life has to be a little mundane, he’d at least like to go out in an interesting way.

MUSE COULDN'T BE THE ONE BEHIND THE TUNNEL OF LOVE OUTAGE BECAUSE WHEN THE POWER WENT OUT, THEY WERE …

Trapped in the tunnel itself, babeeeeeeeeeeeey!! That doesn’t really clear his name in and of itself, I guess, but that is where he was. He was busy being mad that he couldn’t wriggle his way out of that problem. Maybe if he’d had his lockpicking kit handy……but who knows? Either way, Ash has no idea WHAT the fuck was going on!

WHAT WOULD THEY CONSIDER THEIR CALLING CARD ( I.E. WHAT SYMBOLS, PERSONAL MEMENTOS, ETC. DO THEY PERCEIVE AS REPRESENTATIVE OF THEMSELVES ) ?

If we were being very, very literal about this? I’d say he just wouldn’t have one! The number one lesson he learned as a thief was to leave nothing behind. Not a single trace. However, to answer the question fairly, I’m going to stick with the obvious motif I’ve settled on for Ash and say a magpie feather. Probably one of the black and white ones rather than the blue-green iridescent ones?

THOSE WITH INTERMEDIATE TECHNICAL SKILLS HAVE USED CRACKS & VPNS TO IMPROVE THE INTERNET CONNECTION, BUT ANYTHING POST-DATING THE 1990S IS ONLY ACCESSIBLE THROUGH THE DARK WEB. HAS MUSE EVER ACCESSED THE DARK WEB ? HAVE THEY USED IT FOR ANY NEFARIOUS MEANS OR TO PURCHASE SERVICES ?

Ash does own a laptop that he stole from a big chain store but he’s not super tech-savvy or anything. It’s not really his realm of interest so he’s never really delved into it. But he is somewhat aware of it, mostly because he spent most of his childhood sneaking into people’s homes. He oversaw glimpses of a lot of things that were none of his business. Maybe he’d appreciate having better internet for streaming purchases but he also kind of likes the tactile, analogue experience of physical media.

[yuki-world]

秦彻 | SYLUS ; PLAN

summary | sylus sets a time limit for you to retrieve the brooch from him. unfortunately, you don't get it in time no matter how hard you try, but fortunately, it's sylus you're dealing with.

tags | nsfw (smut), fem!reader, mention of handcuffs, vaginal penetration, creampie, 2.9k words

a/n : inspired by his affinity lvl 15 story (?) aka the one where he gets handcuffed to the bed

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

“oh,” sylus raises a brow, clearly finding this whole situation amusing. he’s handcuffed to his own bed with you straddling him, teasing him by tracing your index finger over his body. just how cocky were you?

sylus takes a deep breath in. “so you think you’ve got me now, is that right?”

you hum in response, stopping your finger near his abdomen. “think? no, i know,” you reply confidently, letting out a slight scoff. there was no way he could move, so you could find it freely as you pleased. this was the best scenario, and luckily you didn’t fumble it as this was your last attempt before the deadline reached.

unbeknownst to you, it’s not that he couldn’t un-cuff himselfー it’s actually quite offensive that you think that. it’s more of him wanting to see how far you would go if he wasn’t going to intervene, because it’s fun. how adorable you look thinking you’ve won, how eager you look to finally win against him in something. and so, he watches. eyes locked onto your every action and reaction as you try to find the hidden brooch.

you start at the top of his robe near his neck, your hand making it’s way down, slowly feeling for any small and hard object. you pat at the material rested on his chest, but still no sign.

sylus gives you a small smirk, and you narrow your eyes. you didn’t exactly trust him per se, even if he promised to keep his word. what if this was just a trick? what if he was just toying with you? what if he didn’t have the brooch?”

“are you sure the brooch is even on you?” you questioned. his growing smirk was only making you more suspicious by the minute.

“accusing me, kitten?” he asks, feigning disappointment. “you haven’t even finished looking.”

you roll your eyes at his words, mumbling a small whatever under your breath as you continued looking for the brooch. you smoothed your palm down his robe, patting around his waist. still nothing.

you were getting desperate at this pointー you were almost there. this was the best effort you’ve made so far, and you weren’t going to let your plan fail so easily. you swallow, trailing your hand further down his robe, albeit hesitantly. your hands were at his thigh, the thin material the only thing separating your skin with his.

mentally shaking your head to snap out of your thoughts, you continue feeling for where the brooch might be.

suddenly, you feel something hard. it’s hard, no mistake, but it was far from small.

…that’s definitely not the brooch.

“i’d be careful where you’re touching,” sylus speaks, his voice almost making you jump as you retracted your hand quickly. a tinge of red spreads across your cheeks, and you try to defend yourself.

“shutー quiet,” you stuttered. “i didn’t mean to, okay? sorry,” you apologized, breathing out as you tried to maintain your composure. focus on the goal, you repeated to yourself over and over again. you meet his eyes for a split second, and god, you want to wipe that smirk off his face.

he lets out a breathy chuckle, watching you get distracted as you panicked to look for the brooch.

you finally get to the bottom of his robe, but you find absolutely nothing. where else could he have hidden it? he had to have it with him… that was a rule, right?

“i swear, you’re playing with me,” you accused, defeated. how was this possible? you set everything up perfectly, and the one thing you couldn’t do was find the broochー despite being able to check him freely? “be honest, is it really on you or not?” you asked, squishing his cheeks together with your hand so he looks at you.

“oh, look at that,” he states, ignoring your question before tilting his head up slightly, glancing at the clock, then back to you.

“time’s up.”

you hear a soft click, your head snapping to the sound of the handcuffs unlocking as you let your hand fall.

your body moves instinctively, feet touching the floor as you push yourself off his bed to make your escape.

…only for him pull you back and throw you onto the bed, landing with a soft thud against his pillow. you try to lift yourself up again, but your wrists get pinned by his larger handsー all the more making it hard to move. you start to squirm a little, but decide it’s of no use.

“you really are naive,” sylus sighs, shaking his head in disappointment. how you thought a pair of poorly made handcuffs were supposed to restrict him was beyond comprehendible. “since you didn’t find it in time, i get to have my way with you.”

“whatever, justー just get on with it.” you roll your eyes, trying to act nonchalant, but you can’t help the sudden wave of pleasure that shoots through your body at his words.

complying, he slams his lips against yours, the kiss filled with hunger and greed. the kiss was far from sloppyー he made sure you felt everything, both physically and emotionally, very calculated. his tongue darts out to swipe against your bottom lip, and you gasp.

he takes this opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, the wet sounds of making out filling his room as he continued to french kiss you.

removing his hand from one of your wrists, he opts to grip your waist instead, subtly pushing your shirt higher and higher, until your bra was exposed.

you shouldn’t be enjoying this. yet here you were, squirming under him as your thighs rubbed against one another, eager to feel any sort of stimulation. his mouth felt so warm as he continued kissing you, and so did the atmosphere.

feeling the movement of your thighs, he lets go of your other wrist, spreading your legs apart before slotting himself in between them, his crotch flushed against you. he doesn’t break the kiss once, letting you grind onto his hardened bulge to relieve yourself.

“sylus,” you breathed out, pushing him away gently to catch your breath. you panted softly, a string of saliva connecting the both of your lips as he pulled back.

“what, kitten?” he leans back smugly, admiring how red your lips were. all his doing, of course. “you can’t even handle a bit of kissing?”

“that was not a bit of kissing,” you retorted, looking away. you noticed your clothes were starting to stick onto your skin, presumably from the heat. you start to slowly unbutton your shirt one by one, but he’s not having any of that.

he smacks your hand away, ripping open the shirt like it was paper, some buttons popping off. you couldn't even protest as he pulled your bra down, exposing your tits.

"what the fuck, sylus! that was my favorite shirt," you scolded, furrowing your brows. it was one of the few shirts you decided to splurge on after contemplating for a long time, and the fact that he just tore it like that...

"how much?" he questions, squeezing one of your tits.

"what? like, a little over a hundredー"

"insignificant," he cuts you off, latching onto one of your nipples. he already knew whatever value you said wouldn't matter much to himー he could buy you a million of those shirts and there wouldn't be a single dent to his bank account.

he continues to suck and fondle, alternating between each tit to give them equal attention. he bites occasionally, each time making you gasp. you thread your fingers through his hair, pulling every time he sucked or bit too hard.

after what felt like hours, sylus finally pulls off you with a pop, staring at the red marks, shining with his saliva around your tits. even better that it's from his doing. he lets out a satisfied sigh.

"don't... look at me like that," you whisper, covering his eyes, feeling slightly embarrassed.

he lets out a breathy chuckle, bringing your palm to his lips to kiss it. "you're getting shy now? you weren't earlier when you were touching me all over," he points out, pulling your pants and underwear off in one clean motion.

"and don't think i forgot when you brushed against my..."

"that's 'cause i was looking for the brooch!" you argued, letting out a defeated sigh. "...just fuck me already."

"it's interesting that you think you're in any position to make demands." he flips you over onto your hands and knees, giving your ass a loud slap, resonating throughout the room. "ass up, don't take your own sweet time."

you clicked your tongue at his attitude, but did as he told anyway. as much as you didn't want to admit it, you were eager. the last time the both of you had sex, he fucked you until you were on the brink of tears, moaning and drooling into his pillows that he had to change them after. it was amazing, to say the very least.

sylus shifts behind you, undoing his robe and getting rid of his boxers quickly. his cock stands erected, large obviously, and it's clear he's already been hard since the beginning. even if you don't turn around to look, you knew just how much pre-cum was leaking from his cock as he rubs the coated tip between your embarrassingly wet folds. so much so that you didn't even need any preparationー not even his fingers to spread your pussy open.

he gives your ass another slap again, before guiding his cock into your tight entrance. your pussy stretches around him to accommodate his girth, instinctively clamping down the moment it entered.

"ngh, sylus," you moan, fingers gripping onto his sheets, pillows, anything you could grab on to as he pushed more of his inches into you. you'll never get enough of how big he feels inside you, the empty space previously now filled to the brim with his cock, stretching you out to mold your insides to the shape of him.

"fuck... always so fucking tight, huh?" sylus exhales, bottoming out inside you. though, there was still some of his length left that your cunt couldn't take in. "this cock is too big for you."

you whined in response, spreading your legs further to take more of him in comfortably, but you could barely do so from how filled you were. there was simply no space inside you.

"aw, too much for you, kitten?" he mocks. pulling back to leave only his tip in, before slamming his entire length back into you.

"shutー ahー up!" you cry out as you jerk forward from the sheer force of his thrust. his hands were wrapped around your waist, pulling you back to meet each thrust of his cock. you should've known he was only going to go faster, his seemingly sweet and slow pace disappearing the moment he starts pounding into you at rapid speeds. his balls were hitting your clit every time he pushed his cock in, sending jolts of pleasure through you.

your sounds get louder and louder each time he fucks into you, so much so that you have to bury your face into the pillow to muffle your moans. it was going to happen againー his pillows stained with drool.

he slammed his hips against your ass harder, hoping to elicit more sounds from you. "sylus... mmph!" you moan, his name coming out unclear from how muffled you were.

"hmm?" he hums in question, pulling your hair to lift your face off the pillow. "who said that you could hide your pretty sounds?"

sylus pulls out before flipping you over again, this time taking a few seconds to admire your fucked out state. your face was flushed, half-lidded eyes and drool dribbling down the side of your mouth. he doesn't think he's ever seen a prettier sight.

"you're drooling," he points out, using his thumb to wipe some of it away. well, you knew that, but you don't care, because at this point, all you can think about is his cock. you've never been more grateful to him, more thankful that you met him, as he pushes his cock into you once more.

your walls feel so good around him, he has to take a brief breather before starting to thrust. such a tight cunt, he thinks again, because it's trueー he's never fucked this good of a pussy. wrapping around him so warmly, clenching onto him in all the right ways. he could die happy like this. he could die happy with you.

"fuck me, fuck meー fuck me," you beg, snapping him out of his thoughts. you push up against him, trying to move on your own, to take more of him in, to just do something. the lack of stimulation was killing you.

"stop," he hisses, gripping your thigh to stop you. "you're going to hurt yourself. let me do it."

and then he starts again, fucking you with so much vigor that you mentally question just how much stamina he actually has. he never lets his pace falter from then onwards, railing you as the bed starts to move along to his movements.

with no pillow to bury your face in, you couldn't hide your moans even if you wanted toー exactly what he wanted. you were screaming, "harderー fuckー yes! right there!"

"so noisy in bed," he groans, hands reaching up to intertwine your fingers with him. a small and sweet gesture, the complete opposite of how roughly he was ramming his cock deep inside you. repeatedly, at that same exact spot that had your eyes rolling backwards. if anyone was outside his doorー hell, not even outside his door, maybe even at a few rooms away, they would definitely still be able to hear you.

you wrap your legs around his waist tightly, feeling your orgasm approaching sooner than you thought. "sylus, i wannaー make me cum, please!"

no, he wanted to say. this wasn't your reward, you didn't even find the brooch. but he couldn't. because he was close too.

sylus wasn't going to deny you even if you didn't ask so nicely, even if you demanded him to. he knows the exact look on your face as you cum, and it's the same, perfect, expression that he loves so much each time. at your request, he lets go of one of your hands, dipping his fingers into your mouth before trailing down to rub circles around your clit.

unnecessary? yes, you were already soaking wet. just for good measure, he thinks. besides, you looked sexy with your mouth wrapped around his fingers, almost struggling with how much larger his digits were.

you start squirming, squeezing his hand tighter as he continues thrusting while rubbing, a deadly combo. "fuckー thaaat's it, be a good girl and cream on my cock."

"oh myー sylus!" you scream out his name as your orgasm hits you, eyes rolling back, nails digging into his hand, and your back arches off the bed. your pussy starts tightening and spasming around him like a vice. he feels you get so much, so much wetter that his cock almost slips out of you as he pulls back.

"such a sweet expression," he groans at the sight, pushing your legs back as he tries to angle his cock deeper into you. you try to close your legs from sensitivity, but he simply won't let you, not when he's so close to cumming.

"ohー yes, fuuuck..." he throws his head back with a final snap of his hips, his cock pulsing inside you as he pumps your pussy with cum, his thick load of semen coating your insides with warmth.

coming down from his high with a few more weak spurts of cum, he lets his head fall back down, a contented sigh as he pulls out slowly with a loud squelch. you whimper at the sensitivity, but also at the loss of his cock. his load takes a few seconds to dribble out, thick and creamy, leaving a trail down to your ass.

"satisfied?" he tilts his head, letting your legs down. "seems like you're done for tonight."

"yeah," you breathe out in exhaustion, feeling his hand caress your cheek. "the brooch," you paused, suddenly remembering.

"where is it, and... what's the actual punishment?"

sylus looks at you amused, reaching over to his robe tossed somewhere on the floor, unpinning the brooch before holding it towards you. "looking for this?"

you widened your eyes. how could it have been in his robe? you literally searched everywhereー

"i know what's going on in that little head of yours," he sighs, opening your palm to put it in your hand. "you got distracted, remember? you brushed past it and didn't even notice, kitten."

you groaned in frustration, mad at yourself that you didn't even notice. you basically just accused him for nothing.

"...and the actual punishment? for not getting the brooch in time?"

"no punishment," he states smugly, watching your lips part in disbelief.

"seriously? i put in a lot of effort into these plans, you know!" you smack his chest lightly. "i can't believe you."

"i'd say you gained a lot more than you lost," he says as a matter-of-factly, eyeing the white mess oozing out of your cunt.

"...shut up."

ー @yuki-world

[joelsgoldrush]

“give me the first taste” | 10k

logan howlett x f!reader

part 2 of “GUILTY PLEASURE”

"Your hungry flirt borders intrusion / And I'm building memories on things we have not said / Full is not heavy as empty, not nearly, my love / Give me the first taste / Let it begin, heaven cannot wait forever / Darling, just start start the chase, I'll let you win." The First Taste by Fiona Apple

SUMMARY: From the moment you first laid eyes on Logan, you knew he was a tough nut to crack. But if there’s one thing you love, it’s a challenge. As your relationship grows, you’re determined to show him that, in this universe, he can also be loved.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni - smut 18+ fluff. angst. drinking. dirty talk. slow-burnish. age-gap (reader is 25). once again wade saves the day. domestic!logan. soft dom!logan. logan calls reader “kid”. they watch (500) days of summer. oral sex (f and m receiving). fingering. thigh riding. thumb sucking. throat fucking. multiple orgasms. unprotected p in v. creampie (i would say i’m sorry but i’d be lying)

AUTHOR’S NOTE: jeez. hi guys!!! hope you’re doing alright. this is the 2nd part to “guilty pleasure.” writing for these two has been a total rollercoaster, but god was it worth it. as i always tell you, english isn’t my first language, so if you come across any mistake and you feel like letting me know, there’s no problem. thank you so much for all the support you’ve been giving my posts. i’m happy strangers out there take the time to read my silly stories :)

A girl and a mutant walk into an apartment…

Actually, you’re still trying to come up with the rest of the joke. But one thing’s true: Logan’s about to set foot in your place.

You curse under your breath, putting both your hands to work as you struggle to open the door. “Fucking swollen wood. I hate humidity,” you mutter, glancing back at Logan, who frowns as you keep trying different maneuvers to get the door to function properly.

It’s a shitty situation overall. And having that gorgeous man practically glued to your back isn’t helping in any way. You can tell he wants to give you a hand, but you’re not having it—women in STEM or something of the sort.

“May I—” he starts, though you cut him off before he can finish.

“I’ve got this. Just need to—” you say, ramming your shoulder into the door with enough force to make it finally give away. Almost stumbling over the carpet but managing to catch yourself, you sigh in relief. Meanwhile, Logan stands still, scrutinizing you until you gesture for him to enter. “Welcome to the smallest apartment in New York City. It's nothing fancy, but it’s got everything you need for a comfortable stay on a budget. Make yourself at home!”

Logan narrows his eyes, the tiniest smirk playing on his lips before stepping inside. Each of his movements seems to be premeditated as he tosses his jacket onto the couch, surveying the room. A portrait of when you were a kid, probably six or seven years old, catches his attention. He tilts his head, picking up the picture to examine it more closely, and then flashes you a lopsided grin. “How cute.”

“Well, I’ve changed a lot,” you take the picture from his hands, returning it to the shelf where he had gotten it from. 

“Well,” he echoes, mocking your tone, “your beauty certainly hasn’t.”

His eyes bore into you as you meet his gaze. What amazes you most is that he’s being completely honest. In a heartbeat, you look away, wondering what’s gotten into you. Usually, you’re not this awkward—you’ve learned how to take compliments over the years, knowing how to smile just right, to flutter your eyelashes. To blush and giggle in command. Those were the tools that helped you to survive countless first dates—your dearest aces up your sleeve.

There’s no use denying that they remained just that: first, failed dates. You hope you never have to go back to dating apps after this.

“Are you hungry? ‘Cause I’m starving,” you say, trying to walk away from him, although he’s faster, catching your hand in his. 

“Hey,” he urges you to make eye contact with him, his voice perplexingly soft. “Is everything okay?”

You nod so vigorously that you nearly strain your neck. “I’m fine, I swear. I just never get past this point.”

Inching closer, he presses his lips together for a split second, his brows furrowing in confusion. “You lost me there.”

“Guys who come into my apartment don’t tend to call back,” you admit, a flush creeping up your face, cheeks getting hotter. “I happen to believe it’s a curse, though I’ve kissed, like, a hundred toads so far and it still won’t break.”

“So y’think you’re gonna scare me off,” he raises an eyebrow, grinning. His rough fingers become gentle as they tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “It’s sweet. Should be the other way around.”

Wow. You two are a match made in heaven.

As you detach yourself from his embrace and head to the kitchen, you decide to look for something edible in the fridge, finding different trays of food from days ago, none of which look appetizing or suitable for feeding the Tin Woodman standing behind you.

All of a sudden, the unmistakable metallic sound of Logan’s claws unsheathing rings in your ears, forcing you to spin around. The image that unfolds before you is peculiar, to say the least: he’s cornering your cat against the door.

Why is he about to fight a cat?

“Please don’t kill him?” you take a step in his direction and scoop the little ball of white fur into your arms. Logan stares at both of you, eyes squinted and brows knitted. “I’m sure he’s the cutest feline you’ve ever seen. Have mercy on him.”

“I didn’t know you had a cat.”

“Earnest wasn’t aware of your existence either,” you reply, scratching along the animal’s back. He purrs beside your neck, his yellowish eyes never leaving Logan’s. “Earnest, this is Logan. He has claws just like you.”

“Don’t you dare compare me to that,” Logan warns you, retracting his claws with a sigh. You can’t help but wonder if he ever feels tranquil, at peace. “Y’know, you’ve doomed him to bad fortune with that name. Is he at least toilet trained?”

“Are you hating on The Importance of Being Earnest?” you ask, expecting a retort, though apparently the play’s title doesn’t ring a bell for him. “Oscar Wilde?”

“Who do you think you’re talkin’ to, kid?”

Now’s your time to roll your eyes, setting the cat down and letting it run away. He likes to hide in the bathroom—don’t ask why, because not even you know the answer to that. You flick your gaze up back to Logan, placing your hands on your hips. “See, you gave him trust issues.”

“He’ll survive. Don’t they have seven lives?”

This is the perfect conversation to have with someone who just ate you out thirty minutes ago: how many lives do cats have. Jesus.

At some point, Logan flops onto the couch, stretching out. You shudder as you hear him crack his neck, the popping sound getting on your nerves. He pats the empty side of the sofa, spreading his thighs until he’s almost taking up all the space. “Come here.”

Putting aside all your thoughts, you accept the invitation. You sit down, motionless, and his arm grazes the cushion behind your head, pulling you closer to him. You rest your cheek on his chest, letting out a deep sigh, one that you’ve been holding in since you got to the apartment. Is it possible that he knows you craved this? This proximity, this kind of affection. To be held—it’s been your only wish for months. He drums his fingers on your shoulder blades, then starts rubbing your back ever so lightly.

Far from dozing off, you feel alive.

It’s hard not to lose track of time and space when you find yourself immersed in the warmth he offers, and that’s when you realize how deeply you’re falling for this man. “Logan?” the mere thought of asking him what’s been on your mind terrifies you. The last thing you want is to ruin things—or whatever it is that you have. He hums, a low, heavy sound in his throat, indicating you to continue. “I have a question.”

“Ask away.”

You lift your face from his chest and look him in the eye. The city’s still alive outside, with music and chatter sneaking in through the window. Everything seems to be perfect, and you wish you could stay like this—just staring at him as if he were a painting in a museum, and you the critic who can’t stop writing articles about its beauty.

Okay, that was… weirdly specific. 

Logan tries to hide his smile as you peck his lips repeatedly. For a moment, you almost forget what you were going to ask him in the first place. But then he’s ready to listen, and you a wave of nausea washes over you.

“I know that we came here to… engage in adult practices.”

“Fucking, you mean.”

“I didn’t want to be that straightforward, but yeah,” you say, shaking your head as to rearrange your thoughts. “Would you mind if we stayed like this?” to emphasize your point, you kick your shoes off and put your legs on top of his lap. He observes the whole sequence without daring to utter a word. “Don’t get me wrong. I’d love to try that too. I truly do. But… right now, all I want is to cuddle,” he’s still silent, making you even more nervous. “I’m sorry. Is that okay with you?”

His whole body engulfs yours, your cheek coming to rest once again in its original position. You can feel the rhythmic beating of his heart, each breath he takes, the air he exhales dampening your nape. Logan peppers your neck with chaste kisses before pressing his lips to your temple. His voice comes out strained, partially muffled by your hair. “Who do you take me for, huh?” he’s right there, beside your ear, fucking everywhere. There isn’t a single centimeter of your exposed skin that he isn’t touching, marking as his. You don’t give him an answer, in part because you’re unsure of what to say. He takes your silence as a cue to keep talking. “Let me take you to bed.”

“I can walk on my own.”

“I know,” he mutters, standing up with you in his arms, one arm beneath your knees and the other one under your shoulders. Logan’s not used to being this cautious, this patient with someone he’s known for less than two weeks. You see it in his eyes when he lets his guard down—something that has cracked, a shell that’s been broken.

