#i tried to keep it short but couldn’t and it’s why it’s all over the place
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
that-sarcastic-writer · 5 months ago
Text
Too Sweet
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Logan Howlett X F!Reader
Summary: you tell Logan not to hold back anymore. And who is he to deny his sweet girlfriend anything? This is just porn without plot
Wrote this with Xmen/X2 Logan in mind but you may picture whichever Logan suits your needs
Warnings: explicit sexual content, minors dni, piv, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it my children), oral (f receiving), fingering, soft rough sex, Logan talks you through it, creampie, choking, the claws make an appearance (duh), Logan is obsessed with his girl, established relationship
WC: 3.2K
A/N: SOMETHING SHORT SHE SAID. I need to be put down. I am feral over this man. Seeing DP&W got me acting tf up. It put me back into my Logan obsession so I rewatched all of his movies. And now I need him. So here you go. Might write more with him soon. For now is this.
Follow my reading blog to stay updated with my works if you’d like to see more @midnightreadinglibrary
Tumblr media
You were sweet. You were, oh, so sweet. Such a pretty sweet thing. You were so going to be the death of him. Playing with the strings of his sanity, of his composure. Worst of all, you were doing nothing at all to make him go insane. Other than love and care for him that was.
He tried, he really did, he tried to keep himself under control when he was with you, and he was doing a pretty good job of it so far. But god, today, today you were going to make him loose his fucking mind. He had decided to visit you, unannounced he stopped by your apartment. And what did he find? You, in the kitchen, in nothing but a red flannel, his red flannel. Speechless, he was. 
Logan stood in silence, blinking slowly as his eyes took in every part of you with growing intensity. Your legs were bare, your ass barely covered by the length of his shirt and you seemed rather happy like this. Is this what you did when he wasn’t around? And why did the sight of you suddenly wake deep within him an overwhelming need to ruin you? 
Almost as if the intensity of his presence got your absentminded attention, you turned your head to find him standing in the entryway with an unreadable expression. And though a little bit flustered by his unannounced visit, you welcomed him with a soft smile.
“Hi Logan.” You greeted him with glee, all but skipping over to him to greet him properly, of course. You were standing on the ends of your toes and throwing your arms over his broad shoulders while he just stood in ominous silence, only a deep exhale leaving his lips. “Are you okay baby?”
“Yeah.” His voice strained with restraint as he fought the deep urge to throw you over the nearest flat surface. Instead he simply placed his hands on your hips, squeezing unevenly as he gave you an eyebrow raise. “New shirt?”
“Oh,” Your lips fell open in a bit of embarrassment and you laughed softly, flustered as you looked down at the shirt that was clearly not yours. It kind of smelled like him still. “Yeah so, my washer broke, I don’t know what happened to it, and I couldn’t find anything comfortable so… Does it bother you?”
Did it bother him? The only thing that was bothering him was his already hard cock straining against his jeans. 
“A pretty girl in my clothes? I would be fucking stupid.” 
The way his words left his mouth made you laugh. But the look in those hazel eyes was anything but humorous. Animalistic and full of need. Your lips curled up into a smile as he leaned down to crash his lips against yours. Messily and intensely his lips moved against yours as his hands squeezed and touched everywhere he could, as if he didn’t know which part of you he craved to feel more. 
“You’d look prettier on your back though.” He muttered against your mouth, lightly nipping at your bottom lip. You were more than happy to comply.
A string of giggles left your lips as his lips tickled over your stomach. You laid flat on the soft covers as Logan settled between the warmth of your thighs. He pried your legs open, fingers digging into your skin as his sharp canines lightly nipped at the plush flesh on your inner thigh. You gasped, though overwhelmed with excitement.
“Logan.” You scolded him, knowing you would have a mark there, but the sound of your voice turned into a delicious whine when he pressed his nose into your panties, inhaling that oh so intoxicating scent of yours. 
An almost animalistic growl rumbled in his chest, “I’ve been thinkin’ about this sweet pussy all day.” He pressed a hard kiss to your hole, the bridge of his nose bumping your clothed clit. The sudden pressure had you gasping for air, your chest pounding with anticipation.
Your panties were off your body and thrown over his shoulder in a split second, his lips latching on to your clit with reckless urgency. One would think this man hadn’t seen you in weeks, when he had seen, and taken you only two nights ago. Alas, that was one the things you loved the most about Logan, his unending need to touch you, to feel you, to be all over you. You thought he would get tired eventually, but his drive was almost animalistic. He never had enough, though he often held back for your sake. 
His tongue lapped at your pussy with abandon. From your hole to your clit, circling and sucking before diving back into your walls. Squirming, you were chasing his mouth with your hips, body overcome with pleasure as he worked your walls. It annoyed him at times, the way your hips moved and lifted off the mattress with sensitivity as he fucked you with his tongue, when his nose brushed against your clit. With a frustrated grunt, he grabbed a hold of your thighs and pressed your knees against your stomach, holding you down and spreading you open for him to do as he pleased. 
“You squirm too fucking much.” He huffed, but there was a slight bit of amusement laced in his tongue.
Your response came in the form of a whimper, a pathetic sound that only grew louder when two thick fingers replaced his tongue inside your wet hole. He looked up at you with pure primal need as his fingers worked your tight walls, crooking against that one spot that had you crying.
“Please, please Logan.” You didn’t know what you were pleading for. Mercy? Sweet release? To be ruined? You didn’t know. 
Logan raised an amused eyebrow at you, wet lips curled up into a tiny smirk as he moved his tongue back to your clit. He licked and sucked to match each delicious drag of his fingers. The sounds leaving him were just as filthy as the things he was doing to you, groaning and grunting into your pussy as he ate you like a starving man. 
It was no surprise that he had you shaking and crying, overcome with pleasure, eyes blurry with tears, your release rapidly approaching. You latched on to his hair, tugging and pulling at the strands as your pathetic sounds filled the room. 
“That feels so—ugh—feels so good—please.” Were you making any sense? No. Did he care? Fuck no. Seeing you so desperate, so consumed with pleasure, a complete and utter mess for him, it snapped something in him. Deep inside the most perveted and secluded corner of his mind, he liked it. And though he shouldn’t, he wanted more. 
Your release was hard and sudden, your loud sounds were almost as overwhelming as the feeling of his tongue still lapping at your sensitive clit. You were writhing on the mattress, nearly crying as you had no option but to take it, it wasn’t like you could run away, not with the way his free held you down, one hand of his was stronger than all of you combined. All you could do was sob and pull at his hair as he dragged out your orgasm. 
“L-Logan.” You pleaded weakly, throat dry as you pushed yourself up on your elbows, chest glistening with a layer of sweet, lightly clinging to the fabric of Logan’s shirt. All you could see was his dark hair before his eyes met yours. The look behind his eyes was indescribable but it had you clenching you around nothing when his fingers left you. 
Your thighs twitched in aftershock when his mouth left you. You felt him press his forehead against your thighs, his hardened breath fanning against your hot skin for a long second. He needed a second to calm down, keep himself under control, he couldn’t let his primal instincts get the best of him.
You ran your fingers along his face, threading through the hair along his cheek and you silently ushered him up. He complied, in an instant settling between your open legs to find your mouth again. You could taste yourself on his lips, on his tongue, it was all so much for your clouded mind. His fingers were on your hair as his mouth took yours with growing urgency. You could feel him through the roughness of his jeans, brushing against your clit in ways that made you dizzy. You needed him, and you needed him bad. You reached down, trembling fingers fumbling with his belt, but before you could undress him he was pulling back, rough fingers holding your wrist.
“Hold on, just hold on a minute.” He was breathing hard, chest pounding as he looked at your confused face. 
“Wait, why? What's wrong?” God, you were too sweet, too kind for him, he couldn’t do it. 
“I just… Shit.” He closed his eyes, jaw set as tried to control his clouded mind, but he could only do so much to restrain all of the filthy things he craved to do to you. The way you were looking up at him, eyes big with concern, gentle hands holding his face, preventing him from going anywhere. “I think we should stop. I should stop.”
“Oh… I mean.. We can stop whenever but.. Why? Did I do something wrong?” You were sitting up, and the sadness and disappointment in your pretty eyes made him curse at himself.
“No. No. Fuck, no. I’m the problem. I don’t think I can hold myself back anymore.” He finally admitted it, words leaving his chest with heaviness. Your face remained the same, confused.
“Well, why would you? I never asked you to.” It finally dawned on you what he meant, and you were unbothered, if anything the look on your face was of eagerness. With malice, you threw your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. “I don’t want you to hold back with me.”
“Sweetheart..” He was warning you, voice rumbling in his chest as he closed his eyes, one last attempt to keep his composure before it was inevitably too late.
“I won’t break Logan. I trust you. And I want it.” Your last words came out with sharpness, a grueling intensity that had him groaning under his breath. You pressed a kiss to his jaw, almost as if to emphasize your point. And it was like a switch flipped in his head. 
With an uneven breath he was sitting up on his knees, white undershirt thrown to be forgotten somewhere in your room. And you were happily delighted as you watched him toss his belt aside and undo his jeans. He pulled his cock out of his pants with a strained groan and you were holding your breath in anticipation, legs open and welcoming him. His eyes were dark with pure raw desire as he settled between your legs, cock hard and heavy as he kicked the rest of his clothes off like it had insulted him.
“Don’t fucking hold back.” You snapped at him as he held himself up on his forearm, his other hand holding himself against your entrance. Your words shot straight to his cock and his lips curled up into a grin.
“Hold on, pretty.” He rumbled, chest heavy as he sank himself into your wet cunt in one single thrust.
Your lips fell open, eyes instantly rolling at the delicious feeling of his thick and heavy cock splitting you open. It was an intoxicating feeling you couldn’t get enough of; you were fucking sure he had ruined every other man for you. Not that it bothered you. 
The pace he set was grueling from the start, one hand braced on your pillow beside your head and the other on your thigh, rough fingers feeling up and down the skin as he drove his cock in and out of your walls. Sounds of pleasure left your lips almost immediately as the sting of his cock had you dragging your nails up and down his back, leaving red angry marks that healed in a split second. He absolutely adored the burning sensation your nails left on his skin, over and over. 
It was brutal, the way his hips drove you into the mattress as he fucked the life out of you. You did ask him to, you realized that perhaps your lack of restraint when it came to him would indeed be the end of you today, but at least you’d die happy by his cock. His forehead touched yours, eyes on your chest as he forced the buttons of his shirt open. His hand immediately cupped your breast, squeezing and he forced your body up and down on the mattress with each relentless snap of his hips. You cried out, head thrown back as your cunt squeezed his cock, unable to do much other than take everything he had to give you. His hand traveled up your chest to your exposed neck, fingers sprawled over your throat but not putting pressure. 
“Yes. Please, yes, do it.” Delirious, cock-drunk, fucked out, you might have been all of those things, but you were perfectly aware of him surrounding you, caging you in, consuming you. And you wanted all of it.
“Fuck, pretty.” His lips brushed yours as his fingers lightly squeezed your throat. He could feel the air leaving your tightening throat, and the way you squeezed his cock in response had him creasing his eyebrows with pleasure. “This what you wanted? You just wanted it rough, huh?”
You were nodding your head, breathless as blood rushed to your face, the lack of blood flow making you all the more delirious. Absolutely lost, so deep within your pleasure that your brain wasn’t working anymore. All that was consuming your mind was Logan, his scent, his sounds, the tip of his cock brushing that spot that had you squirming. You didn’t even realize tears were coating your cheeks, so lost that your moans had turned into cries. 
“Shh, it’s okay, you’re okay.” The hand on your neck moved to swipe away your tears as he leaned down to kiss your cheek in an attempt to bring you back to reality, the gentle gesture a juxtaposition to the ruthless drag of his cock. “There’s not a single thought in that pretty head of yours, huh?”
He adjusted himself above you, his chest pressed against yours, thick hairs tickling your skin with each deep stroke. There was a bit of smugness on his pleasured expressions, seeing you so utterly out of it, his cock being the reason. Seeing such a sweet little thing coming completely undone by his hand gave him a sense of satisfaction that made his cock twitch. 
He held your face, watching the way your eyes rolled back with pleasure, the crease in your eyebrows and your soft lips parted as filthy sounds left you. It was the prettiest of things.
“It just feels so good, huh? Can’t even talk.” he huffed a laugh, his nose brushing against yours as his free hand found your swollen clit and you were gasping as your thighs shuddered, sweet release building. “Talk to me, pretty girl. Tell me how good it feels. ‘Cause this sure feels so fucking good to me.” 
“Mhmm!” It took your brain a long minute to register his words, it was damn near impossible to focus on anything when his cock was making you feel so good, when you could feel your release so close. “Feels so good—Please, need it. Logan please.”
Who was he to ever deny his sweet girl anything? 
Logan moved his free hand to one of your thighs, holding it and bending it so that one of your knees was damn near next to your head. He drilled into you, fucking you into the matress and rubbing harsh circles on your swollen clit until you were nothing but a shaking, sobbing mess, filled with the neverending bliss of your release. 
“That’s it, atta girl.” He pressed his lips to your bruised lips, swallowing the pathetic sounds of your orgasm as he continued to chase his own. Your release seeped through his cock as his hand left your clit. He braced himself on the pillow beside your head he continued to fuck you into his release. “You’re doing so well sweetheart, take it just like that.”
Tears pricked at your eyes as you sobbed, the hairs at the base of his cock grazing your clit as he abused your hole. Desperate hands latched on to his hair as you held him, simply taking everything he had to give you. He was close, so incredibly close, composure completely gone from his body as he chased his release with selfish abandon. He dropped his face into your neck, sharp canines nipping at the soft skin, surely to leave a mark or two.
“Please Logan. Come in me. Please, I need it—” Though broken, in between pathetic whimpers you pleaded to him. And if he had any self-restraint left it was fucking gone.
The sound that rumbled in Logan’s chest was purely animalistic, a feral growl and the sound of metallic sharp claws rang in your ears next to your head. You gasped in pleasant surprise, moaning at the thought of him losing control like this. It should concern him, it should. But he couldn’t give one fuck. He coated your insides with his release, eyes closed and eyebrows creased into this twisted expression of rapture. With a couple final thrusts he pumped you full of himself until you were leaking around his cock. Only then did he still his pistoning hips. 
“Fuck.” You heard him grunt in your ear, followed by the sound of his claws sheathing back into his knuckles. Your eyes widened with aftershock and your wash chest was heavy as you panted. 
Logan lifted his head from your neck to look at you, heavy breaths leaving his chest as he tried to bring himself back to reality.
“I… I didn’t mean to..” He trailed off, though slightly apologetic as he caught a glimpse of the three punctured holes on your pillow, he did not regret it one bit. You were quickly shaking your head at him, a tired smile on your face.
“Don’t be. That was like, so hot.” You bit your lip, throwing your arms over his broad shoulders as you pulled him into a kiss. He hummed, hand beside your head as he brushed your hair out of your face. “You owe me some new pillows though.”
“Yeah? Might owe you more than that then.” A smug smirk replaced his concern as he rolled his hips, making you aware of his still hard cock, hot and heavy in your walls. You gasped, wide eyes meeting his own. “What? You thought I was done with you?” 
With a hold of your arm he flipped you on your stomach, the sudden movement making you whimper. But the thought of him taking you over and over sure had you eager in anticipation. Though as his cock sunk into your cunt once more you were beginning to wonder just how much your curiosity was going to cost you. Surely a whole day in bed tomorrow would be in order. He was so going to be the death of you. Little did you know, you were already going to be his.
11K notes · View notes
brokenmenswhore · 6 months ago
Text
release | jacaerys velaryon
Tumblr media
pairing: jacaerys velaryon x fem!reader
summary: jace is on the brink of snapping and lashing out toward his mother and her council for their lack of action against the greens, so you give him another outlet for his frustration
warnings: smut (MDNI 18+), rough sex, jace is a lil rough & feral in this one, threats (reader consents but may appear as noncon/dubcon)
────── ☾ ──────
“And what of those who sent him?” Jacaerys snapped, questioning his mother as they buried yet another body.
He was angry. He couldn’t help but lose people. Everyone around him kept fleeing or dying, and he tried desperately to hold his tongue, but his patience was slipping. War was inevitable, and he was frustrated at his mother’s lack of action toward the opposing force. He wanted revenge, retaliation, and most of all, he wanted to be the one to give it.
As the eldest son, however, he tried not to cause a scene, knowing he played an important role in this war, and hoping that his silence and unwavering support of his mother’s decisions would breed the proper trust that was needed to allow him more involvement and access in the war.
He was evidently tense at council meetings. His tongue was becoming sharper with each sentence related to the war. He couldn’t help it. He pushed through the doors to your chambers, angry and frustrated from the events of the day.
He stopped short when he saw you turn in your chair to face him. Taking a deep breath, the tension in his body dropped. “I need a hug.”
You smiled, standing and approaching him, wrapping your arms around his waist. You remained a step lower than him in the entrance. He rested his chin on the top of your head.
“I just don’t understand why she won’t do anything,” he began, “I know she doesn’t want this war. I don’t want this war, but it’s happening. We have all lost so much, and it will not stop. Why won’t she do something?”
“Perhaps she believes it can still be avoided,” you responded.
“How much blood from my family must be split before she realizes it can’t?”
Your heart ached for him. You wanted to hold him in the hug forever, curing all his pain and never letting him out of the room.
“I’m sorry, Jacaerys.”
“It is not a fault of yours,” he replied, “it is just exhausting. I wish for a break from all of this, even if just momentary. I feel as if any moment, I may break, and I do not wish to take these frustrations out on my mother or her council. It would only cause the situation to worsen.”
You looked up at him, “then take it out on me.”
“What?”
“Take your frustrations out on me, Jace.”
“You do not deserve such treatment.”
You sighed, “but I am asking for it. Allow yourself to have an outlet. Why else am I here?”
Jacaerys was bewildered, “you are not here for me to take my anger out on. I would not do such a thing.”
“I wish for you to relax. I would not speak the offer if I did not mean it. Please, Jace.”
Jace leaned down to kiss you, initiating a sweet, intimate kiss before his frustrations took over and he deepened the kiss, gripping your thighs, causing you to jump and wrap your legs around his waist. He continued to kiss you as you clung to his shoulders, his steps towards the bed shaking you and causing you to nearly fall.
The Velaryon prince was usually quite nice to you, making sure to take things slow and constantly checking in on your comfort and pleasure. He would typically slowly drop your back onto the mattress, but tonight, he quite literally pushed you down, keeping your legs wrapped around his waist as he kissed you into the mattress.
You moaned at the eagerness of it all, Jace’s hands running up and down your side, gripping your waist and pushing your hips down, until your legs were no longer wrapped around his body. Never breaking the kiss, he lifted up your nightdress, his fingers finding their way under your small clothes, not giving you time to ease into it as he began roughly rubbing circles on your clit.
You squealed into the kiss. Jace moved to begin sucking bruises into your neck, his hair falling in front of his face, as he continued to rub you. You couldn’t help but moan, trying your hardest to remain as quiet as possible, since his little brother’s chambers were just a wall away.
“He’s not here,” Jace groaned.
You could barely speak. “What?”
“He’s not in his chambers. He’s out with Arrax. Stop holding back,” Jace demanded, “wanna hear what I’m doing to you.”
This controlling nature was a change, but you didn’t mind it at all. You stopped trying to quiet yourself, a moan of his name leaving your lips as he pushed a finger into you.
“That’s it,” he cooed, “you sound so pretty.”
“T-thank you,” you responded.
Jacaerys didn’t stop curling his finger inside of you, but giggled, “did you just thank me?”
“Mhm,” you moaned.
“You’re too cute,” he said, breaking his frustrated and controlling demeanor for a second, the compliment making your heart swell as he continued to fuck you with his fingers.
He felt you start to squeeze, and he immediately pulled his hand away from you. You sighed in disappointment.
He lifted you from under your arms, shifting you so you were sitting up, as he began to undo his breeches.
“I just wish I could go to King’s Landing,” he started, pushing his small clothes down and allowing his cock to be free, “I’d kill every last one of them.”
He gripped your hair, pushing your face down until it was level with his cock. “Open.”
You did as he told you, opening your mouth as he pushed his cock into your mouth, immediately hitting the back of your throat. He was big, too big to fit completely in your mouth, but you were getting better and better at breathing through your nose to avoid gagging around his cock.
“Not today,” he sighed, “stop holding back or I’ll fuck it out of your throat.”
You listened to him, forgetting everything you know about avoiding gagging, and allowing him to direct your head up and down, his cock hitting the back of your throat with every single thrust. You gagged and choked around him, but he didn’t let up.
“They think they’re so big and bad,” he said, breathy from the pleasure of your mouth around him, “if only they were around me. I could take all of them. I could end their whole fucking line.”
He began to thrust his hips at a vicious pace. You had no choice but to take it, trying your best to continue sucking and swirling your tongue around the head of his cock as he fucked your mouth mercilessly.
“I’d end their whole. fucking. line,” he said again, speaking through each thrust and throwing his head back in pleasure.
“Fuck, get up, I’m not done with you yet,” he commanded, pulling you off of him to stop himself from coming before he wanted to.