As he places you gently on top of the covers, he lingers for a moment, crouching beside the bed and searching for your lowered gaze. His fingers are warm as he tilts your chin up. “I didn’t come here just to have sex with you. That was a possibility, of course—but it’s not the main reason why I’m here,” he rasps, words accompanied by the light brush of his lips against yours for a quick, brief kiss. “I care about you. A lot. I’m fine with whatever we do as long as I get to be close to you,” he grabs your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He then goes back to his usual bossy self, his demeanor changing. “And I don’t want to hear you apologizing for not wanting to have sex ever again. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now you’re making jokes?”

“I can’t have serious conversations,” you confess, observing the look of pure confusion on his face. “It’s true. I once spoke at a funeral and they cut me off forty seconds into my speech.”

Logan laughs at your sudden confession, his eyes crinkling at the edges. Rising to his feet, he begins to unbutton his flannel, pausing after the first few buttons are undone, waiting for your approval. “Do you want me to stay tonight?” 

“If that’s what you want.”

“It is what I want.”

“Are you sure?”

“Don’t make me change my mind.”

His words don’t hide any real threat—that you know.

You stifle your laughter, shedding your clothes. Instead of going to the bathroom to change, you toss your work clothes carelessly to the floor, opting for an old pair of pajamas that are the complete opposite of sexy. They surely have seen better days.

Logan’s eyes trail over you, taking his time to analyze the faded lettering on your wrinkled shirt. “Keep calm and eat pizza?” he reads aloud.

“Hey. I bought it when I was seventeen.”

“You could use a new wardrobe.”

“Well, what about you?” you tease, toying with his belt. “You’re gonna sleep like this in my bed?”

“Can’t wait for me to get my shirt off, huh?” he grins, that all-too-familiar smile on his lips.

You play along, folding your arms over your chest. “You think so highly of yourself.”

Without breaking eye contact, Logan unbuckles his jeans, letting them pool around his ankles. He then shrugs off his flannel, leaving him in just his briefs and vest. You scan his body, and the room suddenly feels a hundred degrees hotter, the air between you thickening. Logan notices your reaction, chuckling. “Don’t get too excited. This is all you’re getting today.”

“I think I’ve already heard that before.”

“Kid.”

You raise your hands in surrender, showing him your palms and mouthing ’sorry’. Approaching your bed, you pull back the covers and slip into it. When you see Logan still standing there, you frown. “Where are your manners? Come here. I’m very impatient.”

He grumbles something under his breath, but he doesn’t make you wait long. He proceeds to get under the sheets beside you, occupying that side of the bed that’s always been empty. As you both settle in, facing each other, you can’t help but giggle, your contagious laugh getting to him. “What now?”

“You’re beautiful,” you whisper, tracing the bridge of his nose with your index finger, a featherlight touch that has him closing his eyes. In the soft glow of the night, with the city’s distant sounds filtering in, he looks breathtaking. “I mean it.”

“Do you have an off switch?”

“I’m… not sure. Let’s find out tomorrow.”

“You need to sleep,” he pulls you onto his chest with firm but gentle hands. He intertwines his legs with yours, holding you close.

“Wait. I have a game to play.”

“It’s late.”

“Please?”

He sighs. “Okay.”

“We have to make confessions until we fall asleep.” 

“You just want to talk—that doesn’t even qualify as a game.”

“It does in this universe,” you reply, feeling his chest rumble with a chuckle as you settle more comfortably against him. “I’ll start: remember the first night you came to the bar?” he hums in acknowledgment. “It wasn’t Burger Night. We don’t serve food. I just wanted an excuse to talk to you.”

He kisses the top of your head, his arms tightening around you. “I knew. You don’t have a kitchen down there, baby,” he falls silent, taking his time to come up with a confession of his own. “I have a fear of flying.”

“Really? You, of all people?”

“I wasn’t expecting to be judged.”

“Oh, don’t be such a crybaby,” you tease, burying your face further into the crook of his shoulder, inhaling his scent. He shivers slightly where your nose touches his skin. “I like you. It’s kind of scary, and I’m sure saying something like this probably goes against the rules of dating 101, but I do. I feel safe with you, like—like this is where I’m supposed to be.”

Almost as if the pieces of the puzzle finally fit together, you think to yourself, though the words stay unspoken.

You’ve come to learn that Logan’s not a man of many words—he’s more of the “show, don’t tell” kind of guy. So when he makes you lift your face, you’re not surprised by the way he kisses you: hungrily. Passionately, like a starved man at an all-you-can-eat buffet. A soft whimper gets lost somewhere in your throat as his tongue makes its way into your mouth, languidly stroking yours.

“We didn’t brush our teeth,” you whisper against his lips, laughing when he groans in exasperation.

“You love having the final say, don’t you?”

“I’m being serious, Logan. Cavities are a real issue for me.”

“You can always get new teeth.”

“But my morning breath—”

“It’ll stink anyway, and so will mine,” he responds, taking a deep breath and clearing his throat once he settles into his ideal sleep position. “Good night.”

“Night,” you murmur, nuzzling your cheek against his neck. Despite your efforts to ignore it, being cradled like this feels incredible. You can’t believe you went twenty-five years without it.

Just as you’re about to drift off, curiosity strikes. “Can you get tattoos?”

“Bub, I was actually falling asleep.”

“Oh, okay. Sorry,” you mumble, feeling a bit sheepish.

More silence.

“Logan?”

“Hmm?”

“What was the Great Depression like?”

“Fuck me,” he mutters, his voice gruff as he shifts lightly. “It was fine. Now go to sleep.”

And you do, but not for long. An abrupt coldness wakes you up, eyes wide open, feeling disoriented. It’s still pitch black outside, far quieter than when you first fell asleep. The clock on your nightstand reads it’s 3:17 am, though it feels like you’ve only been in bed for five minutes.

Then you see him—he’s twitching in his sleep on the far side of the bed, his painful grunts reaching your ears. Most of what he says is unintelligible, but there’s one word he keeps repeating over and over again without fail: “No.”

You don’t usually have nightmares. What’s the best way to wake someone from one? You’re still thinking when he starts mumbling again, his voice thick with distress, and now he’s throwing his arms in the air as if he were fighting off something—or someone—in his dreams.

Pressing your hands to his cheeks, you attempt to hold his face steady. He clenches his fists, his breath quickening the more he battles whatever’s haunting him. “Logan,” you whisper at first, subtly shaking his shoulders, but his eyebrows stay furrowed, deep in his nightmare. This time, you tighten your grip, fully sitting on top of him. “Logan. Logan! Wake up!”

Without warning, you’re on your back, pinned against the mattress. Logan’s straddling your hips, caging you in with his body, the weight of his adamantium skeleton pressing down. Your hands are trapped beneath his, and you watch as he clenches his jaw, teeth bared in a way that looks painful. His eyes are so dark and wild you barely recognize him, prominent veins throbbing in his neck with each labored breath he takes.

“Logan,” your own voice sounds unnatural, forced, as you do your best to bring him back to reality. “It’s me. You’re alright.”

That seems to get through him. Logan stares at you in disbelief, his eyes softening as they take in your terrified expression. He abruptly pulls away, retreating to the nearest wall. He’s gasping for air, slamming his eyes shut, his legs trembling. The only sound you can hear is his rapid breathing. You get up from the bed, taking a step in his direction, but you don’t manage to go any further since he stops you with a shout.

“Stay right there!” he’s growling, pointing his finger at you. “I’m serious. Don’t come any closer.”

“Logan…”

“Please, no!” his voice increases in pitch, not being able to meet your eyes. “Please. Just stay there.”

You comply, not wanting to upset him any further. Sitting back on your knees, you try to appear calm. A man so strong, capable of things you can’t even understand. A weapon turned against himself now stands before you, pushing you away as if his presence were poisonous. He slumps to the floor, the fabric of his vest soaked with sweat.

Once he’s fully conscious, you cautiously crawl toward him, watching his every move. On a random day, this might have been funny for both of you, but right now, there’s no room for laughter. Logan shakes his head, his shoulders tensing when you reach out to hug him, wrapping your arms around his broad frame. It takes him a couple of minutes, but eventually, his body sags against yours. For a while, neither of you speaks. You just thread your fingers through his hair, hoping the closeness will help soothe him. “Feeling better?” you whisper in the shell of his ear, and he pulls back to look you in the eye. You caress his cheek, his stubble rough against your skin. “Welcome back.”

“I’m sorry,” it’s the first thing he says, covering your hand with his. One by one, he kisses your knuckles, still shaking his head. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“You had a nightmare—it’s not like you could control it.”

“But I could’ve hurt you,” he says, lowering his gaze to your wrists, where his fingerprints have left their mark. “God. I’m so sorry. I have to go.”

“Wait!” you grab his arm, your mouth setting in a hard line, stopping him from leaving. “Don’t run away from me, not now. Don’t push me away, Logan.”

“I could’ve done something much worse.”

“But you didn’t. It was a nightmare, baby. You didn’t know,” you kiss his forehead, hoping to talk some sense into him. “Please, stay. Let’s try to get some more sleep.”

“What if—”

You hold his face close to yours, your noses brushing. “You won’t hurt me.” 

This time, he lets you keep him close, the roles now reversed. You can see him fighting his exhaustion, not wanting to fall asleep. But the more you play with his hair, the harder it is for him to stay awake.

“I’m alright,” he says, seemingly reading your mind. It’s hard to tell whether he’s reassuring you or himself.

“I know,” you knead his shoulder, aiming to ease the tension knotted there. “You better sleep, or I might start rambling again.”

A faint, tired hum escapes him, at long last allowing his eyes to close. “I like hearing you talk,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your collarbone, drifting off soon after that.

You continue to hug him, feeling the weight of his body gradually relax against yours as his breathing evens out. The room is quiet, but your mind is far from it: a tornado of emotions swirls within you—concern, relief, love, and something else you can’t quite decipher. It isn’t until sleep finally claims you too that your brain stops going a hundred kilometers an hour.

The most surreal Sunday night of your whole life.

“So… when will you let me see Lolo again?”

Wade’s question makes you stop mid-pour, flicking your eyes between the drink and him. A few seats away, you hand a glass to Adam. Returning to where Wade’s currently sitting, you dry your hands on your apron. “Why are you even here?” you ask, raising an eyebrow, and he gives half a shrug. “Last time I checked, I wasn’t holding him against his will.”

“He’s been crashing at your place almost every night. You have your own methods, woman,” he raises one finger, then quickly adds another, pointing at your shirt. “Two methods, in fact.”

At that, you laugh mirthlessly, shaking your head with a grin. “I’m surprised anyone would willingly date you.”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he retorts, taking a tentative sip of his beer and leaning back in his chair.

You glance at him while you wipe down the bar, looking for something to occupy your hands. “He’s not my boyfriend—yet.”

Wade mimics a punch in his chest, just where his heart’s supposed to be, though you’re starting to question whether he has one. His lips form a small, exaggerated pout. “That must hurt, doll. You got yourself into a situationship with a goddamn fossil. Good luck getting out of that.”

“It’s not that bad,” you say, rolling your eyes. “We’re cool this way. There’s absolutely no need for a title.”

“Okay, let’s rehearse that one more time because you look like you’re about to cry,” he lifts an eyebrow, drawing nearer. “You want the title, right?”

“I don’t.”

He props his chin on his hand, laughing at you. “Yes, you do. You can’t fool me.”

“I said I don’t.”

“I said I don’t,” he mocks you, kicking his legs and puckering his lips.

You can’t help but throw the towel down on the counter with irritation, giving in. “Okay! Of course, I want the fucking title.”

“There she is!” he exclaims, throwing his hands up in a triumphant gesture. “Glad we’re speaking the truth now,” he tilts his head to the side, noticing your sudden silence. “Hey, drop the long face. I’m sure he’s been thinking about it. In order to understand Logan, I usually compare him to elders over ninety.”

“Why would you do that?” you ask, your tone a mix of mild annoyance and curiosity.

“Just think about it! Senior citizens didn’t date for too long in the past. They’d go straight from strangers to lovers. Take my grandparents, for example: in the span of one year, they met at a party, then got married, and had five kids. Do you really want to have a litter of Logan’s grumpy, hairy puppies?”

“Wade, that’s not even possible.”

“The point is,” he continues, finishing his beer and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “Logan’s rusty in this area, alright? I’d bet a thousand dollars he probably dated Cleopatra.”

“How did you pass History in high school?”

“I never graduated, but keep that between us,” he lifts his shoulders, shrugging. He spins the empty bottle, contemplating his next words. “You should tell him how you feel and what you want. That’s what works best for Vanessa and me. It’s easier that way—you can’t expect him to just guess.”

You wrap your arms around yourself. “I just wish he’d realize it on his own.”

“Well, sometimes you need to give the other person a bit of guidance. I’m just laying out the basics of a relationship here. Did your parents hate each other or something?”

The irony of it all. “They got divorced when I was little.” 

“Oh, god,” Wade sighs, rubbing his temples before glancing at you. “Let me get this straight: Mommy and Daddy weren’t exactly the poster children for love. And you also happen to be a bartender. Anything else, honey? Please tell me you’re at least getting laid, because otherwise, I’m going to feel tremendously sorry for you and your mental health.”

Just then, you hear your name being called. Smiling at Wade, you mumble: “Saved by the bell.” Once you’re back from taking some orders, Wade jumps to his feet, coming around the counter to hug you.

“Dude, what’s the matter with you?” you ask, loosely returning the hug. 

“You’re a fucking survivor,” he whispers in your ear, genuinely sounding concerned. “I don’t know how you do it—you seem so put together. I would’ve lost it by now. A life without sex sounds awful.”

“Jesus, Wade! Get off!” you stretch your arm to punch him in the back, earning a groan from him. “Back to your seat, gentleman. I certainly don’t need your pity.”

“I’m a certified sexologist. Your secret’s safe with me,” he declares with a smirk, gesturing to his empty beer. “But first, I’m gonna need more of this tasty apple juice.”

“I hope you’ve got some cash on you,” you say, getting him another beer. “Why do I get the feeling Logan would kill us if he knew we’re talking about this?”

“Isn’t that what makes it even better?”

Swaying on your feet, you scrunch your nose, momentarily lost in thought. “He won’t let me touch him. I don’t know if it’s me that does something wrong. We do have our… moments, but he takes care of himself. And usually in the bathroom.”

Wade goes white in front of you. “How long has this been going on?”

“Over a month.”

“Oh. That’s bad, like, really bad.”

“Thanks! I’ll be sleeping on the highway tonight. You can always join me.”

“Doll, it’s nothing that can’t be fixed, alright?” he waves his hand dismissively, then sets his palms flat on the counter. “I know I’m starting to sound like a broken record, but talking to him is your best bet. This isn’t something you can just brush under the carpet. You’re like a goddamn radio—put it to good use.”

Just as you’re about to reply, you spot Logan entering the bar. You raise a hand in greeting, waving at him. He meets your gaze and smiles briefly, and so your eyes drift to Wade’s, shooting him a warning look. “If you keep this to yourself, I won’t charge you for today,” you mutter through gritted teeth, to which he answers by pretending to zip his mouth closed.

Logan takes a seat next to him, ignoring his presence. Instead, he focuses entirely on you. “Hey, kid.”

“Hey, homey.”

“Hiya, Wade,” Wade greets himself with a mock cheer, patting his own back, which makes you laugh. He turns to Logan and his whole face lights up. “I’m afraid to tell you I can’t sleep when you’re not around.”

Logan rolls his eyes. “Get your shit together.”

“You’re the worst roommate ever! Can’t believe you got yourself a girl and completely forgot about your bro,” Wade murmurs under his breath, just as his phone rings. “Thank God. I’ve got to go. My love nugget’s calling,” he announces, heading for the door. Before leaving, Wade blows the two of you a kiss. “I hate you both, but I also love you. Peace out, my friends!”

Logan and you exchange glances. “He’s a funny guy, isn’t he?”

“You could say that,” he replies, leaning in to kiss you on the lips. Logan intends to deepen the kiss, but you pull away after a couple of seconds. He frowns, clearly confused. “That’s how you greet me?”

You bite your lip, trying to suppress a giggle. “My tip jar is practically empty, and I hate to say it, but it’s your fault.”

“Do you want me to say I’m sorry?”

“Oh, no.”

“Good, ‘cause I’m not,” he plants a quick kiss on your cheek, making you smile. “You have classes tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah, at 9 am,” you almost grunt, not feeling too enthusiastic about it. “I’m gonna need your help. I can’t sleep through my alarm, okay? The professor said tomorrow’s class is an important one. Midterms are right around the corner, and I can’t take the liberty of failing them.”

“That won’t happen,” he assures you, and you believe him. “I can be of help, don’t worry. You won’t oversleep.”

Oh, Logan. Sweet, lying Logan.

Turns out you ended up oversleeping. Twenty-five years on this earth, and you still haven’t learned not to trust a man, even if his puppy-dog eyes silently beg you to do otherwise. The thing is—you love them. You love men. And you’re especially fond of the one currently sleeping in your bed.

The first rays of sunshine hit your face, waking you up. You attempt to raise a hand to shield your eyes, but moving any limbs feels like a Herculean task. A warm body is pressed against your back, one veiny arm draped over your stomach. Logan remains fast asleep behind you, his steady breathing succeeding in making you feel at ease. You reach back, running your fingers through his messy hair, and he grumbles in his sleep, instinctively pulling you closer.

What a nice, domestic morning. Yep, you’re getting used to this. And nope, you don’t regret it, not even in the slightest bit.

Though there must be a mistake, because you’re preeeeetty sure you had something important to do. 

Oh. You have classes. Had—past tense.

You reach for your nightstand, blindly groping for your phone. The charger is lying on the floor, the plastic of it all damaged. Perhaps Earnest had chewed on it while you were sleeping? You gently pry Logan’s arm off you, sitting up, and your bleary eyes land on something barely peeking out from under the bed.

It’s your fucking phone. The screen is completely shattered, with three distinct holes in the middle of it. Three holes, how strange! You can’t help but wonder who might have left them. Clutching your pillow, you whack Logan in the face with it. “Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty!”

He groans, trying to take the pillow away from you. “What the fuck is wrong with you, kid?”

“I wish I had a UNO reverse card because I should be the one asking you that!” you jab your finger into his chest, showing him the ruined phone. “You broke my fucking phone!”

“What?” he asks, voice laden with sleep, still disoriented. He holds the phone, carefully scrutinizing it. “I think I don’t know how to hit the snooze button.”

“No shit, Sherlock. I believe you’ve made that very clear,” you huff, tossing the phone aside as you flop back onto the mattress. The clock on your nightstand says 11:05 am, and you cover your face with your hands, taking a deep breath. “Next time, when it goes off, just wake me up and I’ll do it.”

Logan settles beside you, resting his head on his forearm as he watches you. “I’m sorry, bub. I’ll get you a new one.”

“It’s fine,” you murmur, sighing. This is your free ticket to be a menace. “I should’ve known dinosaurs and phones would never get along. My bad, pal.”

You don’t even get to see his reaction because he starts tickling you, the room filling with your laughter. Squealing, you try to wriggle away, but his fingers dig into your ribs, expertly finding your most ticklish spots. Your giggles escalate into breathless laughter, your eyes squeezed shut as you desperately attempt to push him away. He’s relentless, chuckling when his own laughter bubbles up. 

“L-logan, stop!” you gasp between fits of laughter, aiming to grasp his hands.

“We dinosaurs love tickling people. Sorry, sweetheart,” he manhandles you until you’re perched on his lap, fisting the fabric of your (his) shirt. Leaning forward, he captures your mouth in a heated kiss. “I’m sorry about the phone,” he slurs the words against your cheek, his lips trailing down to your neck. You tell him that it’s okay, trying to find a comfortable position on top of him, and that’s when his thigh presses against your core, your eyes widening at the unexpected sensation. Logan’s no fool, noticing the way your breath hitches. “What’s wrong, baby? You woke up needy?”

“No, I just—” you trail off as he does it again, his strong thigh coming in contact with your clothed cunt. You search for leverage by placing your hands on his shoulders, glancing at him. “Logan.”

“I’m all ears,” he rests his back against the headboard, the tent in his boxers impossible to ignore. “You want to get off on my thigh,” he states with certainty. It’s not a question—it’s a full-on statement. He knows what you want, what you crave. “Come on then. Grind against it.”

You do as he says, not caring to think twice. You start moving, rubbing your wet pussy against his muscular thigh. The friction sends jolts of pleasure through you, and soon, you’re whimpering his name, your hands trailing down his abs. Why hadn’t you tried this before? It feels fucking amazing.

From his position, Logan stares at you, his lips slightly parted, eyes clouded with lust. Your arousal drenches your panties, soaking through them, the fabric clinging to his coarse leg hair. He glances down at the mess you’re making, his grin widening as he takes in the sight. “Goddamn, woman. I’m gonna make you clean it off, I swear to God.”

“Need your help,” you whisper, lowering your head, the heat in your cheeks intensifying. The coil tightening inside you is almost unbearable. A kiss is what you lean in for, desperate for more, though Logan appears to have other plans. He fists your hair, pulling at your nape and yanking your head back. The roughness of the movement pulls a moan from your lips, your mouth parched like a desert. 

“Eyes up here, okay? You look at me when I make you come,” his raspy voice makes you feel tingly, each word sending shivers down your spine. His hands fiercely grab the flesh of your hips, guiding you, helping you grind harder against his thigh. You think you’re on the verge of drooling when you catch the way his abdomen flexes, working to push you toward that long-awaited release. “That’s it, there you go,” he rasps, relishing the sounds he’s eliciting from you, each of your gasps feeding his desire.

Time slows as the warmth in your belly finally erupts, your eyes fighting to stay open through the aftershocks of your orgasm. No actual words leave your mouth, just a string of whines and moans, some carrying Logan’s name. He swallows every single sound you make, everything you give him, grunting as your legs tremble and shake atop him.

He lets you collapse onto your back, your breathing gradually evening out. “I think I saw fireworks behind my lids,” you confess, your mouth dry, expecting Logan to flop onto the mattress beside you. But he doesn’t. Through your blurry vision, you contemplate as he positions himself between your parted legs, getting dangerously close to your cunt. “Logan, what are you— Oh, fuck,” you moan mid-sentence when you feel him pulling your panties aside to lick a slow strip through your folds, collecting your arousal. He points his tongue, dipping it into your entrance, and you wince, squirming. “Santa Claus, is that you?”

Logan grins against you, closing his mouth around clit for a moment. He then shifts until he’s eye-to-eye with you, two of his fingers sliding into you in one smooth motion. “Give me another one,” he murmurs, his other hand slipping under your shirt to play with your nipples, pinching them. 

You never imagined two fingers could bring such intense pleasure. You just lie there, taking it like a good girl, as Logan sometimes call you. “Please, I need you,” you cry out, your fingernails scraping against his torso.

“I know, darlin’. I’m right here,” he rasps against your temple, moving his fingers in and out of you with more enthusiasm. But what he doesn’t understand is that you need all of him. Your hands itch to touch him, to feel the weight of his cock. The corners of his mouth turn up as he watches you struggle to find words. “Wish you could see yourself like this. Such a pretty girl, so gorgeous like this,” his fingers keep grazing that bundle of joy deep inside you, and he goes in for a kiss, the sour taste of your slick invading your taste buds. “Tightest pussy I’ve ever had. Need to stretch you real good before fucking you with my cock.”

Bingo! That last sentence does it for you, and you come for the second time in the morning, your cunt clenching and spasming around his fingers. You hide your face in his neck, mouthing at his Adam’s apple. He hasn’t trimmed his beard in days, and it shows because you can now feel a burning sensation on the soft skin of your inner thighs.

“You’re allowed to break all my phones from now on,” you suggest, only to hear Logan’s laughter in your ear. He snakes a hand through your hair, shoving it back away from your face. You feel him kiss your sweaty forehead, and as you press yourself closer to his body, something hard nudges your hipbone.

Absentmindedly, you trace the waistband of his boxers with your index finger, your eyes snapping to his face. Logan freezes on the spot, and it’s almost as if he’s stopped breathing. Without a word, he rises from the bed, his movements sudden and almost mechanical. You watch him, puzzled, as he heads toward the bathroom, the intimacy of just moments ago being abruptly replaced by a dreadful silence.

“Logan, is everything okay? Do you need something?” you ask and he pauses at the bathroom door, his back to you. For a brief second, you think he might actually open up, but when he turns around, his expression is neutral, masking whatever thoughts are running through his mind. At last, he flashes you a quick smile.

“I’m fine,” he says, his tone gentle but distant. “Just gonna take a shower. Then we can have breakfast together, right?”

You nod, his words easing the growing sense of frustration gnawing at you. He disappears into the bathroom, and the sound of running water soon follows. You sink back into the bed, staring up at the ceiling. You take your pillow and bury your face in it, letting out a muffled groan. There’s something he isn't telling you, something hidden deep beneath his usual gruff exterior. Although you try to piece together the fragments of his behavior, they don’t quite fit.

The minutes drag on, and the sound of the shower becomes a distant, constant background noise. You close your eyes, visualizing your happy place, but your thoughts keep spiraling. All you can do is wait—wait for him to come back and act as if nothing had happened.

Logan’s right there, just a few feet away—yet in moments like these, he feels miles apart. It’s one of those days in which, no matter how hard you try, you can’t seem to bridge that distance. 

It had all started with you asking Logan “Have you ever watched (500) Days of Summer?”

Of course, he had refused to watch the movie at first, and of course, you had threatened him with phoning Wade to let him know that Logan wanted to have a sleepover. That had done the trick.

You had asked for a day off at the bar, and surprisingly, your boss hadn’t objected. That turn of events led to this moment: sprawled out on the couch with Logan, the two of you watching the final minutes of your favorite film. Logan takes a long drag of his cigar, eyes trained intently on the screen. He’s only wearing sweatpants, which had caused your attention to drift from the plot a few times. The fact that you managed to sit through the entire movie without needing to pause it makes you feel particularly invincible.

Hey.

You again.

Yeah. I, uh, was just wondering if maybe after this, if, um, you— you want to get some coffee or something.

Oh, I’m sorry. I’m sort of supposed to meet someone after this.

Okay.

“That poor fella,” Logan murmurs, taking a slow sip of his beer. You look up at him from where your head rests on his lap, a contented smile playing on your lips. His fingers absently stroke your hair.

“Just wait,” you say, pointing to the screen of your laptop.

Sure.

What’s that?

Why not?

Okay. Well, then I’ll just, uh— I’ll wait for you.

We— we’ll figure it out.

We’ll figure it out.

“They’ll figure it out!” you exclaim, but Logan quickly shushes you, his attention unwavering.

My name’s Tom.

Nice to meet you. I’m Autumn.

When the movie comes to an end, you’re met with Joseph Gordon-Levitt breaking the fourth wall, staring straight at the audience as if he knows he’s about to get himself into a mess with another girl named after a season. You sit up, your eyes eagerly searching for Logan’s. “So? Did you like it? I’ve watched it seven times now. Can’t understand how it gets better each time.”

Logan closes his mouth around his cigar, inhaling deeply before answering. “Yeah, it was pretty good,” he says, his hand finding your cheek, thumb brushing softly against your skin. “Summer’s a bitch, though.”

“I respectfully disagree,” you tell him, grabbing his beer and giving it a try, only to grimace at the taste. Shuddering, you set it back down. “Why don’t you like her character?”

“Well, for starters, she did Tom dirty. Played with him like he was a damn rag doll.”

You raise an eyebrow, hugging a cushion closer to your chest as you lean back into the couch. “He knew from the beginning she didn’t want to be his girlfriend. Summer was clear—Tom just though he was smart enough to change her mind.”

“They acted like boyfriend and girlfriend the whole movie,” he scorns, placing his cigar down into the ashtray with a bit more force than necessary.

Is your first argument going to be over a movie? Exciting.

“Logan, they weren’t even official.”

“But she made it seem like they were,” he insists, the frustration in his voice growing.

“They were in a situationship—the perfect example, really. That’s not the same as being a couple.”

His gaze dips to the floor, brows knitted in a deep frown. “I think you’re relying on the technicality that they never used those titles. I mean, they did everything together. Isn’t that what normal couples do?”

Lord have mercy.

“Logan, who am I to you?” you inquire, crossing your arms over your chest.

He hesitates, narrowing his eyes, the question clearly catching him off guard. “You are—what? I don’t understand. Is this some kind of mind game you’re playing?”

“It’s actually very simple: if someone were to ask you about me, what would you say? Am I a friend? A bartender?” you inch forward, holding your breath, your tone faltering slightly. Meanwhile, Logan’s hands tighten into fists at his sides. “A fling? Your girlfriend? You complain so much about Summer, yet you can’t even name what we have.”

The living room falls into a heavy silence. Logan blinks slowly, his forehead creasing as he processes your words. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“Because these are the kinds of conversations we need to have. I understand you don’t want to have them, but I do.”

“Fine. Then tell me what it is that you want,” he asks, his mouth snapping shut when he sees you snorting in response.

“I don’t— I don’t know! To know how you feel, if possible?” you stand up from the couch, taking the cushion with you. You grind your jaw, gnawing on your bottom lip. “Why is it that every time I try to touch you, you push me away?”

He scrunches up his face, mirroring your movements and rising from his seat. “Bub, can we please talk about this tomorrow—”

“No! You don’t get to make all the choices, that’s not fair. Deciphering you isn’t easy, Logan. I’m not asking you to tell me everything you’ve been through. I just wish I could know how you feel about me. I can’t stand in front of you and pretend I don’t mind where this is going, because I’m more than sure I’m falling in love with you. “

“You can’t. You shouldn’t,” he says, his expression hardening. He turns his back to you, running his hands over his face in frustration before heading to the kitchen.

“Well, what were you expecting?” you follow him into the kitchen, finding Earnest on top of the fridge, beholding the scene with a curious gaze. “You basically moved in here, gave me a free trial of what life with you might be like, and now you have the audacity to appear surprised when I tell you I’ve caught feelings?” salty tears start rolling down your cheeks, and you spread your arms wide in exasperation. “Oh, but you’re right. How could I’ve been this stupid, to fall for the damned Wolverine!” you laugh bitterly, expecting him to break eye contact, but he doesn’t. “You think you’re so bad, so broken. Guess what: you’re not, because I love you, and I couldn’t care less about your past. You may think you’re unlovable, but you’re not, you hear me?”

For a heartbeat, the world seems to pause. And so he says:

“You are the most exasperating person I know.”

“Wow. Thank you so much!” you retort, your voice dripping with sarcasm. You run a hand through your hair, infuriated. “That makes me feel better!”

“Let me do the talking now,” he says, taking long strides toward you, and the proximity makes you lower your head. “You’re not getting the final say today. Just because I’m not over-sharing my feelings all the time doesn’t mean I don’t have them! In fact, I do. I may not express them openly, but they exist. And I wish you could see inside my head! You’d be delighted at how much time I spend thinking about you,” you cackle at his words, rolling your eyes. His fingers grip your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “There hasn’t been a single moment since the day we met that I have stopped wanting you. Your voice is like a goddamn radio that, no matter what I do, I can’t turn off. It’s like I’m infected by you, and I hate it!” his eyes burn with a mix of anger and affectionpur, his pursed lips softening as he continues. “No good ever comes from caring this much about someone. So excuse me for being scared of ruining the only good thing that’s happened to me in years!”

You hit him with the cushion—not with enough force to make him hurt, but enough to make a point.

“Drop it, kid.”

“I’m—” you hit him again, “not—” and again, “stupid. I know what I’m getting myself into,” as you attempt to raise the cushion once more, Logan takes it from your hands, throwing it on the counter. Your shoulders sag, trying to find the strength to keep going. “And I know for a fact,” you add, glancing at his conflicted eyes, “that the easiest thing for me would be to walk away from you, but I can’t. It’s too fucking late.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I do! These are my feelings, okay? Mine, not yours. You don’t have the right to decide who I love and who I don’t.”

Logan’s eyes squint, scanning your face. “You’re… obnoxious.”

“Yeah, tell me something I don’t know.”

“And I—I love you,” he confesses, his nostrils flaring with emotion. Opening your mouth to say something, you close it moments later, your gaze locked on his. “You could take what you said, pretend as if I didn’t exist, and I wouldn’t say a thing, y’understand? I would move cities if you asked me, because I love you that fucking much, and I want you to be happy.”

You reach for his hand, briefly intertwining your fingers with his. Looking at him through your eyelashes, you rub your fingers over his stubble. “And what if my happiness comes from being with you?”

Logan lets out a harsh breath, his arm curling around your waist, pressing his chest to yours. “I can’t promise I’ll be the perfect boyfriend. I’ll probably makeplenty of mistakes.”

“Fine with me.”

“And you’ll be mad at me. A lot.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll make sure it’s mutual.”

Both of you laugh then, and you’re taken aback when he brushes his nose against your cheek, silently seeking permission to kiss you. His lips move hungrily against yours, trailing his hands down your spine, pulling you closer. He breaks the kiss and laughs at your eagerness when you chase after his mouth. You end up perched on his lap as he settles into one of your kitchen chairs. Logan stares into your eyes, his gaze drifting lower. “I won’t push you away this time. Not anymore.”

That’s your cue to finally do what you’ve been yearning for weeks. You fall to your knees in front of him, shaky fingers that graze the hairs on his happy trail. The bulge in his sweatpants is close to your face, and your mouth waters at the thought of having him between your lips. “Can I?” you ask, your voice a touch higher. 

He draws a long breath, tilting his head slightly. “You may, baby.”

You pull at his sweatpants and boxers, sliding them down his legs just enough to free his hard cock. As you take a look at it, you find yourself at a loss for words, the sight overwhelming. Nothing could’ve prepared you for the first taste of his precum as you envelop his head between your lips, that musky scent of his hitting you.

A whimper escapes you, and Logan hisses when you run your tongue along the slit, his hands gripping the back of your neck tightly. “Fuck, darlin’. Thought about your mouth so many times, but never imagined it’d feel this good,” he cants his hips up, causing your movements to stutter. “You can take a bit more, can’t you?” his question ends with a guttural grunt, his fingers tightening on your hair. “Gotta show me how much you want this.”

Logan takes all that you give him. You lower your head further, taking in another inch of him. Sex’s supposed to feel good, but this? It feels even greater. And he’s not even inside you yet, you hear a voice murmur in your head. The hand on your nape encourages you to move faster, and you sneak a hand between your bodies, grasping him by the base. You swallow around him, eyes fluttering open when he tugs sharply at your hair..

“Thaaaat’s it, honey. Just like that, want you to choke on it,” he grumbles, running his mouth just the way you like. The tip of his cock nudges the back of your throat and tears fill your eyes. You pull away to catch your breath, still stroking him as you regain composure. Logan’s gaze is intense, and he stares into your soul, his chest heaving. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Dick got your tongue?”

You’ll definitely get back to that joke later.

“Will you—can you—”

“Come on, beautiful. I don’t have all day.”

God, you love it when he’s mean.

“Fuck my throat,” you plead, your voice barely above a whisper.

A smile dangles on the corner of his lips. “We both know you can be nicer.”

The fucker makes your pulse race. “Can you fuck my throat?” you ask again, more insistently. “Please.”

He guides himself into your mouth, smirking as he watches how your eyes roll back in pleasure. “How polite of you to say please. Some good manners you’ve got.”

You whimper around him, your body responding to the rhythm he sets, fully immersed in the intensity of the moment. And for a while, you drift away, losing your sanity with each thrust of his hips, every tug at your hair. It’s almost impossible not to compare him to your past hookups. You try to recall at least a single instance when another man made you feel this way, but no memory surfaces.

Time seems to stretch and warp. You don’t really know when it happens—he pulls you off his cock, cradling your face, examining you. “You fucking love that, don’t you?” he asks with that sweet, syrupy voice, brushing away your tears. There’s no room left for embarrassment, so you nod, closing your mouth around his thumb. Defeated, Logan shakes his head, pressing his finger against your tongue. “I was planning on coming on your mouth, but I think I’ve got a better idea.”

In the blink of an eye, you’re in your bedroom. Not even a metaphor—he picks you up and basically runs to your room, closing the door behind him. You prop yourself on your forearms, trying to process what’s about to happen. Logan, already naked, climbs onto the bed after you, He kisses you slowly, tracing the curves of your body. “You still want this?”

“I do. I’m just… nervous, that’s all,” you admit, flashing him a quick smile. “It’s been two years of celibacy for me. Will it fit?” you ask, glancing down at his cock, and Logan stares at you in confusion. “Also, how many girlfriends have you had? Just curious.”

“I don’t think this is the time for that conversation.”

“You’re right,” you agree, lying back on the mattress, bracing yourself for what’s to come. “Were they pretty?”

“Bub.”

“Yes?”

“Shut up,” he replies with a smirk. “Focus on me, okay?”

Despite your tries to crack jokes at the worst possible moment, things escalate pretty quickly. Logan’s got three fingers inside you, pumping them in and out. He’s already made you come once with his mouth—to get you more relaxed, he had said. Wanting sounds slip past your lips as he doesn’t miss the chance to hit that spot that makes you squeeze your legs together. The tip of his nose drags long lines up and down the skin of your neck, mouthing at your jaw.

“I’m ready,” you mumble after some minutes, reaching for his cock and stroking him. “Let’s break the bed.”

“You’re lucky you’re this cute,” he says, catching your lips in a kiss. “Condom?”

“Negative, Sergeant.”

“You don’t have any?”

You shake your head, biting the inside of your cheek. “I don’t want you to use one.”

The way his gaze darkens doesn’t go unnoticed by you. His hand guides your face toward his cock. “Get me wet,” he commands, and you oblige, sucking him into your mouth. You hum around him, unable to contain yourself, and you hear Logan chuckling above you. “Can’t believe this is what it takes for you to shut up. Gotta keep your mouth full all the time.”

Once he’s satisfied with the way you’ve slicked him, he positions himself over you, caging you between his arms. Logan pins you down with his body, his hot breath mingling with yours. When you stare into his eyes, all you see is pure love, and your heart swells with affection. “Will you fuck the bad jokes out of me?”

Logan laughs, rubbing his length along your folds, grazing your clit for a fleeting second. “I sure as hell will,” he assures you, lining himself up with your wet entrance. He looks into your eyes for approval. “Ready?”

“I was born rea— Fuck!” you nearly scream as his head breaches you, your eyes squeezing shut. Turns out his fingers weren’t enough. “Fucking mutant dick.”

“You’ll love it, believe me,” he husks next to your ear. His arms shake where they rest on each side of your head, seemingly as affected as you are. Logan pulls out, and then fucks into you with a little more force.  “How are you still so tight? You’re killin’ me here.”

“I’ve got no idea, but you feel—amazing,” you gasp, latching onto his back, holding him close to you. His thrusts gain strength, and suddenly he’s bottoming inside you. “Oh, god. I can feel you in my stomach.”

“I know, baby, I know. Can feel it too,” he curls one of his hands around your throat, keeping you in place. From his position, he can watch the way your face contorts in pleasure. Lowering his head to envelop one of your nipples between his lips, he sucks hard. “You were desperate enough to get on your knees in the damn kitchen. You’ll be good now too, am I right?”

“Yes. Yes. I can be good,” you pant, eyes wide and pleading. “Anything you want. Just don’t stop.”

“I’m not stoppin’, princess. Don’t worry,” his mouth curves into a wicked grin as he drives into you again, this time even deeper. His hand on your throat tightens slightly, just enough to make you feel the pressure, grounding you in the moment. “That’s my girl,” he murmurs against your chest, his voice laden with need. 

Each thrust has you gasping, your body arching off the bed to meet his. Logan’s grip on your neck loosens as his hand slides down to grasp your hip. He squeezes your tender flesh, pulling you harder against him, as if he can’t get close enough. The bed creaks under the intensity, but you barely notice, too far lost in the rhythm of his movements.

“You’re perfect, all I’ve ever wanted,” he slips his free hand between your bodies to find your clit, and the moment his fingers make contact with it, you can’t help but whine. “So fuckin’ perfect,” you hear him repeat, more to himself than to you, his voice stranded as he tries to hold himself back, letting you chase your own release first.

The pressure inside you builds up, tightening with every skilled flick of his fingers. You’re sure you must look like a mess, sweaty and sticky, though the way he looks at you makes you forget everything else. “Logan, I’m—” you croak, the wind being knocked out of your lungs with each relentless thrust. “I think I’m gonna come.”

He picks up speed, snapping his hips faster. “I’ve got you, let go for me. I’ll take care of you, baby, I swear,” his pace becomes erratic, digging his fingers into the softness of your thighs as the headboard keeps slamming against the wall. Your body obeys him, a shuddering release tearing through you, moaning Logan’s name and gripping him like a vice. “That’s it, fuck, that’s it,” he doesn’t stop, driving you through your orgasm. His eyes snap to your face, contemplating how wrecked you look. “Tell me where—please, sweetheart.”

“Inside.”

“What?”

“I said inside. Come inside me, Logan.”

He’s not strong enough to deny you such a thing. Logan buries himself to the hilt, groaning your name as his cock twitches and paints your walls with his thick seed. Beside your head, his claws unsheate, tearing into the pillow. He ruts against you, his body trembling and writhing against yours, already apologizing for the pillow incident while pressing his forehead to your shoulder. “Sorry, I’m sorry. That hasn’t happened in a while.”

When Logan collapses beside you, he pulls you into his arms, kissing you eagerly. You return the kiss, wincing as you feel a bit of his cum slip out of you, rolling down your thighs. He stares at your glistening cunt without an ounce of remorse, and you close your legs. “That’s private.”

“It wasn’t very private a minute ago.”

“Logan?”

“Tell me, bub.”

“Knock, knock.”

He must truly love you, because he plays along: “Who’s there?”

“Ice cream.”

“Ice cream who?”

“Ice cream for you all night long.”

“Guess I didn’t succeed in fuckin’ the bad jokes out of you,” he teases softly, letting his head fall back on the bed. “But it’s fine. I’ll just have to keep tryin’.”

This is the story of how you end up dating a man who’s two hundred years old. But it’s also the story of how that same man learns to let his guard down and open his heart. So, remember this, kids: the sky’s the limit, especially when it comes to love—and yes, even when it involves dating mutants.

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

[not-neverland06]

broken promises

pt two

bodyguard!logan howlett x congressman's daughter!reader

a/n: the fact that he was canonically a bodyguard makes me absolutely insane someone congratulate me, I finally figured out how to make my own dividers Summary: He's learned from past mistakes that no matter how tempting the girl is, it's better not to get involved. He just needs some cash, he doesn't give a fuck how pretty you are. He doesn't care about you. He makes it clear he wants nothing to do with you besides seeing you sign his check. But, is that really all he wants? You're not blind to the way he looks at you. 18+ MDNI Shameless smut at the end, I'm not sorry about it at all.

Logan had gotten used to this. The long drawn-out wait to meet with the man who wanted to hire him. He always arrived right on time, not a moment earlier. They all had the same game they liked to play. 

The secretary would greet him, a pretty girl in her 20s that the men were screwing or trying to screw. Then they would make him sit in the lobby for half an hour. They’d apologize by pushing the blame on someone else, saying a meeting had gone on too long. But there wasn’t a meeting. There never was. 

They liked to make themselves seem more important than they were. It was a power game, an intimidation tactic that he had always scoffed at. He didn’t give a fuck what government ties they had or otherwise. He just wanted his paycheck. 

This one was no different. A congressman who had only recently begun to make waves when he started up an anti-mutant agenda. Ironic that he had specifically requested Logan for the very thing he was trying to eradicate. 

There was a buzz and then the secretary was picking up her phone. She spared Logan a fleeting glance before whispering something into the receiver. She looked over at him and he already knew what she was going to say.  “He’s ready for you now.” 

“Thanks, sweetheart,” she gave him a coquettish smile as he made his way towards the large office at the end of the hall. The door was closed when he reached it, three quick knocks and then a quiet Come in. 

The man didn’t even look up to greet him. He continued signing something on his desk. Logan took a seat in one of the chairs, waiting for another few minutes before he was deemed important enough to address. He received a tight smile and narrowed eyes as the man took in the way he was dressed. 

He never dressed up for these things. He’d learned a while ago that a suit wasn’t going to get him any further than his leather jacket was. Might as well be comfortable while talking to these pricks. 

“Had a phone call with an associate of mine. Ran on longer than I meant it to.” Always an excuse, never an apology. 

Logan scoffed and shrugged. “I was fine.”

The man sniffed, “I’m sure. Look, I’ll cut straight to the chase. You come highly recommended by my peers and I need help fast.” Logan nodded, motioning for him to continue. The man’s eyes lingered on his fists for a long while before he finished. “It’s my daughter. Things have been a little rough for her at school, for lack of a better word. Especially since this new campaign started. I just need someone to keep a closer eye on her.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed, “She a party girl or something?” He wasn’t sure he could handle another bratty daddy’s girl again. The last one had nearly made him blow his brains out. They always think flipping their skirts up will let them get away with more and he can’t stand it. 

The man’s face blanched and he shook his head so vigorously that his jowls moved with him. “Oh, no, not at all. But she’s,” he paused and lowered his voice. He leaned in closer to Logan and waited for Logan to do the same. He rolled his eyes but did it anyway. “She’s like you, you know.”

Logan shot him a grin, “You mean a mutant.”

“Lower your voice,” he hissed, face tightening up in anger. “But, yes, a mutant. And I need one to guard her.” Ironic, this man was driving a campaign to make mutants second-class citizens, and his daughter was one. But Logan needed a check, he didn’t give a fuck about the morals of it all. 

“Sounds good to me.”

“Perfect, you can pick her up from school for me.”

You had your earbuds in, head lowered while you made the trek across campus when you noticed him. He was difficult to miss, tall and buff. Very buff, you’re surprised that tank top of his hasn’t ripped every time he flexes. 

Your dad’s newest campaign has you hyper-aware of your surroundings. You can’t afford to let your guard down. Not after the last attack. 

There’s something about this man that tells you he isn’t someone looking to jump you, though. You’re not sure what it is. Every part of him screams danger, but not the type you’re looking out for. The cigar perched between his lips, the glistening muscles you want to bite, he’s trouble. 

When you spot him outside your lecture hall for the third time that day, you finally figure out what’s happening. Your dad had told you he’d hired someone new to watch over you at school. You hadn’t voiced just how against it you were, but you didn’t like the idea. 

You didn’t mind this guy, though. He wasn’t busting into your classes and embarrassing the shit out of you by making everyone empty their pockets like the last guy. He just lingered. You could deal with lingering. 

What you couldn’t deal with was the way he was leaning against his motorcycle, smirking as you slowly approached him. 

“Did my dad hire you?” You call out, tugging your earbuds out. “Who are you?”

He speaks around the cigar like it's second nature. “Your new bodyguard, sweetheart.” You suck in a deep breath when you hear his voice. He’s extremely attractive, you're surprised your dad would risk this. 

One of the other ones had kind of gotten a little obsessed, stalking you even in his off hours. You didn’t think your dad would want another pretty boy around you. Though, you suppose this one isn’t pretty. He’s extremely handsome, ruggedly so, very manly. Jesus, you might end up being the stalker this time. 

His lips curl up like he knows what you’re thinking about. You clear your throat, shifting your backpack higher up your arm. “You planning on taking me home on that?” You ask, pointing at his bike. 

He straightens up and shrugs. “Got a problem with the bike?”

You grin, “Not really,” but your dad will. “No, not at all.”

You walk towards him and he reaches out, grabbing your backpack straps and tugging you towards him. You stumble, hands bracing against his chest so you don’t land flat on your face. “Sorry, kid,” but he doesn’t sound sorry at all. He buckles the straps of your backpack together and tightens them, puffing smoke in your face while he does. “Don’t want this flying off.”

“Mhm,” you hum. You’re not paying attention at all. The only thing you care about right now is just how ripped he is under your hands. You’re not sure how long you gawk at him but he seems to be ridiculously amused by it. 

“Ready to go home, or what?” You jump back from him, brushing your hands off on your leggings and clearing your throat. 

“Yes, yeah.” You rip your eyes off his body and instead focus on the bike. “No helmets?” You ask.

“You heal, don’t you?” You nod and he shrugs. “Don’t need them then, do we?”