You didn’t dare adjust your position without his say so. You sat there waiting for him to put you where he wanted you. He flipped your body over, pressing your face into the pillow as he pulled your hips up to meet his. He took both of your wrists in one hand, locking them behind your back as his other hand guided his cock into your entrance and then moved to your waist as he started rocking into you, pushing you further and further into the mattress.
Your body folded and became weak, as much of you falling into the bed as was possible, the only thing keeping your hips upward was the rough grip Jacaerys had on them. You whined and moaned, your entire body rocking forward with each snap of his hips.
“Seven hells,” he breathed out, his pace never relenting, “are you still okay?”
“Mhm,” you moaned out, unable to form a coherent sentence.
“Shit, I hate not being able to hear you,” he said, pulling out of you and flipping your body so you were flat on the mattress, facing him. “That’s better,” he smiled, immediately fucking back into you with no warning.
You cried out, grabbing his face and kissing him through the intensity. He grunted into the kiss, having never fucked you, or anyone for that matter, this hard before. All of his pent up rage and frustration was being taken out on your cunt.
Your back arched off the mattress, Jace taking the opportunity to wrap an arm around your waist, holding you even closer to him.
He spoke with every thrust, “I. Want. Revenge.”
“I k-know,” you moaned out.
“I. Want. Fucking. Revenge.”
It was overwhelming, and the intensity with which he was fucking you started to make your head cloudy. “J- Jace, it’s too m-“
Jacaerys cut you off by kissing you, doing everything he can to stop your words. “You can take it, baby.”
“I c-“ the pressure was so intense. You could feel your walls start to squeeze around his cock, and his pace was relentless.
“You can,” he said, looking directly into your eyes, “and you will.”
You nodded and let him continue splitting you open on his cock, dropping your waist down to the mattress again as he fucked into you, hands rough on your waist as they pushed you down.
Your eyes filled with tears. Jacaerys had never seen you like this, crying from the intensity, sweat sticking your hair to your forehead as you writhed under him. He didn’t know he was capable of making you feel like this, and he didn’t know you would look so fucking pretty as a result.
“Fuck, baby,” he growled, “I’m close.”
You couldn’t even respond, you just continued to whine and moan under him, watching his face contort as he released inside of you. The final few thrusts of his hips were cruel, his large length hitting that spongy spot inside of you that made you see stars. Through his high, he could feel you close, and he forced himself to continue pushing in and out of you until you met your climax.
Your legs shook as a wave of pleasure washed over you, your entire body eventually melting into the bed with weakness. Jace waited a moment before pulling out of you, kissing you as he did so.
You tried hard to catch your breath, but it took you longer than you anticipated. Jace, ever so attentive, looked down at you and asked, “you okay?”
You couldn’t help but smile. “I should start making you mad.”
5K notes · View notes
blkkizzat · 28 days ago
Text
PU$$Y GOT MORE M⛧RDERS THAN SHIBUYA.ᐟ 𝐌⛧𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐑#𝟑 — 𝐅𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐨, 𝐓𝐨𝐣𝐢
Tumblr media
⛧ 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞: nov 8th, 8:48 am ⛧ 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞: tshirt with no panties + dubcon + edging + cunnalingus + squirting + backshots + brat!reader ⛧ 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐬: 3548
𝐧𝐧𝐧 𝐦.𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
Tumblr media
A week into ‘No Nut November’ Toji already is feeling fidgety—not that he’d ever admit it.  No, he was going to win and prove to you he wasn’t like those other chumps you dated in the past, pussy couldn’t control a man like him. 
Yet a part of Toji has to know he is lying to himself. 
Otherwise why the hell did he get out of bed last night at 3 am, dick stiff as fuck, while your ass was still asleep?
The job Shiu gave him could have waited a few more hours for daylight to break at least. But laying in bed, wide-awake and fully bricked, Toji's cock nearly jumped out of his sweats when he swore you softly moaned his name in your sleep.
Fuck he could practically smell your pussy too! Toji couldn’t get the fuck outta that bed fast enough.
Speaking of jobs, he’d been taking more of them—anything to get him out of the house. Although he told you it was so you'd stop nagging him about bills—a big ol' lie.
Now, hours later after returning home, Toji steps out of the shower. Scoffing at his reflection, the grumpy look on his face is all thanks to his twitching hard-on practically waving back at him in the mirror. 
Annoyance simmered in his chest. Toji wanted to call the whole fuckin' thing off but his pride had taken a hit the moment you goaded him into this ridiculous challenge. Your smug, off-hand comment about how he’d 'fold like an omelet' if he attempted 'No Nut November' had sealed it.
He couldn’t let that remark just slide.
It had only been a week so far but a chore from the start. A foolish experiment neither of you were built for. Restraint had never been either of your strong suits—not when you could barely keep your hands off each other for a single day, let alone thirty.
Even three years into the relationship, that much hadn’t changed. He’d fucked you so often, so thoroughly, he knew your body as well as his own—a truth that made this self-imposed abstinence feel less like a challenge and more like torture.
Toji knew you were struggling through all of this too. The way your thighs pressed together when he casually manspread on the sofa the other day had been proof of it. You tried to play it cool but your eyes betrayed you, locked on his cock like you could melt the fabric of his pants with sheer willpower alone. Squirming in your seat, you made it painfully apparent how badly you wanted him buried inside you, stretching you open like only he could—yet you also refused to give in.
Unfortunately, you were both as stubborn as all hell. Neither of you willing to bend first, even if it was driving you both insane.
*CRASH*
Hearing the shattering of glass, a sound Toji recognizes far too well by now, he makes his way to the kitchen. 
Tsk—he’s told you over and over to just call for him when you want to reach the top shelf. 
“Mamas, that lil’ short stack ass of y'ers better not be up on that counter again. I told ya—”
Toji grins widely upon entering the kitchen.
“....heh, ya fucking slutty ass minx.”
Caught red-handed, you’re balancing on your tippy toes on the edge of the kitchen counter, with one leg hiked up on a spice shelf for extra leverage. However, Toji was far less concerned with the fact you disobeyed him now that he’s seen your state of undress. 
Like a starved predator his eyes rake ravenously over your exposed flesh—your entire ass and pussy poking out of one of his old t-shirts you often slept in. Toji licks his lips as he hones in on how even your puckered rear hole seems to clench tighter, sheepishly even, under his scrutiny.  
“And just what do ya think y’er doing, slut?”
Frozen mid-stretch, you’d whip your head back to see Toji. 
His arms are crossed over his broad, bare chest, still glistening with water droplets, giving him the appearance of a Greek god. The morning rays stream through the kitchen, casting a warm glow that highlights every chiseled inch of his body. The towel around Toji's waist hangs low, giving you a peek of the sleek black hairs leading down to—his completely bricked up erection aggressively poking through his towel. 
“Nah, eyes up here slut.”
Toji snaps his fingers and you manage to rip your eyes away in order to roll them back, not letting him get away with any sass.
“I’m hardly a slut for trying to cook breakfast, Toji.”
Finally getting your mixing bowl at the sacrifice of 3 others, you safely plant both feet on the countertop. 
“Nuh-uh, ya know what I fuckin’ mean, ma—heh, ain’t a slut but y’er tooting that fat ass up f’er me bare, knowing you shouldn’t even be up there in the first fuckin’ place." Toji's grin widens deviously. "I know y'er tyna tempt me lil' girl—so just give in. Just say ya want me t’ fuck ya mamas and I’ll do it.”
You bristle at his words—he had some nerve!
“As if! You’re the one who's been walking around with a loaded gun in your pants all week!”
“Yeah mama n’ ya been lookin’ at my dick like ya wanted me to bust this gun in ya for just as long.”
You fluster, caught. Thinking your drooling over the heavy cock in his pants had gone unnoticed, yet you were sorely mistaken.
“Now y’er walkin’ around without panties and in my shirts knownin’ what that fuckin’ does t’me—y'er not slick at all, ma”
Unfortunately, you don’t realize just how close to snapping Toji actually is as you stand your ground throwing more sass back at him.
“Get over yourself Toj! I’ll have you know I didn’t even have any last night either—you know the saying—gotta let her ‘breathe’.”
And that was the final straw. 
Your heart races seeing the darkened look in his eyes, not to mention the smirk on Toji's face is absolutely diabolical now. 
He’d woken up so early thinking he was going mad with arousal that he was manifesting you moaning for him and the smell of your sweet wet pussy only to realize you’d be practically advertising yourself to him all night—fuckin' taunting him to take a peek. “Oh? She’s having trouble breathing, my favorite girl? Well then, looks like that stuffy lil’ cunt needs some mouth-to-mouth then, mamas.”
Before you can blink, your vision blurs as Toji moves with blinding speed, his Heavenly Restriction amplifying every motion to an imperceptible degree. Manhandling you roughly, Toji splays you out on your stomach across the marble counter of the kitchen island, sending whatever are on it crashing to the ground with the others you'd broken.
You don’t have to ask Toji ‘what in the hell he thinks he’s doing?’ as you figure it out as soon as you feel the baggy t-shirt fabric bunching at your upper back and his breath ghosting over your bare cunt.
Toji isn't surprised that you are already moist and leaking just from him calling you a slut a few times, your slutty lil cunt would get soaked for far less.
Toji anticipated that though and he is pleased that he can see the slick glossing your pussy lips as he pulls back a bit to admire the view. You looked like a freshly prepared breakfast platter to Toji, he didn’t need you cookin’ anything else either—just heat up that tight pussy of yours for him and he'd take his fill.
Placing a tender kiss on your ass cheek the gesture is almost an appology for whats to come as Toji quickly follows it up with a searing bite into you squishy flesh. Not leaving the other lonely, Toji graces gracing your other ass cheek with an open palmed spank. You're trying not to squeal as he kneads your supple skin between his fingers, squeezing the fat of your ass posessively. However, Toji is displeased at you trying to hold back your cries and for that you're spanked harshly again. The force leaves a handprint burning in your skin as the sting pushes more gooey nectar out of your cunt.
“Nah, none of that holding back now slutty mamas, ya wanted this teasin’ me like that now I want ya to scream f'er me.”
Panting you attempt to resist him again, wanting to push yourself up off the counter but it's impossible when your feet aren’t even touching the floor. Your toes ghosts over the ground as you try to wiggle free. Yet your flimsy protests didn’t last long as your limbs go rigid once Toji peels back your sopping folds exposing your runny, twitchy pussy hole to him. 
“Tsk, see that ,mama? Only a week without my mouth on ‘er and this silly slut of a pussy forgot how to breathe. Look at her strugglin, beggin' to be resuscitated.”
Keening lustfully at his lewd accusation, you chew on your plump bottom lip as his large rough tongue takes the first slow n’ savory swipe over your soaking pussy lips. 
You couldn’t hold back any longer.
“C’mon, p-please eat me daddy, To—JIIIIIIAHH!”
Your begging is cut short as Toji latches his mouth to your fat cunt, tongue diving into your pretty peach like a man starved. 
Oh okay, fuck! Why were you holding yourself back from this again?!
Real nasty with it, Toji is literally gargling on the juices seeping steadily from your creamy cunt. Slurping up your arousal like a man parched, Toji is unhinged and feral as he spits your fluids it back into your pussy before lapping it all up again with a deep swirl of his tongue.
Achring instinctively, your hands flail in an attempt to push Toji's head away, but all you manage to do is tangle up your fingers in his damp raven locks. Instead of dislodging him, your efforts have him burrowing his face deeper between your thighs, smothering himself in your creamy core. Toji's thick tongue continues its prodding, flicking and stroking—mapping every inch of you as if to make sure your pussy hadn't changed in the week he'd gone without her. Releasing a deep guttural hum inside you, vibrations course through your body as his own sloppy groans of pleasure mix with your gasping cries for mercy. The sensation is overwhelming, and just as you think you can’t take any more, his fingers find your swollen clit, strumming on it in a pace too cruel that only intensifies the pleasurable ache within.
“Fahh-HAHH!”
As white edges your vision and you begin falling into the throws of ecstasy—the first orgasm you had in a week—however, you wouldn't experience the sweet nirvana you crave just yet thanks to Toji cruelly ripping it away. 
Smacking his lips with a satisfied sigh like he finally had his fill from a water fountain, Toji dislodges his face from your puffy and drenching pussy. You don’t even need to see Toji's face as you can practically hear the smirk plastered across his lips, still dripping with your juices messily stained all around his mouth and flowing down his neck.
“Admit it—”
Standing, Toji taps his cock on your sticky pussy lips, hypersensitive now from the way he’d just been aggressively munching on her like full-course meal. The knob of his cockhead, flushes red and angry as it pokes into your slippery entrance. The ring of muscle slowly opening wider to accommodate the large girth that threatened to impale your pretty lil' pussy fully at any moment.
“—admit you got that short slutty as of y’ers up on that counter to test me—and I’ll put it in.”
The fact is Toji was near his limit anyway and likely would have snapped later on that night if you didn’t try to tempt him like this. In fact, he wasn’t even sure if it was intentional—but he didn’t care at this point because truth be told he’d been looking for any little excuse to bend you over like this for the past 2 days.
“NNNGHH—not fair! TojiiiiiiEEEE!”
You pout, tears on the edges of your eyes as he delivers more smack to your jiggly cheeks, enjoying the way they ripple under his hand.
“Say what I wanna hear slutty mamas… n’ m’gonna give fat ma here what she's been craving all week…”
Toji exhales sharply, his breaths uneven as he watches globs of his pearlescent pre-cum ooze indiscriminately from his tip. Toji strokes the base of his shaft tightly, a calculated effort to control himself as the mere sensations and sounds of his tip only gliding against your soft squelchy pussy lips threatens to undo him entirely.
You could almost feel the desperation radiating off of him. He wanted this just as much as you did—asshole. 
Although if anything, the truth is Toji broke first. However, while a part of you wanted to fight him on that, a bigger part of you couldn’t care less. Laid up on the counter with no leverage you knew he'd turn you out into his pretty lil’ cocksleeve if you did as he asked—and you did miss him fucking you like his personal pocket pussy.
“Hnnnn—FINE!” 
You glance back over your shoulder at Toji, sweat beading on your furrowed brow, your bottom lip jutting out as you say the words that you know will have him pureeing your guts as soon as you do.
“Daddy, *sniff* m’sorwy m’just a bratty slut who just wants her tiny pussy fucked—m’so horny n’ I want you s’bad… n’thats why I got on the counter to show you how much she m-missed you!”
Like the little temptress you are, you wiggle your ass up towards him as best you can with your feet dangling. Toji barks with laughter at the site.
“Heh, now was that so hard slutty mamas?”
Yet Toji couldn't delay andy longer, the little composure Toji had in the moment is lost as he thrusts himself deeply into you with a fierce snap of his hips.
The weight of him leaning into you and stretching your greedy hole that hadn’t been fucked in a week knocked all the air out of you—you couldn’t even scream. A paralyzing shiver jolts down your spine that reaches all the way down to your pussy, tightening enough it threatens to break Toji's dick in two.
“Fuuuck, mama. You’re s’tight, relax. Ngnnh—never doing this cuck ass shit again though baby….I’ll fuckin’ kill someone first.”
Toji’s voice carried a rare, almost whiny edge as he grits his teeth—muttering something along the lines of, ‘pussy gon’ kill me’.
You’re not able to think about that too hard though as Toji doesn’t remain still inside you for long. Jerking back, Toji pistons his hips into you, growling like an animal in heat. 
Toji feels like a fuckin teenager again the way he's leaking precum into you. Gritting his teeth, Toji couldn't have imagained before this that a lack of pussy for 7 days would have his knees threatening to buckle. 
Fuckin' hell, he wanted to cum already. 
Lifting your hips up off the counter with his massive hands, your body ragdolls as Toji's sharp bullying hips completely turn your pelvis into mush. Toji's eyes dim to a dangerous forest green as he watches his cock be consumed by the thick supple lips of your pussy, disappearing deeply in your runny cunny over and over.
He'd gladly die like this if given the choice.
And you aren't fairing much better.
“HUUU, F—”
Words fail you as drool seeps from your slackened jaw, your brain being fucked completely smooth under the relentless onslaught. You can’t hold onto anything to ground you, even if the slippery marble countertop offered any kind of leverage. Toji’s thick, veined shaft scrapes mercilessly over that tender, spongy spot that has you seeing stars. When he bottoms out, slamming against your cervix, his balls slap against your swollen clit, sending bolts of white-hot electricity up your spine—like Toji’s sole intent is to shatter it and you entirely.
Your broken cries intermingle with Toji’s throaty growls, each one more primal than the last, mirroring the raw hunger driving his movements. His broad, muscular hands lift your hips effortlessly, spreading your soft flesh wide as his thumbs press insistently against the taut rim of your asshole, teasing and massaging it open.
A strangled raspy moan escapes your lips nearly choking you when his thumbs plunge inside your ass to hook and stretch it wide.
“P-Pweasee, n-not there D-Daddy—SHIIIIIIIT!”
You sob, your body trembling under the overwhelming sensations. The mix of burning desire and the relentless pressure makes you feel as though he might actually break you. It had been a while since Toji fucked you there, and you weren’t sure you’d survive the intensity of pleasure now after being dry a whole week.
Toji doesn’t answer immediately, his silence heavy and deliberate. When you finally muster the strength to glance back, your breath catches as you see him spit a thick loogie directly into your asshole. “NNNN, Tojiiiish!” Your voice pitches higher as his thumbs toy with your puckered rim, stretching it an indecent amount as he pushes it open before guiding it close again, only to repeat the process with more spit dripping into the tight opening. Before long, your ass is doused and full of his spit, just as your pussy is stuffed with his cock and pre.
Toji's other hand clamps down on your hip, gripping tightly as he uses it to drive you onto his cock, hitting your devastatingly sensitive spots with unrelenting precision. The wet, obscene squelch of your cum mixes with the sharp, rhythmic slap of skin against skin, the room filled with the sinful symphony of your high-pitched moans and his raw, gravelly grunts.
On the brink, your body coils tighter with every thrust, every teasing stretch of his thumbs violating your puckered hole. The tension builds unbearably, pushing you closer and closer to that euphoric edge.
Toji is close too—you can feel it in the erratic, almost feral rhythm of his thrusts, his desperation mounting as he hurtles toward the edge. His grip tightens, nails digging half-moons into your sweaty skin as he pounds into you with rough, unrelenting force. A frenzied energy drives Toji, as if the only release that could satisfy him lies buried deep in your slobbering cunt. His balls draw up tight, his blood boiling in his veins as his body ruts into you on pure, unthinking instinct.
A helpless groan escapes his lips, raw and unrestrained, followed by a soft, unexpected whimper—so quiet it's almost undetectable by your ears but you must have heard it because your pussy pulses at the sound. Intoxicating, Toji's desperation laid bare, every ounce of control unraveling as he chases his release.
For the first time in ages, Toji feels disconnected from himself, his body reacting before his mind. Therefore, he doesn’t even register his release until he hears you scream, your walls clamping around him like a vice as his hot seed floods into you.
Your orgasm washes over you shortly after, your squirt gushing around making more of a mess of your kitchen island as the euphoric tension boils over.  
Toji lowers your hips gently onto the counter removing his thumbs from you, bracing himself on his forearms to keep from crushing you. His breath is thick and swampy against your neck as he languidly rocks into you, until he pumps every drop of cum into your slutty lil pussy.
Stilling in you, Toji closes his eyes.
Fuck, he’d not cum that hard since the first time he fucked you.
Yet it's you who eventually breaks the silence.
“Y-You came before me, ‘ol man..”
Wearing a lopsided smirk, you lay exhausted and completely spent on the counter, appreciating how cool marble always stayed in this moment basking in your victory. You moan softly as Toji grumbles, getting up and pulling out of you causing your still sensitive walls to push out his plug of cum from your pussy— and you can feel it flowing down your shapely thighs.
“...so what I said earlier means fuck all, you know you technically lost No Nut November first huh, Daddy?” 
You're radiantly smug, yet your victory was short-lived.
“Heh, you think we’re done? Don’t ya think I’m owed a lil’ more?”
Toji's voice, low and gravelly, sprouts goosebumps racing across your sticky skin. His cock, drowned in the mingled evidence of your arousals, swipes along the curve of your ass. His tip feels even more engorged than before as it presses insistently against your rear hole—that's still fluttering helplessly in the absence of his fingers.
Yet not leaving for long, his thumbs return to trail possessively over the taut ring of muscle, spreading it open a lil' wider to stuff his girthy fat cockhead in. 
“Now mamas, ya know I’m a gamblin’ man. Best two outta, three..."
A smirk curls on Toji’s lips, as he can feel the shudder convulse all the way down your spine, puckering your ass tigher around his cockhead. 
"...I didn’t spend all that time spreadin' this cute lil’ stink hole back here for my own amusement, eh?”
blkkizzat ©2023-2024 no ai, reposting, plagiarism or translation allowed.
Tumblr media
𝐚/𝐧: next 12/14, 6:00 a.m. PST queued ryomen sukuna toji daddy is a big pushover for your holes<3 lmk what you think! reblogs and comments make my ass tingle all nice <3
2K notes · View notes
wonallofme · 1 month ago
Text
let it out, loser!