You can’t help the giddy grin on your face at that. It’s gotten tiring being treated like glass. You’re about to get on the bike when you finally process what he said. “Wait, how do you know I heal?”

He doesn’t respond verbally. Instead, his gaze darts down to his fists. Your eyes widen when you see the metal poking through the skin. Of course, your father would only tell another mutant about his abomination of a daughter. You scoff and roll your eyes. He’s such a fucking hypocrite. 

Logan climbs on the bike and you follow after him. You're hesitant to wrap your arms around his waist but he just reaches behind himself and jerks you forward. 

You suck in a sharp breath, pelvis tight against his ass while he squeezes your hands. “You want to go flying?” You shake your head and he chuckles, starting the bike and driving off without another word. 

Part of you loves the ride home, the other part detests it. For once you get to experience a little freedom. You’re not trapped in a steel box staring at the back of a car seat while the man beside you pretends he doesn’t exist. 

You can feel the wind in your hair, get a taste of real speed, and enjoy a moment uninterrupted by someone’s expectations of you. On the other hand, Logan does not respect speeding laws. And healing abilities or not, you don’t actually want to experience road rash. 

He manages to get you home in one piece, parking the motorcycle in the driveway and waiting for you to get off. But you can’t, your thighs have been clenching the seat so tight you think they might need to scrape you off. 

“Kid?” He mutters. You shake your head against his back, arms still strangling his waist. It was actually kind of fucking terrifying being on one of these things. You can’t tell if you loved or hated it. 

He lets out a rough sigh, forcibly moving your arms and then tugging you off the seat. Your legs are like jello while you try and straighten out. “Wasn’t so bad, was it?” He asks. You can’t manage much more than a strangled hum and he laughs. 

You turn to your front door and spot a leering face peering out the window. “Shit,” you huff. Your stepmother sees you spot her and disappears from view. You feel your hopes of ever getting back on that bike go with her. 

“You took her home on your bike!”

“Well-”

You flinch at the volume of your father’s voice. “I don’t give a fuck what your excuse is! I will not have my daughter seen riding that monstrosity! You are not to do this again, do you understand me?”

You don’t know what Logan says, but you’re certain it’s not the submissive Yes, sir your father is looking for. He continues shouting at him for another ten minutes. When you hear the door to his office open you scramble to look like you hadn’t been listening in. 

But you’re a bad actress and if his huff of laughter is anything to go by, Logan knows what you were doing. “Did you know that was going to happen?” He asks, pointing back to your father’s, now closed, study. 

You nod, pursing your lips with an apologetic smile. “If it helps, I was really hoping he wouldn’t do that.”

He shrugs, “I don’t really give a fuck how much he wants to scream at me.” It’s refreshing, to finally have someone in the house who doesn’t kiss your father’s ass. It makes you smile, a real genuine smile for the first time in a while. 

You stand from the chair you’d been sitting in, gesturing further into your home. “Are you hungry? I haven’t eaten all day so I was thinking about making something.”

The smirk drops from his face, expression suddenly serious. It makes you tense up. “Look, I appreciate the offer, but I’m here to get paid. I don’t want to be your friend, kid.”

You suck in a sharp breath, trying not to let the rejection sting. He’s a professional, it should be a relief after the last one. “Right, yeah, I’m sorry I didn’t mean it like that.”

He nods, “Right,” tone stiff. You stare at him for another awkwardly long moment before you finally turn on your heel and walk toward the kitchen. You rush there, speedwalking so you don’t have to look at him any longer. 

You open up your fridge, keeping your back to him for as long as humanly possible. You can hear him take a seat at the island, can feel the way his eyes bore into you. It’s a physical thing, his gaze, makes chills scrape their way down your spine. 

You make yourself a sandwich and finally force yourself to turn around. Like you’d expected, he’s already looking at you. Lips ticking up just slightly when you finally get the courage to look up at him. 

Logan feels a little guilty. You weren’t coming onto him earlier, you were being genuine with your kindness. He knows there were no ulterior motives to it and there’s a very slight part of him that feels bad for making you so quiet. “Why’s your dad so pissy about the bike?”

You’re a little startled by the question, after the comment he made you’d thought he wouldn’t want anything to do with you. You swallow down the rest of your bite and cough a little when the bread gets stuck on the roof of your mouth. 

“He doesn’t want me to crash.”

“But you heal,” he points out bluntly and you can’t help but laugh a little. 

“Yeah, that’s the problem. He doesn’t want me to crash and for someone to see that I miraculously healed. Having a freak for a daughter wouldn’t exactly help his campaign, would it?” You can’t even attempt to hide the bitterness in your voice. And you know Logan picks up on it because he doesn’t ask any more questions. 

Your gaze drops to your plate and you finish the rest of your meal in silence. Or, you try to. “Got any plans tonight?”

You chuckle and give him an odd look. “No,” you respond sardonically. “None at all, prepare yourself for a very boring job. I don’t even know why he hired you, I never leave the house unless it's for school.”

“Yeah?” he muses, but he doesn’t seem particularly interested. More like he’s talking just to pass the time. “I heard you’ve been having a hard time at school.”

You suck in a sharp breath, a sudden wave of anger roiling through your gut. The cabinets behind you begin to shake and you wince in embarrassment, tamping down on your powers before you accidentally blow up the kitchen. 

Logan watches the moment with subdued interest like he’s not all that surprised or impressed with the display. “Unless they were a PoliSci nerd, I was a nobody up until last year.” There’s no concealing the hate lurking within your words, “And then my dad took up this whole anti-mutant regime. Well, you can imagine how much the activists love me. I’ve just had a few incidents with some particularly passionate protestors.”

“Do you believe in it?”

Your eyes widen in surprise, you hadn’t expected him to actually continue the conversation. “What do you mean?”

He leans back, arms crossed across his chest in a way that makes his biceps bulge. He shrugs, “The anti-mutant regime, do you agree with it?”

You open your mouth, the perfected script almost rolling off your tongue. But this isn’t some politician's son you’re wooing. You’re not the perfect daughter, you’re in your own home, finally talking to someone else like you. 

“No.” You answer, voice strong in its conviction. “And every time I see one of his PAs running around with their little signs I want to ram the stick up their ass.”

He barks out a laugh, eyes crinkling up in amusement. “I think we might get along, kid.”

You try to ignore the way your cheeks warm at his words. You don’t want to be this affected by him, you’ve barely spoken to him. But this is the first person in a long time that you know with absolute certainty you can be honest with. He doesn’t care about protecting your political image or bowing to your father’s every whim. 

It’s a relief, like a constricting weight being taken off your chest. You give him an easy smile and get up to wash your dishes. His eyes are on you again but they feel less oppressive this time. You’ve already forgotten the rule he’s set in place, you’re not supposed to be friends. 

It’s going to be hard to remember that. 

Your father tightens his grip around your waist until you feel like you might squeal. “Smile, now.” You raise your hand, taking the stairs up the stage and waving out at the crowd that’s formed. It’s hot today, your makeup would be melting off if it weren’t for the artists who put it on for you. 

Always have to look good in front of the camera. All of you. Seeing Logan in a suit was certainly a surprise. You’re almost completely sure that your father had to give him a bonus to even consider wearing it today. 

He looks good, but you honestly prefer him in the normal beater and leather jacket. It’s something so uniquely him. This is just a reminder of your reality, that nothing around you is real. It’s all pretty lies wrapped up in expensive clothes. 

You have to bite your tongue and hold back a grimace when your father begins his speech. “First, we had to let them into our jobs. Now they’re in our schools! Our children aren’t safe, not when they’ve got loaded weapons sitting beside them! Because that’s exactly what they are, weapons of mass destruction that will take apart-”

“Fuck me,” you hiss under your breath. Your cheeks hurt from keeping this smile on your face. You’re struggling not to flinch every time the crowd surges up to agree with him, bigoted shouts making your ears bleed. 

Logan’s brows raise and he gives you a brief glance over his shoulder. Your face pinches in confusion only for a moment before you quickly correct it. Still, you keep your lips nearly completely motionless as you whisper, “Can you hear me?”

You dart your gaze back down to him and catch the barest of nods. Your smile softens, becoming something real if only for a moment. You don’t say anything else, you don’t need to. It’s just a comfort to know someone else is there with you, seeing through the painted faces and plastic smiles. 

There’s movement in the crowd. It cuts your father off midsentence. He peers over the podium, trying to get a better look at what’s happening. You hear someone scream and then the entire crowd is getting knocked to the ground. 

You jump back in shock, everyone on stage still. The security, however, is rushing to get to you and your family. It’s too late, though, there’s a mutant in the crowd and his eyes are set on you. “Fuck you,” he screams out your father's name and lugs something at the stage. 

You hear someone shout your name but it’s too late. Glass shatters against the side of your face. It takes less than a second for the pain to start. You can feel holes being burned through your skin, like living fire melting through your bones and gums. A scream rips out of your throat, your hands coming up to block your face too late. 

“Get her out of here!”

As agonizing as it is, you can already feel your skin working to mend itself. You can practically hear the flesh bonding back together. But the acid is dripping down you. It keeps moving steadily through your clothes and skin, your abilities on overdrive trying to repair the damage. 

You can’t focus on anything except the sensation of being burned alive. Suddenly, there’s an arm being thrown around your shoulder and you’re being lifted off your feet. Your skin scrapes against the rough material of someone’s blazer and it makes you grit your teeth and scream again. 

“I know, hold on kid, it’ll be over in a minute.” Logan rushes you behind the stage, where there are no cameras to watch you heal. You don’t know how your father’s PR team is going to spin this. Everyone saw it, saw the way your flesh bubbled and boiled. There’s no hiding the fact that half your face should be melted off. 

“Car,” you grunt out when he puts you on your feet again. 

His hands are clamped firmly around your shoulders, inspecting you for any further damage. “What?”

“We gotta get to the car,” the words are a struggle to get out. Your lungs constrict painfully in your chest while you force the rest out. “Can’t let them see.”

He looks pissed off that that's what you're worried about and not the fact that you were just attacked. Finally, after a minute of just staring at you, he nods. He wraps an arm around your shoulder and runs with you back to the limo. He throws the door open, pushing you inside and sliding in beside you. 

You take in a deep breath the second you’re no longer in view of the TV cameras. “Fuck,” you gasp out. Your dress is in tatters on your left side and you quickly cover your chest. You pray that you didn’t accidentally flash anything while you were still on stage. Your father would never forgive you for that. 

It’s silent in the car for a moment. You feel something being draped over your shoulder and look over to see Logan passing you his jacket. When he catches your gaze he gently grabs your jaw and titls your face towards his. 

His eyes rove over the left side of your face and he gives you a tight smile. “You’re fine, kid.”

You pull your chin out of his grip and pull his jacket closed around you. “See why my father wanted you around? How would he have ever explained his daughter surviving an acid attack?”

There’s something pinched in his gaze. A deep-seated irritation and something else you’re too tired to identify. He’s looking at you oddly and you wish he wouldn’t. You press your forehead to the cool glass of the window and slump against the car door. 

You don’t know when you fall asleep but by the time you wake up, Logan’s already carrying you up to your room. He sees you shift awake and places you on your feet. You steady yourself against the stair banister and walk the rest of the way to your room, trying to shake off the pain of the day. 

You look back just in time to see Logan at the front door. “Goodnight,” you call down to him. You know he can hear you, but he walks through the door without another word. You bite your lip, ignoring the sinking feeling of your gut. 

You toss your destroyed dress to the floor and turn your TV on. You surf through the channels for a bit before finding a clip of today’s incident. “-apparently part of a protest for mutants against the government. I don’t know Bill, they seem to just be proving everybody’s point. They are unsafe.”

“I agree, my thoughts and prayers go out to…”

You roll your eyes as they say your name. They’re saying it wasn’t acid, instead it’s some sort of chemical compound that causes extreme pain. Even you don’t believe that bullshit. You have a feeling your father is going to be looking for a new PR team tomorrow. 

Your attention is snagged by the replay of the accident. You don’t focus on the acid, you don’t want to. Instead, you see how quickly Logan rushed to your side. He seemed to be right there even as the acid was being thrown. 

Your brows pinch together and you glance at the jacket beside you. He’d forgotten to take it back before he left. You pick it up, eyes skating over the fabric before you find what you’re looking for. There’s a large hole in the right sleeve, acid having burned through it. 

You hadn’t even realized he was in pain. You know he can heal, but it doesn’t get rid of the fluttering feeling in your stomach. You’ve never had someone look after you like that. 

You grin to yourself, tucking the jacket in the back of your closet. You’re sure he wouldn’t want it back and you’re not planning on parting with it anytime soon. 

You’re on house arrest for a week after the acid incident. Which includes no school. Your father has to play into the idea that you’re recovering from the trauma and healing. You don’t know how much longer he’s planning on keeping you locked up but you’re going stir crazy. 

Not only do you not get to go to classes, but Logan isn’t around either. He doesn’t need to be, not when the only place you’re in is your room. He’s not a friend, he’s made that clear, but he’s something. And you are desperately craving that specific something. 

“It was a sickening attack against my daughter that my wife and I are still trying to recover from.” You roll your eyes as you listen to your father spew his bullshit to the interviewer in the next room. 

You’re not allowed to be out and about, of course. You can’t risk someone seeing you. But that doesn’t stop you from lurking. 

“It was an incredibly traumatic experience for her, I’m sure.” You grin to yourself, picking at your nails. You like this one, whoever the reporter is interviewing him. She hasn’t let him catch a break. Especially not when he tries to capitalize on your trauma. Even though he hasn’t checked in once with you. 

“Well,” he splutters for a moment. “Yes, of course,” he tries to sound humble but anyone can tell he’s just covering his ass. “And it just further proves what I’ve always said about mutants. They are animals, they’re not like us.”

You’d think at a certain point you’d go numb to it. You’ve been raised hearing this rhetoric from him all your life. But the sting never eases. That cloying ache in your chest never quite leaves you. Not when you know the only reason he publicly accepts you is for political gains. So everyone can see what a wonderful father he is and vote for him.

You feel sick to your stomach and you don’t think you can listen to much more of this. But right as you’re about to tap out a hand clamps down on your shoulder. You nearly scream but you catch a whiff of the man’s aftershave and your mouth snaps shut. 

You leap out of your chair and whip around, a grin plastered on your face. “Logan, what are you doing here?” You can’t disguise the giddiness in your voice. He might constantly be reminding you that you hold nothing more than a professional relationship, but you don’t give a shit. He’s a constant in your life and that’s rare for you, so you’ll latch onto whatever comfort you can find. 

His gaze briefly darts to the connecting wall to your father’s study and you flush. He’d probably heard all of that. You’ve never had someone see the side of your father that you do. There’s something shamefully embarrassing about it. 

He looks back at you and gives you a sly smirk. “Wanna get out of here?” You’d have to be an idiot to say no.

“Uh,” you can hear the music from where you stand across the street. You shuffle uncertainly on your feet beside Logan, glancing up and down the sidewalk like your father’s going to pop out of an alleyway. “I don’t know if this is such a good idea.”

Logan tugs his cigar out of his mouth. He’s leaned up against a lamppost and he’s watched you struggle for the past ten minutes. “Live a little kid, would ya?”

You look back at the dingy bar and grimace. “Okay, there’s a difference between living a little and having my face blasted on the news. How’s it going to look if I’m photographed at a bar while I’m meant to be healing?”

Logan points with his cigar to the entrance of the bar. “I can promise you, no one in there gives a fuck about who your daddy is.” Comforting, and a little humbling. 

You take in a deep breath and Logan must sense the change in your demeanor. He flicks the cigar to the ground, crushing it with the heel of his boot. He holds his arm out, “Ready, kid?”

You nod, hurrying to his side and slipping under his grasp. He lets his arm hang heavily around your shoulder, hand squeezing your bicep gently to try and quell your nerves. You’d be swooning at the touch if you weren’t about to throw up from anxiety. 

You used to have a life. Until your father had blown it up. You haven’t been around this many people in ages. Well, you haven’t been around people who are just having fun and not sucking up to every politician’s kid they meet. 

The music gets louder as you step over through the threshold of the bar. The soles of your shoes stick to the floor. People laugh loudly all around you, some of them shouting up at TV screens for whatever sport is currently playing. You’re sure half of them don’t even normally watch the game. They just need an excuse to get their wives off their backs. 

The thought brings a small smile to your lips. Logan glances down at you and frowns, “You are old enough to drink, aren’t you?”

You roll your eyes and move out from under his hold. “Yes, Logan. I’m going into a master’s program, my frontal lobe is fully formed.”

He huffs a little at the attitude, cheeks twitching with a suppressed smile. He nods towards the back of the bar, “Find a seat, I’ll get us drinks.” He walks towards the bar without another word and you resent him a little for it. 

Without him beside you, it’s like everything comes crashing down all at once. The songs playing grate on your ears. Every laugh feels like they’re screaming in your face. You’ve never been more in tune with your sense of smell and you hate it. 

Your hands tremble by your sides and you nearly miss the man in front of you spilling his beer down his shirt. It looks completely unnatural, the way it just flips out of his hand. And you know it’s your doing. 

You shove through him and his friends, running to the back and sliding into the first booth you see. You dig your nails into your palms, taking a few deep breaths to try and calm your heart rate down a bit. 

Logan slides into the seat across from you, placing a beer in front of you. It’s barely touched the grimy wood of the table before you tip your head back and drain it. You’ve never been a particular fan of beer or any alcohol for that matter. 

But right now you need a buzz before you accidentally level the whole bar. You slam the bottle back on the table, taking in a deep breath, and sitting back. Logan gives you a hard stare, glancing between you and the empty bottle. 

He clicks his tongue and stands up, “I’ll go get another one.”

You bite your lip and give him a sheepish, “Thank you.”

It doesn’t take long for the buzz to settle in. There’s a slight tingling in your legs and the tips of your fingers. It almost feels like how you get when you’re starting to get aroused. But you don’t know if that’s from the alcohol or the way Logan looks in his slutty little t-shirt. 

Definitely tipsy, you think to yourself, nudging your third beer to the side. 

“Always been a lightweight?” He teases, watching you with amusement in his gaze while he works on what must be his fifth whiskey. 

You shake your head with a soft smile. “No, I used to go out with my friends all the time.” You laugh a little at the memories and lean in a little closer like you’re sharing some horrible secret. Logan rolls his eyes but acquiesces, leaning in to listen to you speak. “We made up alter egos for our drunk selves. Wanna know mine?” You ask, wiggling your eyebrows at him with a stupid grin.

His brows pinch together and he frowns, “I don’t think so.”

You laugh and lean back in your seat. “You’re the worst!” He places his glass down on the table and fixes you with an odd look. You shift around uncomfortably, “What is it?”

“What happened to your friends? Why are you hanging out with me and not them?”

“Oh,” your gaze drops to the table and you suddenly find the stains on it very interesting. It’s practically abstract art. You swallow harshly around the lump in your throat and shrug. “Um, just all the stuff with my dad happened, and,” you shrug, “I don’t know. My life kind of fell apart.”

You try and shake off the funk, bring back the happy-go-lucky feeling you were in only minutes ago. “I had to move out of the dorms and head back home. My friends stopped talking to me. My boyfriend dumped me. It all just kind of blew up.”

Logan frowns and you swear he seems angry on your behalf. It’s a nice feeling, having someone care enough to hold a grudge for you. “You ever tell him how it was all affecting you?”

You snort, “Of course I did. He was overjoyed. He never liked my friends, especially not my boyfriend, they encouraged me to be too independent. He thought I was losing the values he raised me with. He just never cared to learn that I never agreed with them in the first place.”

Logan doesn’t say anything for a while and you let your gaze drift to the karaoke stage. Two women are singing a bad redemption of Led Zeppelin and it makes you smile. You don’t see the way Logan’s eyes linger on the curve of your lips and then drop to your chest. 

You never seem to notice how you make him squirm. There is something so interesting about you. Something so different from the families he worked with before. He doesn’t know if it's the whole mutant thing, if you two are somehow kindred spirits in that regard. He doubts it, he’s never really cared much about that. 

But he knows that there is something magnetic about you. It draws him in and makes him hate his own rules. He promised not to get involved with another client. It always ends messy, most times bloody. 

You turn back to him and smile. Your voice is a low purr as you ask, “You wanna get out of here?”

Of course, he’s never been one to follow the rules. 

“I am so sorry about this. Really.” 

Logan glares down at you while you straighten out his tie. You duck your head so you don’t have to meet his gaze and he lets out a long-suffering sigh. 

“Forget it, kid.” He says it with a smirk but it doesn’t make you feel any less guilty. 

This will be your first public appearance since the incident. It’s a gala, of course, because your father hates you. He’d demanded you find a date, someone to look pretty on your arm because he doesn’t want you talking while you’re there. You’re meant for pictures and nothing more. 

Considering the fact that no one wants to talk to you on campus, the acid incident not helping at all, you had no luck finding a date. You’d had to beg on hands and knees for days to get Logan to agree. 

You don’t know what it is that finally made him cave but you’re grateful for it. You think your father was expecting you to fail. To come crawling to him and be forced to go with who he wanted you to go with. 

You were not going to spend the whole night listening to some political major try and explain your own father’s campaign to you. You’d rather swallow acid than go through that for another night. Your father, of course, doesn’t know that Logan is taking you. 

You’re planning on ambushing him with it. He can’t do anything about it now. He wants you to have a date for some reason and there’s no way for him to find a backup now. You take a step back from him and turn to look in the mirror. 

Side by side, you do make an incredibly attractive couple. He looks amazing in his suit, his muscles just slightly pushing against the fabric. And as much as he hates the tie and constricting material, he makes it work. 

And you feel pretty for the first time in a long time. You actually got to do your own hair and makeup for once. You’re a lot less heavy-handed than the assistants your father hires. You feel comfortable in your own skin, finally, wearing the deep red dress your stepmother had gotten for you. 

“We look good,” you muse. 

Logan looks down at you and smiles slightly, “You do.”

You give him a confused grin, “I said we.”

He leans down, lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he whispers, “I know what you said, sweetheart.” Your heart nearly beats out of your chest at the proximity. Gooseflesh raises on your arms where he’s touching you and your knee buckles ever so slightly. 

You can perfectly imagine his husky voice whispering something much, much dirtier to you. He pulls back with a slight chuckle and forcefully turns you around. “Come on, kid, we’re gonna be late.”

He nudges you towards your bedroom door and you nod your head mutely. He keeps doing that to you. These little things that could be so easily dismissed as you reading into his actions. But you know, deep down, you’re not reading into anything. 

But you don’t know what to do with this information that he might possibly be into you. Or at the very least, attracted to you. He made it clear early on that he wants nothing but professionalism between the two of you, yet he continually breaks his own rule. 

Your father and stepmother are waiting at the bottom of the stairs for you both. Your stepmother smiles when she sees you but your father’s face screws up in anger. “Are you fucking kidding me? The goddamn bodyguard?”

You shrug and slip past him, already walking to the front door. “A date’s a date.” You pause and grin over at him, “What are you going to do about it?” It’s a taunt, one you don’t give him a chance to respond to. 

You’re already slipping outside and heading to the town car. Something about Logan being with you emboldens you to act in ways you never would. Even when he’s not there, when you’re just having family dinner and your father says something off-putting. You fight back, you don’t let him steamroll you and your opinions. 

You feel better than you have in ages with Logan beside you. Still, the ride there is incredibly awkward. 

The hotel is grand and luxurious. But they all are. You feel guilty complaining about your life when this is your weekend. What do you have to be upset about when you regularly stay in five-star motels and wear designer dresses without glancing at the price tag?

Sometimes you feel guilty around Logan. You wonder if he ever resents you for your privilege. You might be a mutant like him, sure, but you’ve never had to struggle to make ends meet. Or try and scrap together enough money to get your next meal. You’ve never had to worry about where you’re going to sleep next or if you’ll have a roof over your head. 

Your struggles have been so different that you worry if something ever did happen between the two of you, you might not work together. 

But those are spiraling thoughts for another time. Right now, you’re just trying to get through the front door without someone bombarding your father with questions on his stance about whatever. 

When it’s clear that he’s going to be there for a while, he sends you and Logan off to the ballroom on your own. You feel bad for your stepmother, having to stay behind and pretend she’s interested as they bore her with stories that have no real meaning. 