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
tw and tags: boxer!jungwon x fem!reader, smut, no condom, penetration, creampie, squirt, heavy dubcon, no plot just porn, the sex is nasty af, a little of blood (biting lips and fight wounds), allusion to past noncon, insanity from both of them. word count: 1.7k note: hi! i haven't written anything in a long time and just wanted to do something short. this is my first (official) enhypen piece, hope someone here likes it. if you know me from my other blog, you just know the sex i write is not the most sane one. again, this is pure fiction! Please be careful about the tags you wish to block.
credits for the divider: @bernardsbendystraws (link)
Tumblr media
The sound of his keys being thrown to the table in your kitchen shouldn’t be that hot. The sound of his bag hitting your floor with fury shouldn’t make your panties get wet. Even more, the sound of his heart beating inside his chest so fast shouldn’t make you excited for what was about to come.
Knowing too well how he, his breath, his steps, his things, sounded when he was angry after a loss, shouldn’t turn you on.
One, two, three, four. You counted the steps he took.
Usually, if he walked around the room, he would be searching for condoms. He didn’t walk that much, so you immediately knew, he would be harder that night.
After all, he needed to let everything out to be himself the next day.
‘’I know you’re awake,’’ he said, making you open your eyes to not pretend anymore.
He didn’t try to be gentle.
His face was a mess, even in the darkness of the night, with the little to almost no light that trespassed your curtains, you could see a faint purple color on his cheek, and a bright fresh red on his lip. Both meant he would leave you hurting too.
You didn’t have to ask what he wanted from you.
You ruffled in your sheets.
You moved them so he could accommodate himself between your legs, and rubbing your eyes from the recent nap you had, you simply let him take your pajama shorts off.
It was better when you didn’t interrupt him.
You don’t hate this version of him. You know that, when the morning comes, he’ll be your nice boyfriend again. He’ll make breakfast and won’t talk at all about the night or his fight. He’ll let you clean his wounds, he’ll give you a silent soft kiss after walking you to class, and then he’ll go to the gym to keep training.
He made it hurt those nights, but he never made it hurt in your daily life.
Jungwon is the kind of boyfriend that makes sure you’re always comfortable while having sex. He leaves soft pecks on your cheek while fingering you, and he asks if you’re okay when he puts it in. He’s so tender, sometimes, you’re the one afraid of hurting him.
So, these times, when he doesn’t ask how you feel, and he just takes, you try to understand him.
A whimper came out of your mouth, totally involuntarily, when you felt his spit touching your entrance.
He was over you, between your legs, forcing them open with his own amplitude, staring at your entrance and how his saliva mixed with your wetness.
For these occasions, that little help was more than enough for you. He almost laughed. A smirk appeared on his mouth, and he let a curse out. Were you happy he was a mess? Was he really that pathetic? Why were you always so excited when he arrived from losing a match?
‘’You’re lucky I’m this kind, crazy bitch.’’
Pressing his tip on your wet clit, he exhaled loudly, looking defeated, before moving it down between your lips, smearing his spit along. He didn’t look at your eyes in this mode. He didn’t dare to look at your face. He concentrated on what he wanted from you, and you tried to find what parts of him were wounded so you could make a list of things you might need.
Ointment, bandages, cold pads, maybe you would have to cook him something nice too. Did you have apples left?
You couldn’t continue thinking when he slid in.
The burning made you leave a hurt sound out. You whimpered again, because of the pain, and hissed when he pulled out.
He didn’t ask you anything. He didn’t kiss your lips to ease it up or apologise in your ear before stopping altogether. You could see his mind thinking of something, and you wanted to suggest him, maybe he could give you more of it? As if reading your mind, he spat on his hand, a long line of drool finding his cock, and some of it spilling on your pussy on the way.
Your legs trembled with the sensation, somehow feeling a rush in your entire body. You wanted it so bad, this side of him, that when he wrapped the back of your thighs to oblige it all the way to your breast, you cried.
Not because of the sudden movement, or because of how challenging the position was, but because you knew he wanted you to feel it all.
And, when he wanted that, you would really feel it all.
‘’Fu-fuck,’’ you moaned when he bullied his way inside again.
Immediately after talking, you bit your lips.
He didn’t like it when you talked. Whether it was to complain or praise him, he didn’t care. He needed you to not talk or make him think or look at your face. He needed you to be, if possible, dead silent to only concentrate on his own thoughts.
Of course, that was almost impossible, so he would press a hand on your mouth if you didn’t behave, and in the worst cases, to mute you, he would press your face down.
Whimpers were acceptable. Broken moans, bearable. But words? No, never.
You wanted to apologize but it wasn’t the right answer, you knew it too well. You know him too well. Or so, you wanted to believe.
He pushed your legs further, slamming inside, pushing the air out of your lungs.
It continued hurting, but you couldn’t care less.
The awareness of him being there, the sound of his breathing, his hisses, the groans, you wanted it all.
A wet echo filled the room with the force he used to fuck you and your wet pussy taking him. Your walls moved to accommodate him, to welcome him with much enthusiasm, just like your hands pulling your legs closer to make it more comfortable for him.
He wasn’t wearing a condom, and just the memory of his cum all inside you made you tighten around him.
Inside your mind, you repeated give it to me, please, because your mouth wasn’t allowed to do it. It felt way too good. The first time, it made you deeply uncomfortable to feel it inside. You felt dirty, disgusting, and you couldn’t believe it had happened. Now, you couldn’t find the words to ask for it again.
You could only hope he lost.
‘’Fuck, why can’t I…? Fuck!’’
His torso raised, his hips aligned at a better angle, and he thrusted harder.
Your teeth were sinking on your lower lip, brows furrowing and eyes closing to not show him how much you were enjoying it. Probably, it was useless to even try to hide it.
Your shirt was sticking to your torso because of the sweat. Yours, his. Fuck, you heard him curse. The lower front wet spot, in no way, was from just sweat.
The spasms were arriving. You felt your abdomen get tighter, and you tried to calculate how much time had passed. It hasn’t been long enough, you concluded. You couldn’t cum, you had to hold it in, for him, because it couldn’t end so fast. For him, that short time was not enough. It couldn’t be enough.
He needed you to hold it. He needed it. He.
You cried. This time, a few tears escaped. You turned your face to the side, and a salty flavor on your tongue distracted you.
You only noticed you bit yourself so hard your lips were bleeding when you felt more of the metallic taste invading you.
Out of the ordinary, he leaned to inspect your face. His hand tactlessly gripped your chin and forced you to face him, and when he saw the drops of blood flooding your delicate lip, under your teeth, he gulped.
‘’You’re such a mess too.’’
His mouth found yours in a second, obliging you to leave your poor lip free. He, first, just grazed them, doubting to do such a soft act with you, before crashing your wound with his.
The kiss, just like the sex, was not delicate at all.
The sting in your lips was not a sensation you were familiar with. His lips were always soft with you, at least until that moment. At much, they would be lustful, making out with you for long periods of time, but never brute.
His fingers stabbed your jaw, and his tongue prodded out.
You couldn’t breathe properly, overwhelmed with his strength, so you opened your lips to inhale some air, an act he took advantage of by barging his tongue into your mouth.
You had no way of using your brain at that moment. His tongue inside your mouth stealing your little air, his entire weight sinking you to the bed, his shoulders maintaining your legs up and against your chest, his cock balls deep inside you. It was all too much. Your head was too dizzy to remember exactly at what point you had your orgasm.
You remember your legs shaking, and an embarrassing loud cry muffled with his mouth against yours.
Also, you remember the broken moan he left out, and his hips reassuming a brutal pace that makes you roll your eyes with the mere memory. His long cock had hit a spot that made you lose yourself, and your pussy, so sensitive with how he had continued using you, had the most intense orgasm you ever had.
The clean gush finished wetting the front of your shirt, splashing his abdomen and making a pod slide down onto the bedsheets. Sadly, he didn’t care that you were trembling and bawling because of it. He plunged back inside, biting your cries and mixing both bloods while trying to find his own orgasm.
He left it out all inside you.
When you felt his warm cum invading you, you passed out.
After that, all is black. You try to move your body, finding it uncomfortable and painful. Still, you turn your head, finding your boyfriend’s naked back beside you. From the way his breath is calm now that he’s sleeping, you deduce he’s back to normal after finding his release.
Your shirt is different, clean, and the bed sheets are blue instead of white, so you know it’s not the same set from the night before.
At the sensation of his cum leaking out of you, you wonder if changing your clothes and sheets was the only thing he did to you while you were unconscious.
Tumblr media
2K notes · View notes
florencemtrash · 4 months ago
Text
Bedsides and Breakfasts
Summary: After Azriel comes home battered and bruised, he refuses to eat the meal you've made him... Why?
Warnings: Angst, character injury, fluff
Author's note: For context, Y/n is Helion's bastard daughter. In an earlier draft of my other (very long) fic, The Shadowsinger and The Inkbird, this was going to be a scene that takes place after Azriel gets hurt during the Battle on the Lake where Y/n figures out Azriel is her mate. I wanted to finish it up and get it out there because I don't want to say goodbye to that story just yet and I wanted to get back into writing so.... here ya go!
Tumblr media
The Townhouse sang quietly as it worked. Its melodies lay in the shifting curtains that shook off dust into the wind. Its lyrics in the whistling teakettle. You liked these sounds as you moved about the kitchen, preparing your tea and a crust of bread slathered with butter and jam. 
When the Townhouse was empty, you didn’t need to fear your power — there was no one around for you to touch and steal memories from. Mor had tried to drag you out to Rita’s that evening — “Rhys says you’ve learned to keep your Clairvoyance at bay! Come dancing with us!” — but you couldn’t muster the courage or the energy.
Besides, you were awaiting a certain Shadowsinger’s arrival. 
“Won’t you come back and make me your home? You who’ve stolen my heart as simple as a whisper, calm as a storm,” You hummed to yourself. You swore the Townhouse sighed in contentment. “Do you like my silly little songs then?” You mused. 
The lights shone a little brighter, crackling the air with a flicker of energy. 
You were singing about Azriel — of course you were — and blushing all the while. He’d been the first to truly speak to you — the first to notice you — and the embrace you’d shared in Rhysand’s office had left you breathless for days. You could still feel the ghost of his breath against your neck as you’d buried your face in the hollow of his throat. The cracked leather beneath your fingers and the short hairs at the base of his skull you’d caressed as lovingly as any flower. It was the first time you’d ever been touched like that. Like you were something worth holding onto. 
When he was gone, the Townhouse felt too empty. You felt too empty. Even now, the edges of your patience frayed like a worn shirt without him. 
You spent the evening’s hours combing through every book you’d managed to lug over from the Library. It was quick, but taxing work as every touch against the weathered binding allowed you to absorb its knowledge without you ever having to lay an eye on the page. 
When the candle flickered dangerously close to your books and the dull throbbing behind your eyes had gone on for too long, you blew out the light and could do no more than curl up on the sofa before falling fast asleep. 
The whispers of shadows woke you. You couldn’t understand the words hidden within their overlapping voices, but their panic and relief were heavy in the air. You could almost taste their meaning on your tongue.
“Y/n,” Azriel moaned. He leaned heavily against the open door, forcing it open against the drag of the carpet. His sword clattered to the ground before his knees. “Y/n,” he called out again, more urgently this time. He prayed to the gods you were home. He’d flown through the night, tattered wings struggling to keep him aloft, to make sure he’d see you again… just in case.
Blood and iron burned your nose and your sleep-swollen eyelids split open. “Az—” Your knee slammed against the coffee table in your struggle to escape the blankets. “AZ!” 
Azriel was always greedy for the sight of you, and that familiar tug in his chest tightened as you rounded the corner and sprinted towards him. You tripped where the hardwood ended and the carpet began, throwing his arm around your shoulder. 
He smiled softly at you. Three months ago, you’d been too afraid to touch anyone. Now here you were half-supporting his weight as he staggered to his feet. He stole a few precious seconds to lean his head into the crook of your neck and breathe in your scent. For a moment, he believed it would be enough to heal him.
“How bad is it?” 
“Three arrows in the right wing, two in the left. Fae bane.” 
“Anywhere else?” You both stumbled down the hallway back from where you’d come. 
“I may have been stabbed a few times.” He offered the piece of information casually, like he was complaining about the price of eggs.
“What’s a few?” Your eyes were wide as the moon. Searching, searching, searching for wounds.
“Ten?” 
Your growl tore through the quiet of the night. 
Your hands were slippery with blood, and Azriel almost slid out of your fingertips as you deposited him against the table. You flung your arms out over the hardwood tabletop sending bottles of ink, pens, and sheafs of papers clattering to the floor before rolling Azriel onto the top and forcing him to lay down.
Under the chandelier, Azriel looked ghastly. The warmth was drained from his skin and the hollows of his eyes and the fullness of his lips were tinged purple from cold. His eyes drifted apart from one another.
“I need you to stay awake.” 
“I will.” His words were slippery as soap on porcelain, syllables sliding into one another as he promised you he would be alright and that he had suffered worse before.  
“Stay awake!” You commanded him and his eyes sharpened ever so slightly on your figure as you tore through the cabinets in the corner. 
Where is it? Where is it? Glass bottles clinked and tottered on rounded bottoms. There! 
You snatched one of the pale green bottles lining the back wall and bit off the cork top with a grimace, spitting it out onto the floor. You could taste the medicine inside coat your teeth with an acrid film. 
“Hey, hey, hey.” You slapped Azriel’s cheeks to keep him awake. “Drink this.” 
Azriel’s lips parted immediately and he accepted every bitter drop you forced down his throat. It wasn’t a cure, but it would help stabilize him long enough for help to arrive. In the time it took for you to call out to Rhys and light the candle that would wake Madja and call her to the Townhouse, Azriel’s cheeks had flushed with some more color. 
The sight did little to ease your worries as you worked on unbuckling the straps of his armor. Piece by piece they fell away with a wet thud on the ground. 
He grabbed your wrist before you could run in search of something to cut off the clothes clinging to him like a second skin. Elain had left gardening shears on the back porch. Perhaps the kitchen had scissors?
“Stay.” He begged. “Please stay.”
“Rhys and Madja will be here soon. I just need to get something to help you.” 
“Then stay.” His grip turned desperate, short nails digging into your forearm. “Stay and help me. Don’t leave me.” 
Azriel might have smiled if he wasn’t in so much pain. His hand slid up the curve of your arm to hold your neck, thumb tracing the line of your jaw. 
“I wanted to see you just in case.” His chest rattled with the effort, “Gods, I missed you.” 
He’d been gone weeks on the Continent, scrounging after every whisper of Koschei’s name as far as the eastern mountains. He’d scavenged and raged. Killed and tortured. And he’d missed you all the while. It was what had possessed him to fly all the way to Velaris, when he would have been better off breaking into the Day Court and throwing himself at the mercy of Helion — your father. 
You felt the tears prick at your eyes, angry and hot. “If you say another fucking word like you’re about to die, I will kill you myself.” You were not prone to violence, and Azriel felt some pride that he could elicit such an emotion from you. 
Luckily for you both, Azriel didn’t get a chance to say anything else, and you didn’t get a chance to murder him before Rhysand, Feyre, Cassian, and Madja were bursting through the front door and following the blood-red trail to the dining room. 
Azriel squeezed your hand once more. “Stay with me.”
“Where else would I go, Az?” You whispered, pressing a quick kiss to the palm of his hand before the others crowded close. 
You stayed at the head of the table, one hand always holding onto Azriel’s. He swallowed his pain, the faintest groans slipping from his lips as arrows were pulled out inch by bloody inch. It was no easy thing to endure, not even for Azriel. Wicked barbs lined the arrow shaft and caught onto the delicate membrane of his wings no matter how Madja twisted, pushed, and pulled. 
One particularly harsh wrench had Azriel crying out, his nails digging into your arm and drawing blood. 
“I’m sorry,” he gasped, feeling your skin break beneath his nails. His skin was tinged green now. A sickly sheen covered his face and fell over his eyes. 
“It’s ok. It’s ok. Just look at me.” You grasped the sides of his face. “Look at me.” 
Once again, Azriel was ready to listen to your commands. His eyes never left yours, not once, until the last of the faebane-tipped arrows dropped onto the table with a menacing ring of metal on wood.
Feyre closed his wounds as best she could, but the flesh inside would take longer to heal. For now all they could do was carefully wipe the blood from his body and carry him up to his bedroom. 
You lingered by Azriel’s side long after he fell asleep, fingers twitching with nerves as you counted every slow and steady breath of his. 
“Y/n.” Feyre gently touched your arm. “He’ll be alright.”
You nodded, still watching Azriel sleep. Then, to your mortification, you burst into tears. Your clothes were drying stiff with sweat and blood — none of it yours — and the red handprints Azriel had left along your arms were turning to copper rust. 
She shushed you, softly tugging at your arms. 
“He-He asked me to stay,” you said between gulps of air. 
“He’d want you to be clean and well-rested, Y/n. Don’t let him wake up feeling guilty.” 
If it weren’t for Feyre, you would have remained glued to the floor of Azriel’s room until you became one of the faces trapped in the wooden floors. You let her lead you across the hall to your own room where she filled the tub with warm water and soap. 
“Shit,” you mumbled. Your fingers shook so much you couldn’t undo the buttons of your dress. Shadows, loose and long as stalks of grass, wound around your back, plucking the buttons undone without a word. 
“He’ll be alright.” Feyre repeated this phrase many times as you scrubbed off the night’s events and turned the water copper brown. The magic of the Townhouse whisked away the grime almost as quickly as it appeared until you sat in a sudsy bath, milky and clean.
“What happened to him, Fey?”
“From what Rhys and I can tell, Koschei had over a dozen archers lying in wait for when he returned to Prythian. We’ve already warned Helion.” 
You nodded. Your head felt heavy on your neck, like a doll with a snapped neck. 
“He nearly died.” Once the words were out in the open, fragile and pure, you broke down again, knees drawn up to your chest in the tub. 
“But he didn’t.” Feyre smoothed back your dripping hair. “It will take more than arrows and faebane for Death to steal him from us, Y/n.” 
Gods you hoped that was true, or else your heart might give out every time Azriel walked out the door. 
You returned to his side the moment you were clothed, hair still dripping onto his gray bed sheets as you leaned forward from your chair and held his hand. He slept on his stomach, wings flared out and peppered with white gauze like a patchwork quilt. Beneath the drape of his blankets you knew more gauze covered his chest and stomach, dotted with blood like blooming roses. 
You didn’t know when you fell asleep, but you awoke to a deep ache in your back and a faint choir of voices in the air. 
Shadows. 
They kissed your cheeks, cool and soft, urging your eyelids open. Azriel was already awake and sitting up in bed with a grimace. One hand clutched his side and a leg hung over the edge of the bed, like he intended to stand. When he saw you, his hazel eyes widened. First in alarm. Then in guilt. 
“Az?” Your voice felt crusted with smoke and sleep and you did what you could to straighten the crook in your neck and your spine from the odd position you’d fallen asleep in. ““You’re not supposed to be sitting up.” Your bones cracked obnoxiously as you moved for the first time in hours, and the guilt in his gaze deepened. 
You pressed lightly against his chest, feeling the gauze scratch your skin, but he did not budge. 
“Az, you need to lay down. What were you even doing up?” 
Azriel’s eyes flickered off to the side. “I was… I was trying to move you to the bed.” 
You swallowed your yawn and blinked in disbelief. “Azriel, you’ve just been shot and stabbed. You need to lay back down.” 
He grabbed your wrists, tugging you forward until you almost collapsed against his chest. “There’s space on the bed. I want you to be comfortable.” 
“The chair is fine, and you are hurt. Now, please—” He did not move. No matter how you reasoned with him. No matter how you tried to shove him back beneath the covers.
“I will lay back down under one condition.” 
You frowned. He was much more stubborn when he was injured. “What condition?” 
“Sleep on the bed. There’s plenty of room.” 
“Az—” 
“Please.” His hands slipped into yours, fingers pressing against the pulse of your wrists. “Y/n, I will be comforted with you beside me.” He held up his finger before you could sleep. “And not in that gods-awful chair. You’ll wake up crooked.”
“I’m not a stalk in a storm,” you grumbled, because it only seemed appropriate that you should fight him on this. Otherwise, you’d have to admit that the thought of melting into his bed set off fireworks in your stomach, exciting and terrifying at the same time. You’d also have to admit the scent of mountain air embedded in every inch of his room brought you comfort. You could lay your head on his pillows and sleep for an eternity. 
I shouldn’t be here. But you let him tug you closer to him. You slid your legs over his waist, calves catching on the waistband of his pants and dragging in a way that had your heart leaping into your stomach until you were safely on the other side of him. 
Azriel’s bed was massive — over 12 feet across to better accommodate the span of his wings. You moved as far away from him as you could without eliciting offense and stared at the window. 
Your muscles clenched as he shifted closer to you, wings rustling against the silk sheets and whispering as he got comfortable. Every time he so much as shifted, your back prickled, as though you had eyes there that shifted to soak up every inch of him. 
He’s hurt and I’m taking up space and—
He reached out his arm and his fingertips brushed against the curve of your back. You stiffened like you’d been struck by lightning. If Azriel were awake, he would have apologized and wrenched back his hand as if burned. But he was fast asleep and the touch was a natural movement he made in his dreams where he was imagining that you were closer to him. So close that he could breathe down your neck and feel you melt beneath his touch. 