“Poor woman,” you mutter, watching her struggle to keep the smile on her face. 

“You don’t call her mom,” Logan muses. You turn to look at him and he just shrugs. “Just a little weird.”

“Well, she’s not my mom.” His head tilts in confusion and you elaborate. “My bio mom left the second she figured out she gave birth to a mutant. We lie to the public, stepmom’s interfere with the perfect nuclear family ideal my dad’s pushing for.”

“If he cares so much about family then why don’t you have your dad’s last name?” A good question, one you had to field a lot when you first started school. 

You give him a sly grin, “Took my mom's maiden name the second I was eighteen, just to piss him off.” There’s no true reason behind it other than being vindictive and petty. “He’s been trying to get me to change it for years but he can’t force me to. Besides, I like having my name separate from theirs. Lets me pretend I’m not a part of the family. Don’t get me wrong, she’s nice and all, we just never really had the chance to bond.”

Someone passes by you. A couple you know you’re supposed to recognize but you can’t place their names. The man calls out your name, coming toward you with his arms open wide. You can see Logan tense up slightly beside you, bodyguard instincts coming out for a moment. 

You squeeze his hand briefly before stepping forward to hug the man. “So nice to see you, again.” You tell him. He grins and squeezes you a little closer to his chest than necessary. 

Logan clears his throat, glaring at the man’s drifting hands. Before either of you can react, Logan is pulling you back, hand resting lightly over the small of your back. He holds his hand out, forcing the man to shake his hand and take his attention off of you.

You can’t hold back the smile on your lips when you see how much smaller the man is under Logan’s intense stare. You’ve gotten used to the men at these events treating you however they want. They don’t see you as a human, you are your father’s accessory and their toy. You envy Logan for how easily he can dismiss these men, take away their larger-than-life personalities, and reduce them to the sniveling rats they truly are. 

He doesn’t even speak, simply tugs you towards the ballroom and away from the man’s wandering hands. You can’t help the stupid smile on your face while you look at him. He glances out the side of his eye and huffs, “What?” He snaps, tone impatient. 

You shrug and shake your head. “Nothing, you’re just…” You trail off, unsure how to continue. You don’t want to make him uncomfortable by telling him how you really feel about him. How deeply you appreciate him, how horribly you desire him. You’re afraid it will all just blow up in your face. That you’ll have truly been reading into everything and gotten his intentions all wrong. After all, he’s made it abundantly clear that there’s meant to be nothing between the two of you except a paycheck. 

You take in a deep breath, smile faltering, “Nothing.” You finally spit out, slipping out of his grasp and walking quicker towards the doors. His hand lingers on your back, fingers trailing slowly down your spine until you’re completely out of his reach. 

The chatter inside gets louder the closer you get to the entrance. You listen to the indiscernible voices, the quartet playing in the corner, and the clink of metal on the glass as they all eat. You straighten out your shoulders and put on your best smile, mentally preparing yourself to keep it stiff on your cheeks for the rest of the night. 

Logan catches up to you, the both of you stopping the second you see the inside of the ballroom. 

People Against Mutants

Evolution or Monstrosities

Parents for the Removal of Mutant Children

Your eyes widen as you take in the banners and signs hanging off the walls. More and more uncreative rhetoric all for the annihilation of mutants. Of people like you and Logan. Your smile drops immediately and you know you should have expected something like this from your father. He’d been refusing to tell you what this gala was for, saying offhandly he was just raising some money. 

You thought it was another charity. Not this. Not people, quite literally, calling for your head. For Logan’s head. You suck in a sharp breath and glance towards the silent man beside you. His jaw is clenched as he takes in all the finely dressed people around you. They’re all laughing and chatting like they’re not actively campaigning for the destruction of children. 

“Bar?” You ask, already walking towards it. 

“Sounds good to me.” His hand is on your back again and you’re grateful for it. The glower on his face, the attitude that screams I don’t belong here keeps people away from you. He shoulders through the men huddling around the bar, forcefully clearing space for the two of you. 

And when they turn around, posturing like they’re going to say something, he only has to look at them for them to retreat with their tails tucked. It’s ridiculously attractive seeing someone command these men so easily. 

“Whiskey,” Logan grumbles, he looks back at you and you slide beside him, leaning your elbows against the cool counter. 

“Just champagne, please,” you tell the bartender. He nods, quickly making your drinks and handing them to you. You turn with the flute in your hand, surveying the room. It feels less like a gala and more like a production of false niceties that will never end and never be genuine. 

“Don’t know how you deal with these fuckers all the time,” Logan mutters, glaring as a man slams into him and keeps walking without apologizing. 

You let out a short huff of laughter, “Honestly,” he glances over at you and you shrug. “I’ve got no fucking clue either.” He scoffs and takes a swig from his glass. But you can’t take your eyes off of him. You feel the words on the tip of your tongue, weighing you down until you feel like you have no choice but to spit them out. 

“You,” his brows quirk up and he glances over at you. You take in a deep breath and start over, nerves making your palms sweaty around the glass. “You make it bearable.”

Logan’s face falls and he sucks in a deep breath. You see the expression on his face, you know what he’s going to tell you. And you hate how apologetic he looks. You especially despise the way he’s making you feel pitied. He’s never done that before and you don’t want him to start now. 

“Don’t,” you tell him before he can say anything. You let out a self-deprecating laugh and place the champagne flute on the bar so you don’t have to look at him. “I know what you’re going to say, alright. So, just, don’t.”

Logan purses his lips and grabs your jaw. You try and jerk your face out of his grasp but he doesn’t let you, he forces you to look at him. He only lets go once you reluctantly make eye contact. You’re surprised by the look on his face. There’s no pity in his gaze like you’d expected. 

This is something else, something darker and more twisted. You can’t put your finger on what exactly you’re seeing but you know it makes your heart race and your thighs clench. “Listen, sweetheart, I-”

“What the hell are you doing?” You jump away from him but Logan just clenches his eyes shut with a short huff of irritated breath. You clear your throat and turn to face your father. He’s glaring between you and Logan, but smiles warmly anytime someone looks your way. “I didn’t bring you here so my contributors could see what a fucking whore you are for the help.”

“Dad!” You exclaim, eyes widening in horror. But Logan doesn’t seem bothered by your father’s words. If anything it seems to incense him, his hand drifting from your jaw to drape itself over the nape of your neck. You try not to show just how much the possessive grip is affecting you but you know they can both tell. 

Your father’s face pinches and he nearly stomps his foot as he looks between you and Logan. He looks like he wants to say something else but your stepmother, thankfully, calls his name. She waves him over towards her and you hold your breath, waiting to see what he’s going to do. 

He takes in short puffs of air, straightening out his suit jacket and glaring at you. “You’re not going to be a fucking wallflower all night, got it?” He doesn’t give you a chance to respond before he’s stomping off. He calls out a warm greeting to someone across the room and you feel like you can finally breathe again. 

You give Logan a tired smile and nod towards the rest of the party. “Time to mingle.”

He laughs, loudly, enough to make people’s heads turn. You can feel your skin heating up from embarrassment and flinch away from the sound. “Sorry, kid, mingling ain’t part of my contract.”

Your jaw drops as you glare at him. “Are you serious?”

He turns back to the bar, flagging down the bartender for a refill. “Deadly,” he tells you firmly, barely looking at you. You roll your eyes and walk away from him, glaring at his back the whole time you do so. 

He thought coming to one of these things, being stuffed in a scratchy suit, would be his worst nightmare. He was proven wrong when he heard them talking to each other. Bitching about golf and their mistresses wanting more attention. Their kids nagging them and their wives being bitches. 

All of it made him want to down a whole bottle of whiskey and then blow his brains out. His worst nightmare turned into ever having to hold a conversation with one of these pricks. 

Then, he turns around, surveying the room for wherever you were lurking. He expects you to be by your father’s side or hiding somewhere in a corner. Instead, you’re standing close -extremely close - to some pretty boy. 

His hand is on your waist and you’re laughing at whatever boring fucking story he’s telling you. Logan tries to pick up on your conversation but there are too many things happening at once already. His senses are on overdrive and he’s already struggling against a migraine. 

He feels something brewing in his gut, something he’s been trying to just shove down for months. He doesn’t know what it is he hates about this picture but it makes him sick to his stomach. He hears something crack and looks down to find the glass of whiskey split on one side. 

“Shit,” he hisses, slamming the glass on the bar behind him. He shakes his hand out and tries to unclench his fists but it’s hard. He couldn’t have possibly been standing here long enough for you to suddenly find the love of your life. Why the fuck are the two of you so close?

This was so unlike you. Rarely did you ever have something good to say about the men you would encounter at these things. He’d heard you bitch about it enough times. Something about this isn’t adding up and he doesn’t know if it’s his own jealousy or intuition. 

Still, he finds himself pushing away from the bar and stalking towards you both. Closer, he can finally see what the problem is. Your hands are on the guy's chest but you aren’t leaning against him, you’re actively trying to push him away. 

It makes Logan’s blood boil, jaw clenching as he tries to keep himself at bay. He didn’t want to cave some kid’s head in in the middle of the gala. But the closer he got the clearer he could hear your hissed warnings to take his hands off of you. 

Logan finally reaches you and the look of sheer relief on your face makes him want to bring the claws out. He’d love to see that smug smirk ripped off his face, but he holds back. If only so he doesn’t traumatize you. 

“Alright, bub, hands off,” he warns. 

“Why don’t you just leave us alone?” He had to give it to the kid, he’s got balls. Rarely did anyone ever buck up to him like this. Normally, he might entertain him a bit, drag this on longer than necessary to get a kick out of it. 

But he still hasn’t taken his hands off of you and Logan’s not interested in fucking around tonight. Without a word, he grabs the kid by the collar of his jacket and tosses him away from you. 

He lands roughly on the floor with a loud gasp and people turn to look. Logan pays no mind to the onlookers. He places his hand on your back and leads you out of the ballroom, unwilling to have eyes on you for the rest of this conversation. 

“Logan,” you start, tone nervous. 

“Don’t,” he snaps. He regrets it immediately from the way you jump in surprise. He lets out a rough sigh, running his hand down his face, and walks through the first door he finds. “I’m sorry, kid, I just-”

“Logan,” you cut him off. The tone of your voice is enough to get him to finally look at you. Your arms are crossed and you’re glaring at him. “Why the fuck did you drag us into a closet?”

His brows furrow in confusion and he glances around, finally realizing what he walked into, “Fuck,” he hisses. He gropes blindly around the room for a light switch. There’s a small click and then an unflattering fluorescent light is shining down on you both. He’s managed to drag you both into a small, incredibly cramped, cleaning closet.  

You’re grimacing as you push a few mops away from your head. You look over at him and something about the look on his face must be funny because you start to laugh. “What were you thinking?”

Your smile makes one curl up on his own lips. He can’t help it, something about you eases a bit of the tightness constantly lurking inside him. “Thought it was one of those stuffy conference rooms.”

You scoff and reach for the handle, “Just a stuffy closest, good going, Logan.” You roll your eyes and tug on the knob. Your brows furrow together as you jiggle the handle every which way, desperately pulling on it. 

“Move over,” Logan mutters, nudging you to the side. He wraps his hand around the handle and yanks on it, expecting the door to swing open. When it doesn’t his face falls. 

“Did you miraculously unlock it, genius?” You demand sarcastically. Logan feels his shoulders tense up, frustration levels steadily rising. He’s already got a shit temper, he doesn’t need you adding to this. 

“No,” he snipes, “but I don’t see you coming up with any wonderful solutions.”

You throw your hands up in the air, wincing when your elbow collides with the shelving unit behind you. “I didn’t drag us into this mess! Why did you even come in here?” You demand and he can see how angry you are. 

It shows in the way you tapped your heeled feet against the floor and glower at him like he’s the bane of your existence. He doesn’t know what happens, what comes over him, or why this is the moment he chooses to break his rule. 

Your back slams into the shelves behind you and you gasp as he surges towards you. His hands come up to cup your cheeks and before you get a chance to question him, his mouth is covering your own. Logan buries his hand in your hair, ruining the perfectly styled curls. You don’t seem to mind much if the way you arch into him is anything to go by. 

His tongue runs across the seam of your lips, tasting the cherry-flavored gloss you’d applied earlier. He wants to devour you. Consume you body and soul, take everything you have to give, and then keep going. He doesn’t want to stop, but he’s not sure he wants the first place you have sex to be in a janitor’s closet. 

He pulls back, tugging you back when you try to chase his lips with your own. “Shouldn’t do this here,” he mutters. He’s struggling to hold back. And when you look up at him, lips swollen from his kiss, and you mutter why, how is he meant to resist?

He tugs you away from the shelves, pushing you against the door so he doesn’t have to see your face twist up in pain every time the corner digs into your lower back. Your hands drop down to his belt, lips desperately carving a path down his neck. 

He’d laugh at your eagerness if he wasn’t just as desperate for you. He reaches for the hem of your dress but it’s one of those floor-length gowns with no slits. He struggled for a minute before getting too impatient and just muttering, “Fuck it.”

You gasp when you feel the metal of his claw against your leg, eyes dropping down to watch as he makes himself a slit. He slices the fabric along your thigh and then just rips it. “Logan,” you hiss as he hikes the silk over your hips. 

“Something wrong, sweetheart?” You glare at him, eyes darting between him and his pants before you finally shake your head. He laughs slightly, hand drifting under your dress and reveling in the way you shiver under his touch. “Yeah,” he whispers, “that’s what I thought.”

His fingers move gently along your thighs, easing you into his touch. You let out breathy whimpers, tucking your face in his neck the closer he gets to your core. He lets his hand drift lower, searching out the band of your underwear. 

He’s pleasantly surprised when he’s met with nothing but you dripping for him. “Shit, you’re not wearing any underwear?”

You freeze and keep your face stubbornly buried in his neck. Logan laughs slightly, tugging you back and forcing you to look up at him. You mumble something under your breath. It’s said so quickly he can barely understand you. “What was that?”

“Ugh, god, Logan.” You groan and let your eyes drop down to his shirt, fiddling with the end of his tie. “I was hoping this would happen.”

When he doesn’t say anything your face shifts, worry gnawing away at you. You glance up at him and are surprised by the intensity of his gaze. He’s staring down at you like he wants to eat you whole. His pupils have consumed all the color of his eyes, there’s nothing but want on his face. 

“You wanna know why I agreed to come with you, kid?”

Your mind is completely dulled just by being this close to him. It takes you a moment to process what he’s saying before you nod your head. “Why?”

The look on his face reminds you of a wolf guarding its territory. It’s predatorial, animalistic, it makes you want him even more. “I didn’t want any of these little boys getting a chance to have their hands on you.” His gaze drops down to your lips and he leans in until your breaths are mingling together. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you.” He dips his head down and his kiss isn’t as intense as it was the first time. His lips move lazily over your own, tongue stroking against yours like he’s savoring the taste. 

You can taste the whiskey he’d drank earlier, can still smell cigars on his breath. It should be revolting, you’ve never liked kissing smokers. But there is something so intoxicating about him. Everything he does is enchanting to you. 

It’s a naive train of thought but you trust him wholly. He could do whatever he wanted to you and you’d let him willingly. His hands continue their exploration down your body and you can’t help but arch into his touch. His fingers stroke languidly over your center and you moan into his mouth. 

Your lips part with little gasps and your head thunks loudly against the door. Neither of you notice or care, you’ve all but forgotten the gala outside. The government employees and rich socialites that you’re supposed to be entertaining. 

And when he slips a finger inside you, you don’t care who hears you call out his name. The rough pad of his finger creates a feeling you’ve never been able to produce on your own. There’s something so exhilarating about this whole situation. 

Stuck in this tiny closet, no air to breathe but each other’s. No room for anything other than your bodies pressed as closely together as possible. You're completely surrounded by him and you never want to leave. 

“Logan,” you gasp out his name and shove at his shoulders. He momentarily stops his ministrations, giving you a worried look. “Please, I just want you.” You tug at his wrist, hissing when his fingers leave you with a lewd pop. 

He looks hesitant, but you can see the way he’s straining against his boxers. You let your hand trail down his stomach, palming him through the thin fabric. His hips buck into your hands and he lets out the most attractive noise you’ve ever heard. You’ve always liked guys who aren’t afraid to be vocal. 

“Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he whispers. He swats your hands to the sides, tugging his boxers down and squeezing your hips hard enough to bruise. “Come on, up.”

You jump and he slings your legs around his waist, lining himself up with your entrance. He drags you slowly down his cock, resting your back against the door and giving a hesitant thrust inside you. 

You can’t help the low groan that leaves your parted lips. It’s like you’re full of nothing but him. You’d been mentally prepared for the stretch he would present, but you probably should have given him more time to warn you up. 

You don’t care though, this is all you’ve been craving for months. To feel nothing, taste nothing but him. You’ve been praying that he feels the same way you do, and if the look on his face is anything to go by, he does. 

He looks completely wrecked, head resting on your shoulder while you both take a breath. It’s overwhelming, this feeling of finally having what you’ve always wanted. Someone you can give yourself to completely and still feel safe with them. 

You drag your hand up his back, burying it in his hair and reveling in how soft it is. You tug him back by the roots, tilting his neck until he’s forced to look at you. Your gaze drops to his reddened lips and you smile at the gloss you’ve smeared across his chin. 

“Come on, Logan, don’t tell me you’re all talk.”

His eyes narrow but you can see the amusement swimming within them. “You’re gonna regret that.”

“Oh, yeah?” You goad, grinding your hips down against his and biting your lip hard enough to draw blood. You’re trying not to make a noise, trying to make sure he doesn’t see just how much he’s affecting you. But you can already feel your orgasm forming, it’s a low tingle in the tips of your toes, a burning hot desire rushing through your thighs as you clench around him. 

“Yeah,” he promises, thrusting sharply into you. This time the moan is forced out of you, your lips parting unbidden as you slump over him, burying your face in his neck. He doesn’t waste any time, using your hips as handles to pump you over his cock like you’re nothing more than a toy. 

The door rattles behind you, each thrust of his hips makes it shake in its frame. His hands fist the back of your dress, grip so tight you think it might tear. You don’t care. He could rip it off of you and you’d walk outside naked right now. 

You don’t care what happens, not when he’s beside you. There’s a feeling of security that comes from being around Logan and you can feel it in this moment. You trust him to take care of you in every way. 

Maybe you shouldn’t. After all, you two haven’t known each other long. But there’s not much you’re worried about when he’s moving steadily inside you. You can taste the desperation you share for each other in each pump of his hips. 

He whispers it into your ear while you claw at his back. The shelves around you shake and you worry you might bring them down if you can’t rope yourself in. But you can feel the wave building in the back of your throat, your vision blurring as you tighten your legs around his waist and begin to match his rhythm. 

“There you go,” he mutters, pinning you to the door and keeping your hips still while he moves inside you. “Come on, I can feel you clenching around me, sweetheart.” He manages to hold you up with one hand, the other diving between your legs to rub tight circles around your bundle of nerves. 

It doesn’t take much longer for your muscles to seize up, back bowing as you clench desperately around him. “Oh, fuck, Logan,” you shout his name, and his hand quickly comes up to smother your cries. He squeezes your cheeks until your eyes snap open and he drags you down to meet his gaze. 

“Don’t want to lose my job, need you to be quiet for me,” he grunts out, his tone breathy and strained. He loses his rhythm, movements speeding up erratically while he lets out low groans and whispers of your name. You almost cum again when he finally finishes inside you. 

Your limbs are twitching in overstimulation by the time his hips still. You feel completely boneless, body slumped lazily in his arms. He wraps both arms around you, squeezing you a little before slowly lifting you off of him. 

It’s a relief of pressure when he pulls out. His cum leaks out of you, dribbling down your thighs and dripping onto the floor of the closest. Your face screws up at the feeling and you internally cringe. No condom was probably a stupid call.

But you don’t really want to think about the repercussions right now. Not when he’s stroking your hair and rubbing a soothing hand down your back, waiting until you can form a coherent sentence before he lets you go. “Alright?” He asks, voice bordering on something smug. 

“Mhm,” you push away from him, legs shaky as you try and straighten out your dress. It’s a loss cause, trying to hide what happened in here at all. You’ve got a tear going up to your hip and you’re pretty sure there are holes in the back. Logan’s tie is gone and you don’t even remember taking that off. His shirt is completely wrinkled and your lip gloss has stained his face. 

You’ve both got horrific sex hair and the room reeks of it. You don’t know how you're going to sneak out of here. You still try and relax your hair, patting down the flyaways while Logan retucks his shirt. 

It’s silent between the two of you, heavy but not awkward. You don’t think either of you knows what to say now that you’ve physically acted on what you want. A sudden thought hits you, makes your heart clench painfully and your tongue ties up in your mouth. 

He’d confirmed that he wanted your body. That he desired you sexually. But you don’t think he actually said anything about a real relationship. There would be problems, of course, your father for one would have a lot to say about it. But you don’t care about that. You don’t care about any of the consequences, you just want to be with him. 

You open your mouth to ask him what he wants when the door swings open. Both you and Logan whip towards it. But where you look like a deer caught in the headlights he looks like the epitome of male pride. 

Especially when he realizes it's your father on the other side. “Dad-” You start, but you have no idea what you could even say. Your dress is in tatters and both you and Logan are still mussed up. There’s no hiding what happened here. 

He doesn’t let you finish, holding up his hand. His voice is eerily calm as he says, “I thought I heard something banging around in here.”

“You did,” Logan scoffs, crossing his arms and glaring at your father. You feel your heart jump to your throat, staring over at him with a horrified look on your face. How could he think that was okay to say? It was so dismissive of what you believed had happened. 

This was more than just a quickie in the dark to you. This meant something, but you’re seriously starting to doubt that it was the same for him as it was for you. And that just makes you feel like the stupid little girl everyone seems to believe you are. 

Your father says your name but you can’t bring yourself to meet his eye. “You’re feeling sick,” he tells you, no room for argument. “Your date had to take you home. It was just too much too soon after the incident at the rally.” When you don’t say anything he shouts out, “Understood?” That makes you jump. 

“Yes,” you clear your throat and face him. “Yes, understood.”

Your father has made his stance on mutants clear. He hates them, despises them to their very being, and wishes he could kill every last one. And as much as you were raised with those ideas, they were never truly turned on you.

But he’s looking at you right now like he wishes you were never born. You feel like shit on his shoe. Something to be hidden away and buried. It makes your shoulders slump like a hundred pounds was just tossed onto your back. 

You try to run past him but he jerks you back, fingers so tight around your bicep you feel the skin tear. You gasp in pain but don’t say anything, too afraid to argue. “Put his jacket on, I won’t have you looking like a whore.” He releases you with a rough shove and storms off. 

You can feel something burning at the back of your eyes. A moment later Logan drops his jacket over your shoulders, pulling you back into his chest and running his hands over your arms. “Come on, kid,” he mutters. There’s something resigned in his voice that makes your heart drop, “Let’s get you home.”

The walk through the lobby feels like you’re walking through a dream. You’re not completely present for it, or the ride home. Your mind and your heart are warring and you feel like you’re going to be torn apart if you keep lingering on what just happened. 

You just can’t understand how you could go from having everything you wanted to feeling like the scum of the earth in less than two minutes. Logan doesn’t speak as he drives you home. His knuckles are turning white around the steering wheel and you’re afraid to even try and start a conversation. 

You don’t want to hear him tell you that he didn’t desire you past your body. You don’t want to discover that you’re just another notch on his belt. He seems to do this a lot, sleep with the girls he guards. The idea of just being another job, another fun night, makes you absolutely disgusted with yourself. 

When he pulls into the driveway of your house you both just sit in the car. Neither of you knows what to say. And the air between you is so thick with tension you feel like you could choke on it. You stare down at your hands, fingers fiddling with the ripped seams of your dress. 

You pick at the threads and feel his stare on you. You can’t do this. You can’t deal with the possibility of rejection. Not after what happened between you and certainly not after what your father said. 

You undo your seat belt and Logan watches as you go through the movements of getting up. His eyes never leave you and it’s like a physical caress, his stare. Normally it would make you warm inside, comforted by his presence. But right now all you can feel is the chill of where his cum has dried between your legs and the icy-hot stab of nausea in your gut. 