You didn’t sleep, as much as the lull of his breathing threatened to sink you into sweet and comforting dreams. The sky was but a lighter shade of black when you were slipping out of bed with barely a whisper. Miraculously, Azriel did not awaken, and his shadows ghosted over the floors drowsily.
You were no stranger to dawn as you padded down to the kitchens. You hummed to yourself, cracking eggs over a well-greased skillet with onions, tomatoes, and peppers tossed in. They bobbed up and down in a sea of yellow like ducks on water. Potatoes browned to your right, their skins crackling and spitting grease as bacon popped and sizzled beside them. 
You ate as you went, plating the final meal for Azriel, who—if you knew anything about him—would be waking shortly after the first rays of sunlight split his shadows in two. 
You slipped back into his room as quietly as you’d left, and then nearly leapt out of your skin to find a dark mass of shadow covering the bed. 
“You’re awake,” you said blankly. 
Azriel propped himself up onto his elbows, back rippling as he forced his stiff and swollen wounds to stretch until he could sit up in bed. 
“Where did you go?” There was but a faint slur to his words. “You weren’t here when I woke up.” 
“I was making breakfast.” You dragged over the ottoman from the foot of his bed as a makeshift table. “Did you brush your teeth already?” Not that it mattered. A sour mouth wouldn’t keep him from a meal if he was hungry. 
The flash of fear in his eyes was so subtle, so brief, that you missed it. 
“I’m not hungry.” 
“Well that doesn’t really matter. Madja said you should eat first thing. Oh!” You plucked a purple glass bottle from his bedside table. “And she said to drink this with a meal.” You pushed it into his hands, reluctant as they were to take the stoppered bottle from you. 
“I can’t imagine eating right now.” He said, shaking his head. His cheeks puffed out and he swallowed hard. “The smell… it’s… I can’t stomach it.” 
You frowned at that. He liked your cooking. It was only due to circumstance that you hadn’t been able to cook for him in months. 
“Can you please try?” you begged. “Just a bite.”
His skin turned pallid and the dark marks beneath his eyes stood out. He picked up a fork with a trembling hand, stuck it into a potato, then dropped it as if it burned. Suddenly, he regretted asking you to stay the night. Guilt ate away at his stomach, twisting it like spaghetti on a fork. 
You sighed in dejection. “I’ll bring it back downstairs.” You said. You began collecting the silverware from where you’d left them by his side. 
“I’m sorry.” He murmured, catching your wrist in his hand. 
You smiled softly. “Try and get some rest.” 
“Will you be back?” His words caught you by the door. 
“You won’t even realize I was gone.” 
He doubted that very much. Still, he settled back in bed, rolling onto his stomach to keep its rumbling at bay. He was quite hungry. 
You closed the door behind you, carrying the untouched plate of eggs and potatoes. Cassian stopped his whistling as he made his way down the hall, a teasing smile playing at his lips until he caught sight of your dejected expression. 
“What’s got our resident Librarian frowning? Did someone misplace a book in the House?” 
You didn’t rise to Cassian’s jests. You cast a sullen glance back at Azriel’s door like it was personally responsible for everything, and shrugged. “He hasn’t eaten since he’s been back and I’m starting to get worried. I read up on Illyrian anatomy weeks ago and he should be fine enough to eat by now.” 
Cassian leaned down, taking a careful sniff of the plate before grabbing hold of a butter and rosemary roasted potato and plucking it in his mouth. It was cold and the butter had hardened into a greasy slick, but it was still good. He told you as much as he walked with you back to the kitchens, stealing slivers of potato as he went.
“It’s nice to know my cooking’s not at fault.” 
Cassian jerked back in surprise and sudden understanding. “You made him that?”
“Yes. I know the House has its own will, but I like to cook. And it still feels strange having food just appear out of nowhere.”  
Cassian fought with all his might to keep the cheeky grin from his face. 
Poor Azriel, forced to go hungry because he was still too much of a sheepish fool to tell you about the mating bond let alone accept it. 
He clicked his tongue. He loved his brother to the grave and back, but Azriel had a horrible habit of getting trapped in his own mind. Cassian had hoped you would help with that, given you suffered similarly. 
“I wouldn’t take it too personally. Azriel’s a picky eater. Always has been.”
That was a complete and utter lie. Growing up in the Illyrian war camps meant you either starved or ate whatever gray-brown mush you could get your hands on. Rhysand and Azriel had been quicker to move on from the rugged Illyrian lifestyle, and Rhysand especially had used his High Lord privileges to cultivate a refined and expensive taste, but if they were hungry and limited they didn’t give two shits what went in their mouths. 
“I didn’t realize you could afford to be picky in a war camp,” You grumbled. You dropped the plate’s contents onto a skillet, patiently waiting for the House to light a toasty fire. There was no need to let good food go to waste.   
You thought over it, some minor irritation settling in that the Shadowinger had rejected the food you’d worked to make. It really didn’t make sense that Azriel would be so particular about food. Or anything for that matter. He’d always struck you as the practical, bare-bones sort, and you knew him well enough now to know that was true. His very job required it of him. But then again you couldn’t remember the last time he’d accepted any food that you’d offer-
You froze. Oh. Oh.
The first night he’d visited your apartment in the Day Court, he’d refused your tea and cakes before leaving abruptly. You’d agonized over that night for months, trying to figure out what you might have done to scare him off. But he’d been so kind and shy afterwards and then the whole matter of Koschei had arose and you’d never given it much thought because he just seemed so familiar and... Oh. OH-
“BASTARD!” You spat out in shock. The skillet dropped to the stove with a sharp cry that had Cassian blinking. He’d never seen you like this. So…agitated.
Had you always been this dull? A year ago you might have been able to blame it on your naïveté, but you weren’t so socially misinformed now and yet this was a bit much. And… oh you couldn’t wrap your head around your own stupidity to even begin to think about a mating bond with…
A mating bond with Azriel. You… you were his mate. He was yours. And you were his. And suddenly the pieces of it were falling into place so quickly you thought you might be crushed beneath the weight. 
Mate.
Even the thought of the word crashed around your mind incessantly, like an anxious dog trying to settle down to sleep. Yet it all made such perfect sense. The way Azriel always found you when you were in danger or grieving. The awful days when Azriel had been away and you’d felt like a piece of your body had been severed. The way that the world felt right when he was beside you. Maybe it was the bond, maybe it was just something born out of love, or maybe they were one and the same. It was impossible to tell but it didn’t change anything.
Mate.
Cassian glanced sideways at you and said cautiously, “We’re both bastards, Y/n. I don’t think that’s much of an insult coming from your mouth.”
Your eyes snapped to his, suddenly remembering that he was in the kitchen with you. You brandished a fork in your hand like a weapon, pointing the pronged end up at him like he was a piece of meat to be skewered. You were shorter than him, but the sharpness in your eyes made him pause.
“You.” Such a simple word, yet it sounded so threatening. “You knew didn’t you?”
Was he sweating? The room felt warm.
“I don’t know what-“ You snatched his wrist and with your magic, you stole the information from him that you needed. It was as easy as plucking a flower from a field. 
Fuck. Cassian groaned at the same time you did. You knew now. Not that you really needed confirmation from Cassian. Still. It was rather embarrassing to learn you were the last of… well everyone to know, even if it was your fault for not noticing the signs. In your defense you had been preoccupied with other matters…
“Stupid, stupid, stupid.” You muttered, heating up the remaining food with a great deal of force before setting down a fresh tray, plate, utensils, and mug of tea on the countertop.
You keep muttering to yourself, your joy disguised by your embarrassment and no small amount of shock. Cassian watched nervously as you prepped the plate. 
You’d no sooner growled, “Move,” before Cassian leapt to the side and you set off out the door and down the hallway back to Azriel’s room.
She knows. One shadow whispered in his ear. Azriel felt his heart skyrocket and his stomach plunge to the cradle of his hip bones. 
She seems… upset.
Upset was a mild word. You were alight with every emotion possible — fury, fear, anxiety, excitement, love — and Azriel struggled to tease them apart. It was like he’d been hit in the chest by a tangle of snakes, each a writhing, living, ever-changing thing. One moment you seemed nervous, the next angry. 
“You.” Your knuckles were pale as they gripped the tray. Sunlight molded to your form like a crown, and it became all the more apparent that you were Helion’s daughter — his bastard daughter, but daughter nevertheless. 
He scrambled into a seated position just in time for you to drop the tray in his lap with a clatter that sent fork and knife skittering over the dish.
You looked down at the tray, then up at his eyes, wide and molten as amber. “You didn’t tell me.” You didn’t need to elaborate any further. 
“I didn’t think—”
“You’re right. You didn’t.” You blinked, suddenly shy. “Did I not make it clear enough that I liked you? That I loved—love you? Or perhaps you don’t… perhaps you don’t want me.” That was a possibility you hadn’t thought of in your excitement to see him again. 
Oh gods, you hadn’t thought of that possibility had you? You’d just aggressively thrown food at him, expecting that he would—
Azriel gripped your chin, forcing you to look at him again. Your cheeks were warm and painted with color. 
“I always worried I was reading into actions that meant nothing to you. But, never think for a moment that I don’t want you.” He smiled then, a shy, secret smile reserved for you. “I’ve wanted you since the moment I laid eyes on you.” 
Now your cheeks were burning, but Azriel did not mind feeling this kind of heat on his hands. He let go of your chin, twirling a fork with his fingers like it was a knife. It was one of his few nervous ticks whose knowledge was reserved for the people he trusted. For the people he loved. 
“Being with me will put you in more danger than you know.” 
“But I expect it will bring me more happiness than I could have ever imagined.” You raised a hand up to his face, twisting away a stubborn curl of hair that fell over his forehead. “And you forget who my father is,” you reminded him. “Maybe it is I who will put you in danger.” 
“Maybe,” Azriel whispered. His breath fanned over your cheeks, soft and sweet. 
You picked up the fork, lifting it up in between you. 
“Eat.” You commanded him. 
Azriel smiled, plucking it from your fingers and stabbing a potato. He sighed. “I never could deny you anything, and I would never want to,” he said, before chewing carefully. Cautiously. 
You blinked in surprise, instinctively taking a step away when you felt something new and warm begin to burn in your chest, like someone had taken a drop of the molten hazel in Azriel’s eyes and dropped it into your heart. 
“Oh.” You breathed. 
“Yes,” Azriel murmured, “An unusual feeling, I know.” He placed the tray beside him and he’d no sooner opened his arms before you’d buried your face in the crook of his neck. You wanted more of that warmth in your chest. You wanted to slip into Azriel's skin as close as possible to his beating heart. To feel the mating bond wrap around you both like a curtain to block out the rest of the world. 