You throw the door open and you’re nearly out when he calls out a quiet, “Goodnight.”

You don’t look at him, you can’t. You slam the door shut and walk silently to the front door of your house. You don’t look back, don’t respond, you just slip inside your house and finally let the weight of the night come crashing down on you. 

You don’t cry until you hear him pull out of the driveway. 

Your father and stepmother usually stay at the hotel the night of a gala. Most nights you come home and enjoy the house to yourself for once. Tonight, you’re woken up by the front door slamming so hard your walls shake. 

You can faintly hear your stepmother’s voice trying to console your father. She’s muttering something to him you can’t make out. You shoot out of bed, running to pull some sweatpants on. After you’d cried yourself out you’d taken a shower. 

You’ve scrubbed your skin raw but you swear you can still smell him on you. You rush to your bedroom door, turning the knob quietly and slowly peeking your head outside. Your father’s at the bottom of the stairs, the second he spots your open door he’s screaming your name. 

Your stomach twists painfully and you can feel panic starting to overwhelm you. Your hands shake and your legs are stiff as you slowly step into the hallway. You’re a grown woman. You shouldn’t feel like this because your dad is going to yell at you. 

But he’s been so good at forcing you to rely on him. At forcing you to bend and break to fit his beliefs and mold. You don’t know what to do if you’re not striving for his approval. And right now it’s very clear that he’s never been more disgusted by you. 

If the look on his face isn’t enough to twist the knife deeper, his words are. “I have never,” he screams at you. You take a step back, keeping the stairs between you, refusing to meet him in the middle. “Been more embarrassed to call you my daughter. Do you have any idea how humiliating that was for me? Do you know how many people saw you being dragged outside like a fucking whore off the corner?”

You clench your eyes shut, turning your face away from him as the shame becomes a physical thing inside you. You can feel it making its way up your throat. Because he’s right. Tonight you were nothing more than a slut without any self-respect. 

But you’re also pissed off. You’re fucking enraged at yourself for being so stupid as to ever believe Logan wanted you for anything more than your body. You're mad at Logan for knowing how you feel about him and taking advantage of it. And you’re so fucking tired of doing everything you can to make your father proud and it never being enough. 

“Have you ever once asked me what I want?” You raise your voice, screaming down at him with a ferocity that surprises even you. His eyes widen, frame trembling with unreleased rage. You plow through, not stopping because you know if you do, you’ll never get this out. “No, you haven’t. Not once. Because you don’t fucking love me! And it has taken me years to accept that, to finally realize that you’re incapable of loving anyone but yourself.”

You gasp, the noise wet and painful as something warm trickles down your cheek. You stare down at him with your eyes wide in realization. “It’s so clear to me now, I feel like an idiot for missing it for so long. You never loved me. You’re incapable of it!” 

You’re embarrassed at the way your voice cracks. As much as you want to pretend you’re stronger than him, not afraid of him. There’s still a little girl inside you who wonders why Daddy doesn’t love you. 

“I don’t give a flying fuck what you want, Dad. I don’t care what you want my life to look like or if I embarrassed you. I’m glad I did, glad someone finally saw a sliver of the truth you try so desperately to hide-”

“Enough!” He shouts and it startles you so bad that you jump back, your abilities reacting and a vase behind you flying off the shelf. You duck as glass shatters across the stairs and floor. You glance at the scene with shocked eyes, looking down at your father to see that he’s not even a little bit surprised. 

Instead, he just looks so deeply disappointed that it makes you shrink into yourself. The anger within you is extinguished in a second. He rubs his face, shaking his head and turning his back on you. “Dad?” You call out, voice trembling. 

“Go to your room,” he tells you quietly. “I don’t want to look at you anymore.” You hover by the top of the stairs for a moment, not quite believing him yet. And when he realizes you're still there, that you’re not taking him seriously, he finally looks at you again. 

“I wish every goddamn day that those doctors had just put you down. I’d rather have a dead daughter than one like you.”

You stand there, stunned, even after the rest of the house has gone to bed. You clean up the pieces of glass while you try and swallow down your tears. Let the sharp edges dig into your skin and tear until you can feel any type of pain besides the one inside you. 

A week of solitary confinement. You’re surprised that you haven’t just been kicked out of college. You’re sure that your father’s many donations to the university are the only thing stopping your professors from dropping you from the class. 

You don’t care if they do or not, though. You never actually care about what you studied. You’d just always hoped that it would be a way for you to escape the tight grip around your neck your dad has on you. 

You’ve figured out that no matter how hard you fight, you’ll never escape him. He hates you and yet, he can’t let you go. You’d laugh if you weren’t busy wallowing in your depression. 

Someone keeps leaving food by your door but you can’t find it in yourself to be hungry. You’ll nibble on something, but you feel like you’re going to throw up when you so much as breathe the wrong way. 

You haven’t heard from Logan since that night. You knew your father would fire him the second he woke up. But you’d held out hope - foolishly - that he might still try and reach out to you. You have this childish image in your head of the prince coming to rescue the princess from the dragon. 

But you’ve been naive your whole life, you don’t want to keep going down this road. You don’t want to keep expecting the best of people and live your life in perpetual disappointment. 

You haven’t seen or spoken to your father since that night. Wordlessly, he’d banned you to your room. No one’s said it, but you know you’re not allowed to come out. You don’t know when he’s going to deem you useful again and drag you back out into the public eye. 

Contrary to his belief, no one had seen you leave that night with Logan. You hadn’t been in any tabloids or shitty news articles. Besides emotional estrangement from your father and losing the only guy you’ve ever really liked, there were no consequences to your whorish behavior - as your father so lovingly puts it. 

You roll over in your bed and picture yourself taking a shower. It feels like such a workout but you can’t stand lying in your sweat and tears for much longer. With a long drawn-out groan, you throw yourself out of bed and enter the bathroom connected to your room. 

You know you’ll feel better afterward, but everything besides sleep sounds like too much work. Still, you force yourself inside and finally clean the grime of laying on your ass for a week off. 

You walk naked through your room, making a beeline for your dresser. You feel a little better after washing yourself off and moisturizing. But not much. Physical health can only do so much for how you feel inside. 

You hope this will blow over soon, you’re not sure how much longer you can take feeling so awful. You hate pitying yourself, and that’s exactly what you’re doing right now. You huff irritatedly, digging around your drawers for your favorite shirt. 

A hand clamps around your mouth, rough and big, yanking you back into a muscled chest and keeping you quiet. You still try and scream, hands clawing at the skin of their hand until you feel blood. 

“Fuck, quit that, would ya?”

Your erratic movements slowly come to a halt. You still feel your heart pounding against your chest, adrenaline warming your blood and making you feel like you're on fire from the inside out. But, you recognize the voice, recognize there’s no danger to the situation. 

That doesn’t make you any less pissed off. When Logan is sure you won’t keep attacking him, he lets you go slowly. You immediately whirl around on him, uncaring that you’re still naked. Energy moves quickly through you, becoming a physical thing under your skin. 

He smiles at you and you push the energy out, throwing him across your room. He flies into your bookshelf, crashing to the ground with a loud slam. “What the fuck are you doing?” You scream at him. 

There’s no one home right now, luckily, or else you both would be screwed. He shakes his head off, brushing pieces of wood out of his hair and slowly getting to his feet. “Well, I was coming to say hi-”

“You say hi by ambushing naked girls?” You interrupt, grabbing the clothes closest to you and pulling them on quickly. 

Logan rolls his neck out and shrugs. “No, that was just a plus,” he gives you that insufferable smirk and you want to scream. 

This is the first time you see him in a week since you had sex together and your father officially disowned you. And this is what he’s leading with? Seriously? “You’re a real fucking prince, Logan.” You shake your head with a scoff and glare at him.

He narrows his eyes, looking to be in disbelief at your attitude. “What happened?” You expect to hear irritation in his tone. Anger that you’re being such a bitch right now. Instead, he sounds concerned, like he can see right through you. 

You hate that. You used to love having someone who could see past all the pretenses and walls, but it just hurts now. “Nothing,” you tell him, unable to hold eye contact any longer. “Look,” you take in a deep breath, and your brows furrow in confusion. “How the hell did you even get in here?”

Logan doesn’t look like he wants to drop the topic just yet but he relents. He nods towards your window and you fix him with an astonished look. “I climbed, I didn’t want your dad to risk seeing me on the security cameras out front.”

You feel suspicion brewing inside you, tone turning defensive. “Look, if you came here because you want to fuck again, I suggest you go find another girl. I’m not interested anymore.”

“Well,” he scoffs, “I find that hard to believe.” How easily he just dismisses your words. Like they hold no real importance. It makes you want to scream. Instead, you just flick your wrist, throwing him into another wall. You don’t know how you’re going to explain these holes in the wall to your father but you don’t really care. 

“Enough,” he snaps, brushing himself off and glaring at you. Your lips curl up in amusement, the first thing you’ve felt besides anger and depression for the last week. “Look, I was coming here to get you the hell out, kid. Clearly, I’m not wanted.”

He walks towards your window, intent on climbing back down the side of your house and leaving. You almost let him, if only to see him scurrying down the wall. Instead, you take a step forward and stop him with a small, “Get me out?”

He sighs, running an aggrieved hand over his face and propping the other on his hip. “Yeah,” he mutters. “Look, I can’t stand the thought of you cooped up in here, isolated from the rest of the world. It’s not fair, I was gonna see if you…” He trails off and roughly swallows. 

Your interest piques. Whatever is this hard for him to get out has to be interesting. “Logan,” you call his name softly. “See if I what?”

He huffs out a rough breath, turning around and staring you down. There’s something in his eyes, something reflected in yours. He’s looking at you the same way you always look at him. “You wanna come with me, kid?”

Well, you’d have to be an idiot to say no. 

You don’t leave a note. You don’t give them any clues or hints as to where you might have gone. They can draw their own conclusions about what happened to you. They can tell the news whatever twisted lies they want. 

You don’t care, that’s not your life anymore. Your life is packed away in a backpack in the back of Logan’s trailer. Your new life is in the passenger seat beside him. You’re equal parts terrified and excited to figure out what you’re going to do with the rest of it. 

a/n: can you tell I know fuck all about politics?

Also, smut, wow, this was hard and rough to write. I don’t know why it’s such a struggle. I just feel guilty writing such dirty words, it’s absolutely diabolical that I have no problem being crazy over a guy whose age gap with me is the same age as my parents, but I can’t write smut.

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

General Taglist: @evasmlp

Logan Taglist:  @nonamevenus @smexy-bucky-waifu @wh1sp♡

[thesunisatangerine]

against all odds (to wait for you is all i can do) – part three

alexia putellas x photojournalist!reader

warnings: explicit sexual content

(a/n in the tags) [parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve]

word count: 3.4k

You woke again nearing midday and, as expected, Ale was nowhere to be found. If it weren’t for the still sensitive marks that she left on your neck and the soreness between your thighs, you would’ve thought it was all a pleasant dream. Something on your nightstand caught your eye as you stretched and when you picked it up, all the remaining doubt shattered. 

On the piece of paper was a phone number with a little note that said ‘text me?’ and you couldn’t help the grin that made its way to your lips at the drawn smiley face at the end of it. You picked your phone up, added her to your contacts and sent her a hello-it’s-me text, noted the notification of an email from Derek, and then you got out of bed to get ready for the day.

When you returned to the bedroom from your shower, a message from Ale was waiting for you. 

‘Hey, good morning! Listen, as much as I’d love to… have fun with you again, I can’t see you the next few days.’

You laughed at the varying degrees of sad emojis that superseded her text. Then you messaged her back. 

‘That’s fine. Just text me when you’re free. And you already know where I am so…’

You abandoned your phone after that in favor of your laptop as you remembered Derek’s email. Upon opening your mail, you found it immediately.

‘Good news. Robert sealed a deal with a client and they want you to follow FC Barcelona in their Liga F campaign this season. We got 5 match passes so far–Robert believes that the client might be inclined to commission for more photos depending on how the club progresses throughout the season.

Find the passes in the attachment as well as the in-depth commission details but in short, apart from the customary team photos, they want photos of the following players prioritised in order: Alexia Putellas, Maria ‘Mapi’ Leon, and Caroline Graham Hansen. I’ll leave the research to you.

On an informal note, the window to decline is still open. As previously discussed, you don’t have to do this. Let me know what you decide as soon as possible.’

You checked the attached files and sure enough, you found the passes for Barcelona’s matches against the following clubs: Real Madrid, Roma, Alhama, Atletico Madrid, and Sporting Huelva. You noted the date for the one against Real Madrid–it was in a couple of days, the same one Ale suggested and a thrill of excitement went down your spine at the thought of possibly seeing her again. Maybe you should message her to let her know that you were going. 

You sent a confirmation to Derek before you created a new tab to begin your research. ‘Alexia Putellas’, you typed and hit enter. When the results came back, you stilled. 

You blinked. 

Then you blinked again.

Of all the places you’d expect to find Ale’s face, a search result about a professional football player was the last thing you could think of. But memories flashed unbidden through your mind: the exclusive night club, Ale’s vague answer about her job, the way her eyes shone whenever you mentioned sports or football, her reflexes, her physique, Ale… Alexia–it all made sense now. 

Groaning, you put your face in your hands as your cheeks and ears burnt from the embarrassment that flooded your veins. Oh, how dense could you get! She must’d thought you ignorant for not knowing who she was. Foolish! 

But then again… if she didn’t get a kick out of you not knowing, why did she allow the second time to happen? And why promise a third? The thought calmed you down enough to decide not to text Ale–no, Alexia–about this like you’d originally planned especially since you were most likely going to see her at the game anyway.

After another moment to regain your composure for the time being, you proceeded with your research. You clicked on an article, and an article lead to another, which carried you over to a video, and so on. By the end of it, evening had settled and you only managed to discover little. But from what you found out, there was no question to Alexia Putellas’ nascent legacy, both on and off the pitch–an undisputed, modern trailblazer for current and new generations of female athletes. You were gutted to know about her ACL injury though–a quick deviated search made it known to you how serious of an injury it was, especially for an athletic career–and you wondered when she would be able to play again or if she would be playing in the match against Real Madrid. After all, she did say she was going to be there.

You wrapped up your research about Alexia then and you finally moved on to Mapi Leon, then Caroline Graham Hansen. Afterwards, you briefed yourself on the rest of Barcelona Femeni’s 1st Division players as well as the rules of football to come up with a strategy to tackle this task.

A mixture of anxiety and excitement rushed through you as you settled in for the night at the thought of seeing Alexia again now that you know about her identity. You didn’t know what you had gotten yourself into the moment you let her take you to the dance floor but the pull was there from the very beginning. And you decided you were going to see this through to the end.

No. This wasn’t going to change anything at all.

–––

There it was: Estadi Johan Cruyff, home to Barcelona Femeni, stood proud in its blue and red glory.

There was still about an hour and a half left before kickoff but already, people had gathered and started to enter the stadium, you being one of them. Security scanned your press pass as you entered and you were told to head through a different corridor which lead you out to the pitch. Once inside, it was no surprise that the stadium’s interior was no less grand than the outside, the well-tended grass was just a taste to the quality that this place had to offer. 

Greeting the other photographers who’d settled in earlier as you walked, you searched for a spot and found it by the space adjacent to the corner flag farthest from the tunnel entrance. There, you placed your duffel bag and your portable stool as you worked to set up your equipment: you double-checked the batteries, attached the right lens to your camera, unwounded your monopod and connected it to your camera. 

By the time you looked up, there was already a significant crowd awaiting the players for their warm-ups. You took this chance to take a few shots of the still half-filled stadium, tweaking your settings as you did so and you waited for the players to come out.

About an hour before kickoff, you spied movements inside the tunnel and immediately, your eye was to your viewfinder.

Players from both teams emerged from the tunnel and names popped in your head as you scanned the faces from Barcelona, taking shots of them as they stepped foot on the grass and took off in a jog. There was no sign of Alexia though but you spotted two of your marks on the pitch so you wasted no time to frame them in your camera.

A moment later though, you heard a sudden cheer from the crowd followed by a collective flutter of camera shutters. You lifted your eye from the viewfinder, turned your head to the side and saw that your fellow photographers had their cameras focused to the direction of the tunnel entrance. Your heart quickened. Could it be? And sure enough as you looked to the sidelines, you could make out Alexia’s blonde hair and her unmistakable silhouette. Through your camera’s lens you were able to see her better. 

Alexia had on a black leather jacket paired with a top that revealed a strip of skin before the cut of her jeans, finishing her look off with a pair sneakers on and loose blonde hair. She was conversing with her coach, bumping fists and patting the backs of players from both teams who went over to greet her. Then she turned to the stands, waved at their supporters, and she moved close enough for pictures and autographs. She gave one last wave to the fans, shouted an encouraging word to her teammates with a fist in the air, before she headed back into the tunnel. While all of this was happening, you’d framed her through your lens yourself, taking the photos you needed, cheeks warm despite the cooling afternoon air. 

Then all the Barcelona players jogged over to the sidelines and huddled, side to side, arm in arm. You took a shot. Not long after that, all of them left the pitch. 

The game was about to start. 

Alexia wasn’t lying when she said the stadium would get crowded: the stands were filled with blues and reds, flags were flown and waved about, chanted anthems resounded loud and proud in the air–the atmosphere was nothing short of electric. 

You’d moved by the sideline close to the tunnel entrance for the beginning of the match along with your fellow photographers so you could capture Barcelona’s starting eleven. When the players came out, they were welcomed by singing and cheers from the crowd. And as they stood there, you took photos of the entire team first before you moved on to focus on Mapi and Caroline. 

When the whistle blew and the match began, you were back to your original spot, looking to the stands above the tunnel entrance as you tried to pick Alexia out from the sea of faces through your camera. You managed to a few minutes later, and you found her looking rather pensive: one arm crossed over her chest, the other resting on it as she rubbed her chin with her thumb, eyes focused down at the pitch with her brows slightly creased. It looked like longing to you, a burning desire to return home–to start playing football again. The sight evoked such a feeling in you that you couldn’t help but capture the moment. This shot, however, you were going to keep for yourself.

 Now that you knew where Alexia was, following the client’s requisites just got a lot easier. Up until the final whistle, you immersed yourself in your work and the game, focusing more on Mapi and Caroline as they were playing. There were times that allowed you to shift your camera to the stands to where Alexia was and took shots of her, too. By the time you knew it, the game ended and Barcelona won 1-0.

You expected a celebration from Barcelona because they were in their turf after all so you loaded up your camera with a freshly charged battery. The next thing you knew, Alexia was there with the team, hugging and patting them congratulations and her teammates beamed at her, happy to see her there. 

Click You took a shot. 

The players then began their procession around the stadium, waving at and signing things for their supporters. Through your camera, you saw Mapi signing the shirt of a young girl. Click. Next to her was Caroline, reaching over the barrier to sign a ball, smiling as she talked to the boy holding it. Click. 

The procession was near enough that you could hear their banters, growing louder as they approached where you were and the beating of your heart thumped as loud as the chants from the crowd. You congratulated the players as they passed and kept your camera away out of respect. You looked at the end of the line and you met Alexia’s gaze. She was smiling at you while she talked to Irene Paredes beside her and she never took her eyes off you. There was a gleam in them, something akin to mischief and… a challenge? If so, why? 

At that you raised an unimpressed brow at her, both a question and a statement. Your reaction seemed to amuse her because her smile turned into a full smirk.

The procession passed but Alexia lagged behind, something that didn’t go unnoticed by Irene who threw Alexia a questioning look. You watched as Alexia waved her off before she began walking your way and you didn’t miss the fluttering of shutters from your fellow photographers’ cameras. Some called Alexia’s name to get her attention but she ignored them, her attention only at you. You barely had enough time to school your features and hide any signs of familiarity before she was standing in front of you.

“Hey, you. You made it here after all.” Alexia said cooly, lips slanted in a half-smile, one hand in a jean pocket.

“Yeah, I did. Sorry, but do I know you?” You asked in an excessively dry tone paired with an raised eyebrow, but you made sure your voice was just loud enough for her to hear. Catching your drift, Alexia laughed, rubbing the bridge of her nose to try and cover it up. 

“I suppose not,” she extended a hand towards you, “I’m Alexia, and I’m sorry about… you know.”

“Nice to officially meet you, Alexia. Congratulations on the win, by the way.” You shook her hand, ignored the way her warmth seeped into your skin, and hummed. “You know, you remind me of someone I know. Your resemblance to her is uncanny.”

Alexia nodded as she took her hand back, lips quirked. “I think I know who you’re talking about. I think she also wants to know if she could stop by later tonight?” 

Your cheeks warmed and you didn’t fight the smile that made its way to your face. “I did tell her she could whenever she’s free.”

“So, yes?”

“Yes.”

———

You braced your weight against the headboard, forehead over your folded arms, eyes barely open and the erotic sight in front of you did nothing to help the building flood in you. With your thighs bracing her head and from this angle, you could only see Alexia’s closed eyes but you felt her hands roaming and supporting your lower back as her mouth and tongue worked on you. 

She was taking her sweet time though, brushing her tongue over your clit lightly, sucking just enough to build up the pleasure but nothing too much to bring you over the edge. You whined because she did it again only with more pressure this time, circling your clit a few times before she moved away again. You were starting to learn that she liked to play; she liked to take her time and get as many reactions from you until she was satisfied, until she’d completely unravelled you.

A particularly cruel swipe of her tongue, accompanied by the obscenely wet sound it made, nearly incited a sob from your lips but the plea you made was nothing short of similar.

“Ale… please…” You panted.

“–my name.”

“Huh?” You whined out, not hearing what Alexia said after a flick from her tongue sent shivers down your spine.

“Say my name.”

Then she circled your clit with more urgency after she said that–demanding. You keened and ignored her, canting your hips forward to chase that delicious friction you were desperately searching for. 

“Ale… Ale… please!”

Then she stilled completely and you cried out in protest, eyes flying open to meet lidded hazel ones.

“What–”

“Say my name.” She licked your inner thigh deliberately close to where you wanted it the most.

“Alexia, pl–” You didn’t even need to beg because right after her name left your mouth, overwhelming heat was all you could feel as she ate you out earnestly. Her hands gripped your thighs so tight that you wouldn’t be able to pull away–not that you could ever do such a thing.

“Oh, fuck!” 

Euphoria tore through your body in concurrent waves with brutal intensity that it ripped the strength from your bones while your muscles shook helplessly. Even the gentle touches from Alexia tongue as she cleaned you up were enough to make you hiss from overstimulation. 

God… she really did a number on you this time.

After you finally calmed down, you shifted so that you could lay by Alexia’s side, kissing your way up from the column of her neck to her lips where you found your taste heavy on her tongue. You dragged your fingers from the crest of her hip to her breast, feeling the ridges of her hard-earned muscles as you did so and revelled in the way they tensed beneath your touch, the softness of her breast a beautiful contrast to the firmness of her stomach.

Alexia gasped when you rolled her nipple between your fingers and you gladly swallowed it as you deepened the kiss. You slotted your leg to apply pressure between her thighs, ample wetness coated your skin and you couldn’t help but moan at her arousal.

You nipped a path down between the valley of her breasts but not before you had given both of her nipples the attention they deserved. You continued your journey, licking and nipping at her skin as you moved down her toned stomach.

As soon as you reached her navel, she parted her legs to make space for you. You kissed her inner thighs, loving the way they tensed beneath your lips and as you trailed closer to her core, you flashed your gaze upwards to meet hers. When you finally got the first taste of her tonight, you watched intently through lidded eyes as she closed hers, dropping her head on the pillow and sighed out a long, low moan. 

You gave her a few slow and broad strokes, closing your eyes as you savoured her taste. When she began to urge her hips quicker, you picked up your pace all the while mapping her thighs and stomach with your palms.

You found you liked how responsive she was to your touches, liked the way she demanded for more which you gladly gave to her as she asked for them. And when she cradled the back of your head and buried her fingers in your hair so she could meet your tongue the way she wanted it, you moaned loudly, taking from the way she took hers from you.

“Yes, right there, just–” Her back arched and you clung to her hips like a lifeline. You rolled your tongue against her and sucked, not wanting to disrupt the pace of her fall. 

And fall, she did.

She came on your tongue and you accepted it with a grateful moan, slowing down your pace as she came back down from her high. It was sticky and heady, a reward that you lapped up eagerly, and from the pleased way Alexia threaded her fingers through your hair, she was satisfied. Like her, you took your time cleaning her up because after all it was only polite to do so and you enjoyed the way her leg muscle tensed when you kissed her clit one last time. 

Content with your work, you kissed the top of her left thigh as a form of gratitude but instead of making your way up, you traced the line of muscle that lead down to her knee where scars from her injury had carved themselves permanently into her skin.

You’d kissed those same scars the last time you were together without knowing the story behind them and now that you know, you dragged your lips over them ever more softly, looking Alexia in the eye as you did so. She watched you intently with lips slightly parted, eyes dark and lidded.

Alexia bent forward so she could reach out to you, lifting your chin with a gentle hand. Then she brushed her thumb over your upper lip to wipe the wetness there but before she could pull it away, you parted your lips and took her thumb into you mouth, sucking and licking off the taste there, never taking your eyes off hers.

“My god,” came her breathless murmur before she moaned out, “come here.”

Then she guided you to her mouth with her gentle grip on your chin and before you knew it, you were under her again, sighing in grateful surrender to the mercy of her and her hands. She kissed and ravaged you many times over–and you, her–that by the end of the night, you’d completely forgotten the weight of her name.

[kitimeq]

surprise encounter 🤍 sylus 秦

pairing: sylus x reader

summary: You’ve been playing love&deepspace ever since the game came out and it became your comfort place now. You like all of the boys, but you have the highest affinity with sylus, who had your heart in a grasp ever since the beginning. Who would’ve thought that he shares the sentiment? And after your monthly absence from the game, he decides to pay you a little visit and finally confess to all of it (and maybe kind of try to kidnap you in the process too oho).

tropes: fluff, angst to fluff, fluff to angst to fluff? fluff to angst to fluff to angst to fluff???? idk angst with happy ending!

word count: no idea, it goes on for days sorry. (7k!!)

warning!: i apologize for any mistakes, i am not a native speaker of english!! if you see any errors you can write me a dm and i will correct them for sure ♡ and i think it gets better later! i can’t write for shi, especially the beginnings, and the second part was fueled by my delulu so it is probably much more fun to read 🤍

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙ ⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙

You liked days like these: quiet days, lazy ones, when you didn’t have any errands to run, meetings to attend, or people to please. You could just stay inside for the whole day, reading your favorite books and playing cozy games, spending your time however you wanted. Today was Saturday and you didn’t have to go to work until Monday and you decided that you finally deserved to have some rest after the last couple of weeks of almost working yourself to the bone due to the amount of the assingments you had to complete at work. You often had to stay after hours or work from home to complete everything in time. Your work was not usually that challenging, but there were certain times of the year when everyone at your job had their hands full and when it happened, you were almost completely cut off not only from your social, but also personal life. However, you never complained, because you actually liked what you were doing, and even if the occasional hard times were inevitable, your work brought you so much fun and satisfaction.

And today was a good day! You finally finished everything you had to do, so you could go back to your favourite game. You didn’t have time to play recently due to the amount of work, up to the point that you didn’t even bother to check in to grab some stamina. Usually, love&deepspace was an important part of your day - you logged in there at least twice a day, completed every task thrown your way and had a blast doing so, but these couple of weeks were so hard for you that you almost forgot about it completely. But even if you were too busy, you thought about the boys from time to time, as well as about the events that you were probably missing out on. You really hoped that if some new events had taken place during that time, that they did not involve Sylus, because if you had missed them, you would be slightly devastated.

Sylus was your favorite. Ever since the beginning, there was something about him that caught your attention. You downloaded the game after his announcement and haven’t looked back since. You played with other boys as well, but your time with Sylus was always the most memorable. Not only was he extremely attractive in your eyes, as well as the eyes of other players around the world, but you also understood his character, adored his little jokes and mannerisms, and could safely say that he made your life a little more exciting. You knew that it probably sounded lame to someone who didn’t play such games, and you were aware that he wasn’t real, but you enjoyed yourself regardless. In your real life, you had some experience with men and were pretty popular among them; however, you never felt comfortable enough to form more serious romantic relationships.

Here, with Sylus, you didn’t have to worry about such things. You were aware that he was only a game character and maybe that was why you were so honest with him from the very beginning. You knew that he wouldn’t judge you, misstreat you or make you miserable - he was created in a way that was supposed to make your playthrough enjoyable so you didn’t have to worry about your responses in the messages for him or your real life reactions to everything he said or did. You could just be yourself. And you loved how freeing that felt.

That is why you felt so excited ever since you woke up. Because you knew that today you could finally go back to playing l&d, and you could meet up with your Sylus after so much time apart. You quickly did your chores, spent some time on self-care to slightly relieve the fatigue from the weeks before, you put on your favourite cozy outfit and finally clicked the ”enter game” button.

And there he was. Sylus was standing in the cafe, wearing his extremally attractive biker outfit and you caught yourself sighing dreamily at the sight of him. You missed him so bad, you missed the little memories you shared and the sound of his voice. You missed playing kitty cards with him, catching plushies together and even looking for that bastard Tobias again and again. You couldn’t help but smile brightly at him.

“Hi Sylus, you have no idea how happy I am to see you.” You said cheerfully, feeling kind of dumb for it but you couldn’t help yourself. You often talked out loud to him during your playtime.

You watched him blink slowly once, then twice, and you started to think that there was something wrong with the server because his response should have already been uttered. But then the look on his face changed. At first, he appeared really shocked and relieved, but then a little frown appeared between his perfect little eyebrows.

“Where the hell have you been?” He responded quickly and it shocked you. You didn’t know that they could swear in the game, but after connecting some dots you figured that it had to be included in the special responses after the player was away for some time.

“At work mostly, been so busy lately but now I’m back and ready to defeat some Wanderers!!” You fist bumped the air above you, you couldn’t contain your excitement.

You also noticed that his expression stayed the same. He was silent, looking at you through your phone screen with bewilderment, and he looked almost hurt. In an attempt to provide some comfort to him, you swiped your finger gently through his hair and across his cheek. However, when you touched his cheek, he closed his eyes and nuzzled into your finger, which made you widen your eyes in surprise. Was that always a thing? Was he always so responsive to your touch? It had to be a new feature; you didn’t remember him being so lively.

“Next time you decide to leave me without a word, I think I’m going to take more drastic measures, sweetie” He said while opening his eyes. You couldn’t help but notice he did look different than usual. More… realistic? Even the way in which he moved his body looked so smooth.

“If not for Mephisto, I would have worried sick about your safety. You can't do this to me every time you have more work than usual; you have to visit me, even if it's just for a minute. I won't exaggerate when I say that I almost went insane after the first week of your cruel silence” And at that you were completely stunned. Should he talk this much? He never talked this much. And how could he know that you had more work than usual? Was that a lucky guess on the studio’s side?

“That’s so weird…” You whispered and touched his hand to trigger some kind of reaction that would appear more usual than what was happening right now.

“Is that your way of catching me of guard? If you wanted to hold my hand so badly kitten, then you would have visited me sooner. I will not let myself be distracted by your cute little behavior” He raised the hand you touched and crossed his arms at his chest, while continuing to frown. And you were still so, so confused.

“Promise me that you won’t leave me again, I know where to find you now.” You raised your eyebrows and bit your lip gently. You started to feel a little bit out of place, you knew that he was not real, but he sounded kind of scary. His voice was demanding, and the part about him finding you? You shivered involuntarily.

“What happened? Cat got your tongue, kitten? Or did you finally understood the selfishness of your actions?” Sylus continued and you opened your mouth in awe. “Promise. Me.” He said slowly, his gaze unnerving. Suddenly you heard a series of loud caws outside on your balcony. The sound made you jump in place, and you dropped your phone on your bed. Was that a freaking crow?? Outside your apartament???

You quickly picked up your phone and cursed softly. You were going insane. You got scared just because the game had an update you did not know about. You almost wanted to laugh at how stupid that was. Almost. Because Sylus walked up to the front of your phone screen and spoke to you again.

“Why are you hesitating? Are you really planning to leave me again?” You swore you never heard him so hurt.

“No!” You said before you could think.

“No?” He answered immediately, which scared the hell out of you. “I am not sure I believe you. And I can’t stand it. I can’t stand being away from you anymore.” He took two steps back and closed his eyes.

That was when the game crashed. Your phone appeared to be broked too, after the colourful lines appeared on the screen, flickered a couple of times and the whole screen turned black. You threw the device away from you and your heart started beating so fast you could hear the blood pulsing in your ears. You were so confused and genuinely scared. Was there an update that switched the genre of the game to horror? You were stunned.

And then you heard the knock.

You almost jumped out of your slippers. You brought your hand to your heart in order to calm yourself down and you started taking slow, deep breaths. It’s just a game. It’s just a game. Besides, how did Sylus, of all people, managed to scare you so badly? You adored that character, and you should know that he was prone not only to exaggeration, but also to intimidating behavior. That was literally one of his characteristics. So you forced yourself to calm down and opened the damn door, because it was probably either a mailman, or one of your friendly neighbors, and here you were making a scene like some kind of a delusional psychopath.

One. Two. Three.

You opened the door, and at first all you could see was a huge cloud of black mist. You closed your eyes in order to keep the mist from clouding your vision and then you felt wind pushing you gently further into your apartament. You heard the door close and the sound of the key turning in the lock. Everything happened so fast. And when you opened your eyes your knees almost buckled.

Sylus.

Sylus was all you could see. He was standing in front of you, in your own apartament, looking so out of place that you wanted to laugh. The first thing that you noticed about him was that he was huge, you couldn’t really see past him, and the more you looked at him, the more real he appeared to be. Soft-looking silver hair, rugged skin, that perfect nose and those piercing eyes. They looked into yours now, and at first they seemed to be searching for something, and after one quick second they visibly softened. You could also see how his handsome, oh so handsome mouth started to display his signature little smirk. And that was when you started to tremble.

“W-wha—” You tried to say something, anything but your mouth was not working. You have never been so confused and scared in your entire life. “Who—W-who are—” He was starting to close the distance between you and that is when the panic finally took over your body. You flinched and went to take a step back, but you slipped on your soft carpet.

Yet you didn’t fall. You felt the gentle caress of the mist that managed to caught you before you hit the ground, and it streightened your posture so that now you stood tall in front of the man.

“Careful kitten, I do not think that falling on four feet applies to you.” He spoke out loud for the first time and the voice was so familiar to you. It was the same, deep, husky timbre that you loved to hear, the same voice that made you squeal in happiness, that lulled you to sleep countless of times. You couldn’t believe it.

“Oh my god, am I dead?” He laughed softly at your reaction and looked at you through his lashes. “This can’t be happening.”

”Oh but it is. I knew that I would find my way to you, I just needed time.” He said and tried to close the distance between you, but you didn’t let him. Every step forward he took, you took one back. “It was so hard to find you. But after you disappeared without saying a word I think I got desperate.” Something flashed in his eyes. You recognized it as determination.

He stopped walking when he noticed that you were getting too close to the balcony. He straightened his posture, and you almost released a gasp. He was huge. And he was real. Alive and so, so real, that you had trouble breathing. You were so scared, but at the same time, so happy to see him, that your body didn’t know how it should react. You just looked at him, taking him in, trying to assess whether it wasn’t your mind playing tricks on you, or if it wasn’t some random man breaking into your apartment and your brain had created a new, fantastic defense mechanism. But no, the longer you took him in, the more similarities you managed to notice: the scar in the corner of his eye, his unevenly clipped fingernails, strong but dry hands, olive skin, slim lips, long, slightly furrowed eyebrows. The not-so-hidden gentleness in his gaze as he was taking you in himself.

“It’s really you.” You managed to breathe out.

“You’re so beautiful.” He answered and his voice was slowly starting to make you feel these familiar butterflies. “So, so magnificent.” He continued. You felt your cheeks heat up and he seemed to drink that reaction in. “Will you talk to me more? You sound angelic. I did not think that you could sound even better than you did through the phone but I guess you will never fail to surprise me, sweetheart.” He did not move an inch. He just looked at you, and you still didn’t know how to react, but you were slowly coming to terms with the fact that it was not a weird dream. He was here and he didn’t appear to have bad intentions. At least you wanted to believe that.

“You’re still trembling. Are you really that scared of me?” He pressed his lips into a line.

“I’m sorry. I just… I’m just not sure what is happening. I had no idea you were… real.” He laughed softly at that.

“You wound me, kitten. Is that your way of unleashing your little claws?” He continued with a small smile on his lips and you couldn’t take it. He looked… stressed. And you thought that was new for him. You spend so many hours playing with him in l&d but you have never seen him so stressed.

Everything that came out of his mouth was slow and precise, not a word was spoken without a purpose. However you could see by his appearance that he was uncertain.

“Of course I’m real. And all the time we spent together is real too. Was it so wrong of me to expect that you would be at least a little bit happier to see me?” He was starting to look hurt. But not angry, not displeased. More concerned than anything, and that was when most of your worries started to disappear. He was your Sylus. He really was.

“I am happy to see you. I really am.” You said truthfully, the fear slowly dissolving. “What are you doing here? How did it happen?”

“When you left me, I was worried to death. I had to come see that you were alright for myself.” He said, not taking his eyes off of you. “I found a path between our worlds, and first I sent Mephisto after you. And that was how I knew you were fine, just busy.” He started explaining slowly and put two fingers at the bridge of his nose. This gesture was so familiar that you felt a slight pang in your chest. “Which l understand. But you stopped visiting completely and I panicked that I lost you. And that you lost your interest in me. And when you logged in today I guess I just lost control over myself.”

“I had to see you. I had to feel you. I needed to know that you will never leave me like that again. But how could I be so sure if you thought I was not real, sweetie?” His voice carried a hint of a ridicule. He smirked slowly and you allowed yourself to relax. You spend so much time with him on your phone, that you knew when he really needed reassurance. And it was the first time you saw him being so honest about his own feelings.

You decided to step closer to him and his eyes widened slightly. His body tightened because of the sudden change in proximity, and when you gently touched his hand bringing it to your mouth, he appeared to be rendered speechless.

“I would never leave you, Sy. At least not without saying goodbye first. You are my safe space, remember?” You said quietly and smiled at him brightly, reminding him of what you had written in your game bio. And then you brought his knuckles to your lips and placed a soft kiss upon them. His hands were much warmer than you expected them to be. They felt harsh, but gentle.

The next thing you heard was a soft grunt and you felt yourself being suddenly lifted in the air. You yelped and found yourself pressed against his big, solid chest. Sylus hugged your body to his by wrapping both of his arms around your torso, and when he realized that you weren’t comfortable, he put one hand under your thighs and brought your body to his by your waist. You let your arms wrap around his neck and squeezed, and he buried his head in the crook of your neck. You heard him inhale your scent and his breath became rigged, as if he could not contain his excitement. You also became familiar with his scent. He smelled so manly and comforting, you could catch some notes of wood and leather, and something surprisingly sweet.

“You smell divine. You’re so soft, so warm.” He breathed against your neck and you felt goosebumps spreading throughout your whole body. You were so embarrassed, you felt like you needed to release some tension.

“I did not expect you to be so open with me. You’re usually the teasing type.” He chucked deeply and put his forehead against yours, while closing his eyes. Your cheeks burned. You couldn’t believe it wasn’t a dream.

“There will be a time for teasing you, kitten.” He rubbed his forehead against yours slowly. “Right now let me enjoy you for a bit. I can’t believe I finally got to see you.” He squeezed you harder to him. You reciprocated the hug with all you had. You were actually kind of scared that your grip was too hard, but he seemed to bask in it. “Communicating through that small device was not nearly enough for me. I could always see you and I heard your little responses to everything I was saying. But it took me some time to figure out how to change some things up.” Your eyes went wide at the mention of your reactions, you knew that a lot of times there were beyond embarrassing, but you decided your blush to speak for itself. But what truly caught your attention was how he managed to appear in your home.

“Change things up?? You must have made such a mess, will it really be okay?” The concern in your voice made him look up and find your eyes with his. You were now looking at his beautiful red ones, so full of adoration and determination. You could see that the consequences of his actions did not matter to him at all.

“Sweetie, I would gladly burn the world down for you, even if it meant that I could see you just once.” You swallowed audibly and proceeded to shy away from his piercing gaze. You started to feel unworthy of such attention, you couldn’t quite grasp what exactly made him care about you to such extend. “Fortunately for everyone, the process did not involve starting an intergalactic war.” He smirked slowly, his eyes finding your lips and staying there for much longer than necessary. “Yet.”

You chuckled at that and proceeded to bury your fingers in his hair, stroking the strands with care. They were so soft to the touch, they reminded you of silk. He closed his eyes and let you touch him to your heart’s content. Your hand quickly found its way to his forehead, and then to his cheek, stroking the skin delicately. You couldn’t believe how someone so handsome could really exist.

“See something you like, kitten?” He said and nuzzled into your palm, pressing a kiss right there. ”You will have all the time in the world to touch me when we arrive in the N109 Zone.” He seemed so peaceful, so content with himself, but the mention of the N109 Zone stopped you in your tracks. You tensed visibly and he opened his eyes, noticing the change in your posture.

“The N109 Zone?” You asked puzzled. “Are you taking me away for a weekend?” You took your hand from his face and he used his Evol to bring it back to his cheek. The mist around your fingers felt weird, but not unpleasant.

“For a weekend? No, no.” He locked his eyes with yours, his head slowly closing the distance between you. He licked his lips and looked at your mouth once again. “I am taking you away forever.” And before his lips managed to touch yours, you flinched. Your hands quickly pushed him away and the panic returned to your features.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I meant what I said. Pack your bags if you believe there is something that I cannot provide for you quickly enough, and we will be off shortly.” He said matter of factly, kind of annoyed by the distance you decided to put between you. “Luke and Kieran have already prepared a room for you, although I think that you will have more than enough space for your belongings in mine.” His eyes brightened with excitement that you unfortunately could not share. Instead, you lightly pushed his torso, making him lower you to the ground grudgingly. His brows were once again furrowed.

“I can’t go with you Sylus. At least, not for forever”

“You can. We can stay together for the rest of our lives and no one would have any objections. I took care of everything.” He reached to grab your forearm and stroked it softly with his thumb. He was so sure of everything he was saying that you could feel how much he let himself get lost in his fantasy. It did make you feel wanted, loved even. But no matter how happy you were that he was real, and apparently shared your feelings, you couldn’t agree to his plan.

“No, Sylus. I need to stay here, I have built my whole life in this place.” You could feel how much your words shocked him. He was looking at you so puzzled as if he didn’t think that you declining his offer was even an option. “I can’t leave everything that I managed to achieve, I really am content with my life, despite how complicated it can be.” You said truthfully. A part of you wanted to go with him, to feel safe and cherished for, for the rest of your life but you knew that was not realistic. You wanted to achieve more, you wanted to have your own life and your own space. You needed to be independent, to feel that you were perfectly capable of caring for yourself and your own needs.

“I do not understand. Don’t you want to be with me?” It pained you how quickly he jumped to that conclusion. And you hated the look on his face - it made you feel like you were betraying him.

”I do want to! Oh my god— I really, really do want to Sylus. I don’t think that I can live without spending time with you anymore.” You smiled at him, and took hold of his huge, rugged hand. “But I can’t live with you in the N109 Zone. I can’t leave my whole life behind.” And the fact that he wanted to make you do that somewhat scared you. Made you feel distressed.

“I see.” He sounded deep in thought. Then, he broke the eye contact for a second, looked at his hand in your hold and before you could even react, he grabbed your body gently with his Evol and picked you up. Your whole body was above ground and although you felt secured, you looked at him with surprise.

“What are you doing?” You wanted to get free from the hold of the mist, but it was impossible with how tight it was. “Sylus, you have to let me go.” You tried not to panic, you knew that you weren’t in danger. But he looked relentless, unforgiving as if his mind was already set in stone.

“No. I can’t. Not now when I finally got to have you.” He looked up at you, with his eyebrows still furrowed, and you could hear a hint of a growl in his voice. “If you do not wish to go with me, I guess I would have to take you by force.”

It was then that you felt a sense of panic. You knew him, and you knew that if he wants something, he always gets it. It just did not cross your mind that he would ever go against your own wishes.

“No. No, no, no, Sylus, please calm down.” He narrowed his eyes and stood motionless before you, his face devoid of almost any emotion. Almost, if not for the desperation shining through his watchful eyes. “You cannot take me away. At least not for now. But I will do anything you ask me to! You can also stay here for some time, and visit me whenever you want to, I swear, I would be so happy to have you.” You just needed him to listen. You knew that you could change his mind, he always listened to what you had to say, he just needed a little bit of persuasion. Maybe he didn’t even think about alternative options?

“And I would make you happy in the N109 Zone with me.” You laughed with disbelief. He was completely missing your point. You decided to once again yank your hands from the grasp of his mist, and then hissed with pain when it did not loosen up its hold. “Your struggle is futile, please stop, I do not wish for you to get hurt.” He was annoyed with you and your disobedience. He did not think that you would have any objections, he started loosing his cool.

“You would never let me get hurt.” You answered, wanting to assure yourself of it as well. You didn’t like how commanding he sounded.

“Yes.” There was no doubt in his voice. “Yes, you know I would stop at nothing to protect you.” His gaze never wavered from yours. He truly thought that what he was doing was for the best. And you just had to let him know how wrong his approach was.

“Yes! Yes I do know that! Because I know you, Sy.” You started to sound as if you were pleading. Deep down it scared you, send uncomfortable shivers down your spine. “I know you, and I know that you also know me.”

He placed his hand on his heart.

“And I adore every single piece of information. And I still wish to know you much, much better.” You tensed when you noticed that his right eye was starting to glow. You did not know if that was intentional, or just a trick of the light.

“Then you MUST know how much this life means to me. How much I like my stupid job, and how much I love the people that are here for me. My friends, my family.” You noticed that your reasoning started to get to him when he clenched his fists and avoided your eyes for a second. “And you have to know how much it would hurt me if you were to take me away from them.” He appeared taken aback. It seemed that his longing for you clouded his judgement, and now he started to notice the faults in his plan.

“But I cannot stand to be apart from you anymore, sweetie.” In normal circumstances that would be so touching to you. But nothing about this situation was normal, and you guessed you just had to show him how normal looked like.

“You won’t be. You can visit me anytime you want. Stay for how long you want.” You wanted that too. So bad.

“But that is not ENOUGH.” It was the first time you heard his raised voice and you started to tremble. His outburst must’ve thrown him off guard too, because he wavered and the grip he had on you loosed. You acted instinctively. You freed yourself from the mist and started to run towards your door. And although he was stunned by your reaction, he quickly teleported so that you ran straight into his chest. His hands grabbed yours in order to protect you from falling due to the impact.

He gently caressed your now slightly red forehead and sighed loudly. You could hear that he was hurt. You cried out from frustration.

“If you really thought that you could run away from me then you must be a total fool.” He tucked your hair behind your ear and lifted your chin up with his finger. “Usually I like playing cat and mouse with you, but I do not like the fact that you appear genuinely scared of me right now.” He hugged your waist and brought you closer to him, lowering his head at the same time. “And that you tried to run away from me when I only want to offer you my protection.”

“It doesn’t sound like protection, it sounds like imprisonment.” You used strong words, but you sounded so small. You did not know what to do with him, you were so scared. ”I’m just scared. I tried to run away because you scared me, Sylus.” You sounded desperate for him to understand you. To look past his own clouded vision.

“You do not have to fear me. I just want what is best for you. For us.” His grip on your waist tightened, and he also proceeded to grab your wrist.

“No. You only want what is best for you. You are not listening to me. I do care about you Sylus, but I cannot leave this place.” You tried to stand your ground but you two never argued before. It was an unfamiliar ground to you, especially when it was the first time that you had a conversation in person. Everything felt more intense and dangerous when you remembered the extreme measures he was always willing to take to achieve his goals.

“You can. And I will make you leave.” He almost growled and a cloud of black and red mist surrounded both of you, and that was enough to bring tears into your eyes.

”Sylus, no, please, I don’t want to. Please, just listen to me, please.” And it was at that moment he started to came into his senses. Your quiet voice and your eyes full of tears made his breathing stop. It was the first time he was seeing you react like this. He hated how broken you sounded. How small. “I’m so scared, Sy, please stop scaring me.” Your voice sounded choked and you could feel that the tears started streaming down your face. Every single one physically hurt him. It was your first meeting and he already made you so miserable. He wanted to scream. “Please.” You tried once again and it shocked you that it finally worked on him.

He tensed and released you from his grip. The mist also dissipated as he took a step back from you. You could hear him breathing deeply.

“I cannot do this." He sounded panicked. “I did not want to scare you, and I cannot listen to your little broken pleas. They break my heart.” He hidden his face in his hands and curled in himself. He felt as if someone pierced his heart with a knife and twisted it. He could not bring himself to look at your beautiful heartbroken face again. “They really do. Please, just stop crying. You won.”

You sniffed softly and touched your wet cheeks. You tried to calm yourself down, he finally listened to you.

“It does not feel so good this time for some reason.” You answered, referring to your Kitty Card battles. You wanted to relieve the tension somehow. You knew that he didn’t want to hurt you, you understand that he lives in a different reality where danger awaits everywhere. You could understand why he wanted to have you beside him at all times. But it scared you how insistent he was, how brutal and final. “Do you really understand why I got so scared?”

He nodded helplessly. “I won’t steal you away. Not when I know how much you despise the idea of spending the rest of your time with me.” You noticed how hard he was pressing his hands to his face and you grabbed them in your own. He let you uncover his eyes and you saw how much it hurt him to let you go.

“Oh, Sy.” You whispered and hugged his hands to your chest. “You know that’s not the reason.”

“Stop calling me that. It drives me crazy.” He breathed and met your eyes. “You drive me crazy. What am I going to do with you? How can I make sure you are safe now?” You took his hands and made him follow you into your bedroom. You sat on your bed and urged him to do the same. This way you could finally talk with him more comfortably.

“Sylus, we have to talk about it.” You squeezed his hands and he looked at yours and took notice of how much smaller they were in comparison to his. So fragile, so breakable. He couldn’t stand it. His whole body longed to protect you. “I do not despise the idea of spending my time with you. I just can’t randomly leave everything I know and love. And this world is different from the one you know, we have our dangers but no one wants my head.” You explained to him slowly. “There are no Wanderers. No protocores.” He looked conflicted.

“I already know that sweetheart. I do. But when you disappeared for such a long time I couldn’t help but think that something bad happened to you” he gritted through his teeth. “I nearly lost my mind looking for you everywhere. It was terrifying, that thought in my mind and the idea that I would never have another chance to speak with you. To see you.” He touched your forearms and brought you a little closer to him. “And when Mephisto found you safe and sound I thought that I never want to feel that fear, that helplessness again. And the only way to do that is to keep you beside me at all times. To guard you with my own body and soul.” He took your hand and rested it on his chest. You could feel the fast and steady rhythm of his heart. You could feel his desperation, his complete devotion. And it almost made you tear up.

“I-I’m so sorry that I made you worry this much.” He studied your face with intention and you shake your head. “But I didn’t even know that you were real. I really thought it was just a game that made me feel less alone and now…” You swallowed audibly. “Now I know that everything I built with you during our time together was very much real and I’m still having trouble to wrap my head around it to be honest.” You smiled at him softly and he nodded with understanding.

“And then you came in and wanted to kidnap me to a world much more dangerous than mine where I do not have my close ones and—“

“I did NOT mean for that to be a kidnapping I though that you shared my sentiment, and also wanted to spend some time—“

“SOME time?? Sylus you wanted me to switch literal worlds and live with you in your freaking villa in the middle of nowhere—”

”I live in an apartment that has a fantastic location, mind you, and you would feel so comfortable in—“

”Apartament??? You cannot possibly be a freaking leader of Onychinus and live in an apartment complex, are you being serious with me right now??”

“Have you ever heard of a saying that the darkest place is under the candlestick, kitten? Besides there is no one in the whole N109 Zone that would pose an actual threat to me—” He cut off when he met your eyes full of laughter, and then he heard that beautiful sound. You burst into giggles right in front of him and you touched him by the bicep and brought his forehead to yours. He couldn’t help but chuckle too, understanding the absurdity of the situation. Feeling your forehead against his, hearing your adorable chuckles and inhaling your sweet scent made him feel so at peace that he closed his eyes to embrace the moment completely. He couldn’t believe that he almost ruined your relationship by being so selfish.

“I missed this. This back and forth with you” You said and he chucked deeply. “I really am happy to see you, Sy. And I swear that we will be able to talk and spent time with each other more often now. And actually see each other in person.” He nuzzled into your face more and you caught his smirk by the corner of your eye. “We can stay in touch at all times, so that you won’t have to worry about my safety so much.”

“So bossy, kitten.” He answered, but the small smile did not leave his face. He couldn’t make it go away even if he tried. “Forgive me for scaring you earlier. I was not thinking straight. I was just so elated to finally have you in my arms that I let my selfishness get the best of me, and for that I’m sorry. I did not want to ruin our first meeting, sweetie.” You hugged him by bringing your arms around his chest and he closed his eyes drinking in the proximity. You were too small, too adorable, too attractive for him to take it. Too honest. Too lovable. Made just for him to adore. To protect.

“You did not ruin anything.” You said into his shirt, hugging him tighter. “I understand you, Sylus. And I like you a little selfish if it means that’s what brought you to me” He smiled into your hair and reluctantly let go of your fragile frame. He touched your chin and delicately lifted your face up to face him. His eyes were once again drinking you in, committing every single one of your features to his memory. He sighed contentedly.

“Selfishness was not the reason of my visit.” You could see how his eyes softened and you felt your chest squeeze. You brushed his cheek, loving the way how he seemed to relish in your touch. His eyes wandered to your lips: pink, plump and so inviting. “Adoration was. The complete love and devotion that I have felt for you for quite some time now.” You gasped quietly and opened your lips slightly, which didn’t go unnoticed by him.

“Sy—”

“And I guess a little emotional push was what made me finally find my way to you, my beloved.” He half-whispered, leaned in, and pressed his lips to yours, locking you in a sweet, passionate kiss that went on and on, seeming to deepen with every minute you spent in his embrace.

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙ ⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙

[shotmrmiller]

pornstar au

f!reader x simon 'ghost' riley

3.7k words (sorry)

tw: teacher-student relationship but it's just a scene for porn. explicit. horrifyingly so.

You burst into the classroom and stride purposefully towards your professor, who is seated in his leather chair, engrossed in his work. Impatiently tapping your foot, you waited for him to finish marking essays. However, after 5 minutes, your patience with this unbearable man ran out.

"Professor."

He hums, a deep sound coming from the back of his throat yet doesn't look up from what he's doing. A real piece of work, he is. How fucking aggravating.

"Professor Riley," your voice takes an irreverent tone.

The hand that had been writing non-stop comes to a sudden pause, and he finally directs his attention to you. Meeting your gaze, his dark eyes are hooded, his lips set in a firm line. His job is to literally deal with students, yet he dares to look annoyed.

"Are you gonna tell me what's wrong 'r am I gonna have to learn how to read minds?" he states.

Taking in a calming breath, you clench the crumpled essay in your hand. "Can you explain to me why you failed me on this? I did exactly as you asked!"

He must know precisely what you're talking about because he simply turns back to the papers on his desk.

"Tha's your problem. You did exactly as I asked, with no thought behind it. Just wrote the bare minimum, if you can even call it writin'. It's copy-paste," Professor Riley sets the pen down and leans back in the chair.

"I need ya to use tha' head o' yours when in this class. Otherwise, you'll fail the rest o' your classes too."

Fucking hell.

Professor Riley shifts in his seat, seemingly done with the conversation, and finishes, "If tha's all."

Shit. Your pause is too long, and the director calls it. Fuck.

"I'm really sorry, Ghost, I didn't mean-" Your words of apology dissolve into thin air as his strong hand finds its place on your hip— giving it a gentle, but firm squeeze.

"S'all righ', love. Mistakes happen. Matter fact," his eyes drift from you to behind you to beckon someone with two fingers. "C'mere, you."

It's the set assistant, and he's brought the script with him. Ghost swiftly stops him from handing it to you, instead pushing it onto the assistant's chest. "Won't be needin' tha', thanks. Tell the director tha' we'll be ad-libin'. Now sod off."

The assistant follows his command in haste, scurrying off to follow Ghost's instructions.

"Hey," he murmurs. Your eyes meet his, feeling the intensity of it quickens your heartbeat. "Say whatever you like, just remember to follow the storyline, alright?"

Follow the storyline. In porn. The irony isn't lost on you, but you bite the side of your gummy cheek to keep from laughing. "Yes, sir."

He drops his hand from where he held you slowly, seemingly almost reluctant to let go. "Ready?" Ghost's thin lips curl into a smirk when you nod at his question. "Good girl."

Your fingers tightly grip the flimsy material of your uniform skirt at his praise, and warmth pools in your lower belly.

His good girl.

A high-pitched voice cuts through your thoughts, signaling the restart of the shooting. You exhale a long breath, unclenching your hands in the process.

Action.

"If tha' all." Ghost reaches for his pen when you frantically grab onto his Oxford sleeve.

"Wait, Professor, please! I can't," you stammer, "I cannot fail this class! My parents would kill me if I studied abroad only to flunk. The tuition—"

His tone is authoritative as he abruptly cuts off your lengthy excuse. "Enough. Nothing can change the mark I've given you."

Your ears pricked up at his wording, and the corners of your lips pulled up into a roguish smile. "No?" Ghost stills before turning to face you, countenance blank. "Nothing at all, Professor?" With a coy tilt of your head, your wide, doe-like eyes meet his as your fingertips trace an alluring path from his forearm down to his knuckles.

"I really can't convince you in any way to change that grade for me?" You lean on the edge of his wooden desk— skirt so short it doesn't even graze the surface of it— and lightly curl your hand around his pointer finger. "It can be our little secret, Professor Riley," you purr.

Ghost lifts a single brow, and settles back into his seat, arms crossed over his barrel chest as his eyes travel from your feet to your exposed cleavage, fixating on the soft skin peeking out from your uniform top.

"Please?" his hushed voice reverberates inside your skull. "I promise to be a good girl."

That catches his attention, eyes flashing to yours, the fire behind them hot— you hope it burns you.

"'Sat, right? Tha' changes things now, doesn't it?" Ghost rolls his chair back, away from his desk, and spreads his thick legs apart in invitation, arms resting on the rests— the dictionary definition of casual. "Convince me then, pet."

"Yes, sir." Sauntering to stand in between his legs, you swallow thickly— the bulge in his groin was quite frankly, intimidating. You've had large, but this was in a league of its own.

"You gonna do it from up there? I know I'm bigger than average but not tha' big." A huff escapes from your lips. A whole comedian.

Knees pressed into the cold, tile floor, you expertly undo the button of his trousers and with his help, pulled them down along with his pants— just enough for his cock to spring free.

Bloody fucking hell.

His cock is monstrous. It rested against his belly, heavy and thick. The pink tip slightly peeking from under his foreskin. There was a groomed thatch of coarse hair at the base, and his balls were also heavy— one hanging lower than the other.

Ghost leans forward and cradles the underside of your jaw with one large hand, fingers gently caressing the delicate skin of your cheek, while the other pumps his rigid cock in anticipation. "Not scared, are ya?" His grin was wicked. "I promise it don't bite."

Grabbing his wrist, you maneuver his hand so that his thumb now rests on your soft lips. "Might not, but I do, Professor." And catch the tip of his finger between your blunt teeth, the subtle sting of it making him hiss.

"Perfect, pretty girl," he says, almost inaudible. His words of praise are for you alone— not for the scene, nor the camera. You peer up at him through your lashes, mewling softly at the expression on his face.

His brow was set, hooded eyes sultry, a rosy hue across his cheeks and nose, and lips parted as he panted quietly.

Delicious.

Ghost then pushes his thumb further into your slick mouth and hooks it behind your bottom teeth, delicately pulling you closer to him as he tips his head down— taking his thumb out with a pop. His warm breath fans across your face as he moves closer until his lips connect with yours. He slid his tongue into your mouth, tasting of frosty mint and his own unique taste.

Your hands come up, fingers digging into the meat of his thighs when he grasps your wrist and moves it to the focal point of his desire— his breath hitching when you give his cock a firm squeeze. Ghost bites your bottom lip before breaking away, a guttural noise escaping him when you begin to stroke him. "Tighten your hand around—" he breaks off, moaning against your kiss-swollen lips when you comply.

He threads his fingers through your hair that sits at the base of your skull, curling them into a fist and tugging back— craning your neck, hair pulled taut.

"So obedient. Jus' f'me, love?" you hum cheekily, a mischievous grin spreading across your face.

"Would you hold it against me if I said no?" he chuckles under his breath, the grip on your hair tightening marginally.

"I'd say tha' you're lyin'." He sucks in a breath when you press down lightly onto his slit with your thumb. "Cheeky."

He loosens the hold he has on you, feeling your scalp prickle with tender relief, and relaxes back into the chair. "All yours, sweetheart."

That light wasn't getting any greener, so with a grunt, you shifted your weight, ignoring your aching knees, and wrapped your lips around his cock.

Barely.

The salty bite of his arousal and musk spread on your tongue as you took him in deep, stilling once he hit the back of your throat.

"Fuck, look at me."

Slightly tipping your head back, you do as he says, your throat closing around him as he slips in even further.

"Fuckfuckfuck," a hiss, "such a hot little mouth, just swallowin' me righ' up." Your lungs burn with the lack of oxygen, forcing you to pull back to gasp for air. Ghost squeezes himself at the base and taps your cheek with his saliva-coated length.

"A dirty slag like you, jus' takin' me like a professional. Tha' what you are? A professional cock sucker, love?" he taunts. Your pussy clenches when he calls you a slag, pressing your thighs together in the hope of some friction; Something to alleviate the throbbing ache in between your legs.

Ghost with eyes as keen as ever, notices. Damn.

"Oh? Little harlot likes to get degraded, does she? Reminded of her place? How I'd love to teach you exactly where you belong, but tha' wouldn't be you convincin' me to change your bad grade, now would it?"

His cock taps on your swollen lips. "Another time, hm? Now open. Make me see reason."

Ghost's wish is your command. With enthusiasm, you take him in your mouth, slowly bobbing your head, place a hand right under your lips, and twist with every push and pull.

It's sloppy, spit covering your hand, dripping down to his balls. Your jaw aches, a burning pressure a little under your ear, but what gives you the strength to continue is the loud moans coming from Ghost. He holds nothing back, his hand engulfing the crown of your head while he gently pushes you down. A performer down to his very bones.

You were about to pause the recording, the pain in your mandible and knees almost becoming too much when he suddenly pulled you off of him.

"Wha—?" Ghost seizes you by the upper arms, forcibly bringing you to your feet, disregarding your pained whimper, and places you on the sturdy desk.

He's curling his fingers into the waistband of your frilly knickers, slipping them down your legs and pocketing them. There's a quiet popping sound when he bends his knees, going eye level with your bare cunt.

In a hushed tone, you say, "This isn't part of the scene." Ghost drags his eyes from your glistening slit to your face, gaze suffocating, smothering the very air in your lungs.

"Just a taste, love." He curls one hand under your thigh, lifting it to perch it on the edge of the desk, the other he throws over his strong shoulder. The only sound in the room is your soft moans as he expertly slides his warm tongue through your slick folds, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

By god does he eat pussy like it's his job. Peering down at him, you can't stop the sounds that spill from your mouth when his tongue visibly splits your pussy lips open, flicking at your clit, lapping up your arousal like it is honey. You take hold of his short hair, tugging at the strands as each swirl of his talented tongue pushes you closer to your peak.

His eyes cut to yours when he presses a thick finger into you, drinking in your desperate expression as you keen, begging for more, blabbering about it being so good, yet not enough, please god more.

Ghost curls his finger, only taking a second to find your sweet spot, and pushes— bursts of light flashing in your peripheral vision. You begin to rock your hips unconsciously, chasing your ecstasy, and Ghost simply flattens his tongue, letting you grind against it.

You teeter on the edge of bliss, a tightening in your stomach, right under where his finger is. Shaky exhales leave you, the leg that's on the desk visibly trembling from the tension that threatens to snap you in half.

He presses a kiss to your sodden pussy, and croons, "Gonna come f'me?" You jerkily nod.

"Yes fuck yes, I'm gonna come for you, just for you, Professor Riley pleaseee—" your blathering turns into a high-pitched squeal as he lightly sucks on your pearl, hips lifting off the desk as a blinding orgasm crashes into you, pleasure bursting through your very core, cunt pulsating with every wave of ecstasy around Ghost's finger.

He wastes no time in rising to his feet and slotting his mouth over yours, the taste of your slick strong, potent on his tongue. Ghost breaks away, his breath smelling of your desire. "Exquisite, like ambrosia. Addicting."

Ghost's hand cups your sensitive quim and whispers, "Think you can take me? Tha' orgasm took a lot outta ya."

Silly question. "I'm a big girl, Ghost. I can take it."

He licks the front of his teeth and glances down to where his hand rests. "Course you can, love. Turn around f'me."

Your movements are sluggish as you turn over onto your stomach, rising to the tip of your toes as you present yourself to him.

Ghost grabs the sides of your waist, and flips your skirt up, tucking the edge into the waistband of it. His hands palm your cheeks, thumbs digging into the meat of your ass to spread you open, completely exposed to him.

"Fuck me if tha' isn't the prettiest sight I've ever had the pleasure of seein'." He doesn't acknowledge your scoff as he spreads your hands out, placing them flat on the table— enveloping your hand with his own, intertwining his fingers with yours.

His leans over your semi-prone body, cock gently prodding at your entrance, gliding easily through your folds. "Ready?"

Arching your back, his tip slips inside, just barely. That's your answer.

You can hear the smarmy grin that spreads on his face, and wanted to snark back but you're rendered mute when he pushes in. Your eyes cross at the stretch of his cock, a feeling so sublime you know that no one will ever be able to duplicate. Your fingers tighten around his as you mewl when he bottoms out, hips flush against your arse.

Ghost sucks in a breath through his teeth when you shift your weight, and whatever you did has him sliding in deeper— turning his hiss into a guttural groan. "Fuck, you have no fuckin' idea how good you feel."

Probably not, but you have every idea how good he feels.

"You okay, love? Took me so well like you were made jus' f'me. So warm and soft, tight like a vice around my cock. Pretty pussy split wide open, stuffed full of me." He speaks unfettered filth to you, dripping over your ears like molasses, thick and syrupy. Your head feels heavy on your shoulders— dizzy, drunk on his scent, his cock that's got you tearing at the seams.

Then he begins to move, pulling out until an inch remains inside, and pushing in until he's nudging the plug of your womb, feeling a deep pinch under your navel.

This is what it's like to get fucked by Ghost. The one everyone covets after, hoping he drags down the very heavens with his bare hands and lays it at their feet. And here he is, fucking you. A newbie, a fresh face no one knows yet, a name that'll probably never grace the front page.

You doubt his motives are altruistic, but goddamn does it not matter; Not with the way he's carving a space inside of you that only he will ever fit in, or the way he's curling his free hand around your neck, thumb pressed right over your racing pulse.

He lowers himself until his strong chest is to your back, his teeth nipping the tip of your ear. "The moment I saw you gettin' fucked by Johnny, I knew I had t'have ya." Your walls clamp down on him involuntarily, wrenching a pained noise from him. "Fuckin' hell, I knew this pussy would be magical."

Ghost's lips skim over the shell of your ear before pressing a chaste kiss on it. "Lemme hear how good I make ya feel, pet. Don't hold back on me now." He grinds into your arse, going in so deep that it feels like he's trying to push past the entrance of your womb. "S'alrigh'. I'll jus' have t'pull 'em outta ya."

He releases you, placing both hands flat on the desk, on either side of your shoulders. "Take em for myself, make 'em mine." Straightening all the way, he digs his fingers into the soft flesh of your waist.

"What a view. Perfection." He rolls his hips, rhythm languid, loud squelching noises coming from where he fills you. "Drippin' cream all over my cock, pet. Can't tell me this isn't 'cause of me."

How the fuck can he still talk? How is he coherent? Why isn't his brain turned into mush like yours is?

"Fuckin' ya speechless, am I? Oh, sweetheart, but I'm barely gettin' started." Ghost slowly pulls out, and curls his hand around your shoulder, nudging you to turn over. "On your back, now."

You lazily flip over, hair sticking to your sweat-slick skin, and he hooks his arms underneath your legs and drags you to the edge until your arse hangs from it. "I wanna see that pretty face when you come." He wastes no time in sheathing himself back inside your swollen channel, walls fluttering at the invasion.

Ghost hooks one leg over his shoulder to lean forward, pinning you to the desk with his upper body, and maneuvers your other to wrap around his wide waist. "That cock drunk look on your face makes my balls tighten, what a fuckin' expression you've got, christ," he growls. "Knowin' I put it there makes it all the better."

He gives you a chaste kiss on the lips and gives you a smile that is all teeth. "Now let's make you sing."

Grunting, he straightens. plants his feet firmly, stance wide, and begins to fuck you. The videos of the famed Ghost you saw are nothing, nothing, in comparison to real life. His full weight is behind every spine-jarring thrust, it makes your teeth clack, it rattles your brain inside your skull. He does it so perfectly because at no point do you feel any discomfort, not even a twinge. It's all a pleasure that blazes, an all-encompassing heat that threatens to swallow you whole, burn you from the inside out.

His cock punches the breath out of your lungs, wails clawing out of your throat, and it's so good, so fucking good— god, maybe he is god, you don't know, everything is so blurry, hazy—

All senses focus on the sudden touch between your legs, an expert thumb drawing tight circles on your slippery clit and there's no way you're going to survive this—

"There she is, the girl I saw in the video. Tha's an expression I see in myfuckin' sleep. Give me what's mine, pet. Let me feel you, cream all over my cock."

He's relentless in his pursuit of your climax, a wave of pleasure so intense, it just might drag you out to sea, drowning you.

Ghost, the fucking god of sex, stops his ministrations to spit on your pussy. Spit. From his full height, a glob of warm saliva drops to your mons, and he smears it with his fingers over your pussy lips before rubbing your clit. His thrusts slow in pace, turning into a firm snap of his hips, making sure you feel every ridge of his cock, and in less than a minute, your spine arches off the desk.

Your mouth opens into a silent scream, lids snapping shut as you break underneath him, warmth gushing from where he's continuously sinking into you, a steady, slow rhythm that never ends.

"Came all over me, didn't ya? Bet you didn't know you could even do tha'."

You didn't.

"Jus' for tha', I'm gonna give you somethin' in return, yeah? A little reward for bein' so good," he praises.

Your tongue is heavy in your mouth, swollen and thick, and unconsciousness creeps at the very edges of your mind.

All you can do is lie there and take it, his sloppy thrusts, his harsh panting until he moans, "'m close, so fuckin' close," and with whatever remnants of strength you have left, you use to squeeze him tightly— unwilling to let go because his come is yours now, you've earned it.

"Come in me, Ghost," you whimper.

That does it. He slams his hands on either side of your head and borderline roars out his release, cock twitching inside of your used cunt, filling you with his spend.

Cut.

Ghost's breathing is labored, a harsh pant that fans over your overheated skin, damp with sweat.

His brows are furrowed, his eyes squeezed shut, gulping in air and shivering in the aftershock of his climax.

To be fucked by Ghost is to see the Garden of Eden behind your eyelids.

Now you understand. You understand why he has no equal. He is unparalleled.

Jesus Christ, you're fucked. So, so fucked.

He slowly opens his eyes and peers down at you with a wolfish grin.

"Perfection."

--

A week later, your video with Ghost is the most viewed on the entire website. Not one other video even scratches the bottom of where your video sits.

Ghost truly is the king.

Curiously enough, your friend is the one who lets you know that Mr. life-altering cock himself never kisses during work. Not once in any video of his has he ever kissed, apart from a short pressing of lips to skin.

Your heart traitorously flutters at the thought of it meaning something more. Catching feelings when you get fucked for a living is not the move. But there's no stopping it from misbehaving, especially when you receive another script, to make another video with Ghost.

Another. one.

Fuck. Fuck!!

You cannot wait.

@mishaglass