Azriel groaned in pain, but would not let you leave his embrace. No pain had ever been worth so much. 
You forced him to finish eating, even though all he wanted was the taste of you on his lips. “Later,” you promised him. When he was healed and whole there would be more breathless kisses and urgent touches, but for now he had to content himself with eating his meal and drinking his draught. But he would not be denied the press of your skin against his as you slipped beneath the covers and curled up beside him. This time, you fell asleep quickly and your dreams came over you like water. 
2K notes · View notes
submattenthusiast · 4 months ago
Text
caught
Tumblr media
summary - catching matt humping his pillow
pairings; sub!matt x soft-dom! reader (no use of y/n)
contents; smut; male masturbation; mommy kink; etc.
notes- thank y'all for the love on my work, i heart each and every one of you so bad. enjoy!
you didn’t necessarily have a rule against matt touching when you’re not with him, no but he recently figured out he couldn’t cum without you.
he tried so hard to cum, he felt like his dick was going to fall off with how many times he’s jerked himself off, trying to reach that high point. he feels pathetic, absolutely fucking pathetic, he can’t cum without the soothing praises that you whisper, the soft pet names you call him, he needs it, he needs you. 
matt begged you not to leave the house this morning, claiming that the errands could wait and that spending time with him was more important. you reassured him that you would only be a few hours and that he could be the passenger princess if he wanted. 
upon his refusal you headed out, kissing his pouty lips goodbye. 
matt tried to keep himself busy, watching tiktok, youtube, eating, and playing video games– which satisfied him for a split second until he was bored again. he had never felt so clingy in his life, not clingy enough to call or text you though. he had stalked your location just about a thousand times after you left. you were still at the store, not on your way home, not in the driveway.
matt slid down in his gaming chair, you still weren’t home yet and it had been hours. he was pouting, he just wanted to be with you. his mind began to wander, thinking about you, how pretty you were, how much he loved you, how your hands felt wrapped around his cock.
sinful thoughts began to cloud his head, he was practically drooling at memories of your intimate moments. matt winced at the tent growing in his jeans, cock rubbing against his boxers, beginning to feel tight. he closed his eyes, a soft exhale coming from his mouth as he reached down to palm himself.
this was so wrong, is what he kept kelling himself but it felt too good, and you were still nowhere to be found so why not? 
his pleasure was short lasting as lust took over his body, he craved more. his hand was no longer enough for him. he opened his eyes with a groan, agitated that he still couldn’t satisfy himself.
his blue eyes roam around the room, looking for something to satisfy his hunger until they landed on the pillows on his bed, specifically the pillow you sleep on. matt chewed on the skin of his lips, he felt dirty for even considering humping the very pillow you sleep on at night, but it smelt like you and your scent drives him insane.
insane enough to hump this pillow for some relief.
matt sauntered over towards your side of the bed, reaching for your pillow, catching a whiff of your natural scent. he let out a whine before positioning it properly. he nervously sat next to the pillow, he’s never done anything like this before, he was feeling awkward. he adjusted his cock in his jeans, they were getting unbearably tight. that was the final push he needed.
he was driven to please himself that he forgot to check your location, to make sure you wouldn’t catch him in such a vulnerable position. you had stopped for gas quickly before heading home.
matt was kneeling on the bed now, plush pillow brushing against his crotch. he started easy, not wanting to cum so quickly, he was flustered enough by his actions. he wanted to draw this out  as long as possible, so he kept his jeans on, gaining as much friction as possible.
faint moans and whimpers bounced off the walls of the room, the wood of his headboard squeaked as he moved his hips frantically against the pillow.
the sound of the garage rang throughout the house, you were finally home. matt was blissfully unaware of your presence.
“matt?” you called out, and was met with silence. it was creepy, not to mention all the lights were out. the only time the house was quiet like this was when you both were asleep. you shrugged it off and stepped out of your shoes and made your way upstairs. 
his name was on the tip of your tongue until you heard them, the sound of moans and whines coming from your shared bedroom. you stopped on the top of the stairs, unsure of what to think, mind going to the worst case scenario.
you tiptoed to the door, calmly twisting the knob. you were met with a mouthwatering sight, matt grinding hungrily into one of his various pillows, mouth ajar, pleas of desperation falling out. his hair was a mess, shirt pulled up just enough to show his happy trail, jeans unbuckled but not fully off.
you were about to make your presence known until a particularly loud moan came from him. “fuck mommy it hurts please” he moaned. he paused his thrusts momentarily to shuffle his jeans down to his ankles, not bothering to remove them fully. 
he froze as he saw the door open, he swore it was closed before. he stood in his boxers unable to move as he turned his head to the door. you stood in the door frame, smile on your face as you greeted him “hi honey, missed me?”. his face burned red, he can’t believe you caught him with his pants down, literally. you treaded into the room, shutting the door behind you. 
“i-i can explain–” he stuttered out “just missed you so much and i got horny-” he babbled. “are you close?” you questioned, debating on what to do with the boy. “y-yes are you mad– i’ll stop” he anxiously spoke, breaking eye contact. 
you stepped further into the room, walking towards the opposite side of the bed. matt’s curious eyes followed you, watching your every move. you perched up against the headboard, as if you were going to watch tv. you patted the spot where he previously was, he was still frozen, hesitant to move. 
“you’re going to cum from humping that pillow sweetheart, then if you’re good i’ll take care of you” you explained to the boy who was visibly confused. “y-yes mommy i’ll be your good boy i promise” he said while climbing back onto the bed. 
matt leaned down into the bed as he gained his rhythm back, hips thrusting into the pillow hurridly. “there you go, just like that” you praised, your thighs clenched together as you watched him, fucking into the bed like he does you.
his cock spasmed in his briefs and the coil in his stomach threatened to snap. “mommy close fuck– please need to cum” matt sobbed. his hips never slowed, chasing the orgasm that he’s been craving for hours. 
“ah please mama i can’t hold it please fuck” he pleaded. “cum for mama” you hummed.
his eyes rolled back into his head as he came, his hips stuttered and his jaw went slack. high pitched moans decorated the room.
white stripes of cum filled his boxers, leaking out from the side. he rode out his high, exhausted from all the effort he put in.
“thank you mommy fuck i needed that” he sighed,flopping onto the bed next to you. you giggled at his silly motions, before caressing his hair.
“you did all the work sweet boy, i’m proud of you” you warmly said. matt blushed at your words.  “but now mommy needs help too” you whined. matt jumped up “i can help, i’ll do whatever, please let me make you feel good” he begged. “whatever?, gonna fuck me like that pillow?” you teased, working him up again.
notes - this is really bad but i wanted to put something out. not proofread
taglist; @mattybsgroupie @frnkocnlvr @fratboychrisera @issysh3ll @zariyam @bellassturniolo @thepubeburgler @gwennybenny @matts-myloverboy
1K notes · View notes
rodolfoparras · 4 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
And for you, I keep my legs apart (and forget about my tainted heart)
Pairing: Unspecified Male character x Male Reader
cw: 18+, age gap, (older man x younger male reader), anal fingering, riding, subtop male reader, dombot male character, size kink
Thinking about an old man going for a guy like you who definitely isn’t his type, with your scrawny frame, short height that barley reaches eye level on him, and with a meek presence that couldn’t even scare away a stray cat if you desperately tried to do so.
Yet you’ve somehow managed to gather the courage to buy someone like him- a man that could probably be your father or something, a drink. At least that’s what he thinks you’re doing. It’s hard to tell when you’re talking so much - well nervously rambling that is, about the interior choices made for the dingy bar and the nutritious value of their menu (fuck who cares?)
But he listens to you anyway while his eyes trail along your lanky frame, eyeing your every little reaction to him (What ? He’s bored and he has no interest in the mind numbing football game playing on the television nor the group of rowdy men who look like they’re on a mission to drink themselves to an early death)
So he watches; watches how you jump when your fingers accidentally brush, watches how you avoid eye contract when he leans in close to your ear to ask you something, watches how you stumble over your words when he laughs or smiles at something you said.
At some point he watches you start squirming around in your seat and that’s when he notices the outline of your boner showing through your ill fitting jeans (Jesus Christ, this is what you’ve been hiding kid?) Despite being in a dimly lit bar he can tell you’ve opted out of wearing briefs, cockhead firmly pushing against your jeans and casting a dark spot that’s probably the reason as to why you’re squirming around in your seat
Now it’s his turn to jump as your knees knock together, gaze avoiding yours because how is he supposed to look you in the eyes when he’d been shamelessly staring at your crotch? and now he’s the one who can’t get through a sentence without stumbling over his words because all he can think about is all the ways he could cum with the help of your cock.
It doesn’t take much before he’s inviting you back to his house.
For a moment you look surprised by the invite, probably haven’t expected that and truth be told he’s surprised himself since he usually isn’t one for one night stands and if he were to do one it would be in a cheap motel not in such an intimate space like his place. But something about you has him acting like a horny teenager who’d just seen their first pair of tits.
You’re quick to accept the offer though, even thanking him for inviting you into his home (such a strange thing to do but somehow he can’t help but be endeared by the gesture)
Well at his place you continue your nervous blabbering, talking about his choice of decor or lack there of (fuck you love to talk don’t you?) while he continues thinking about all the ways he’s going to cum tonight.
Eventually he leans in for a kiss, swiftly cutting off your blabbering, tongue slipping past your lips to and tasting the sweet drink you’d been sipping.
A breathy sigh escapes your lips, hips bucking against his and he can’t help but notice the way your hard cock is firmly pressing against him.
“Christ, take this off kid,” he breathes against your lips and tugs at the belt you’re wearing, watches in amusement as you practically yank it off of your body along with the pair of pants you’re wearing.
Once you’ve complety stripped down he can finally see what he’d been eyeing all night and yeah he was right, you’re big, bigger than anyone he’s taken before, cock girthy and curving past your belly button, with an angry vein protruding to the side and a heavy set of balls hanging between your thighs.
And in that very moment he can’t help but thank everything under the sun for having decided to wear a plug to the bar, hole twitching in anticipation at the thought of all the ways he’s going to be skewed onto your cock.
Just as he’s about to tug his own shirt off, you go to speak before swiftly halting yourself.
“What? You’re not about to tell me you’re a virgin are you?” He says, in a joking tone something that quickly fades into something more serious as you continue to stand there staring at him without saying a word.
Suddenly he feels like he’s been splashed with a bucket of ice cold water and the first thing on his mind is to tell you take your clothes and get out because he’s not fucking a virgin tonight, that’s for damn sure. However just as he’s about to utter those words you manage to splutter out a response.
“Nonono I’m not but-,” you try to say, hand aimlessly flailing in the air before you continue speaking . “…I just I- won’t last long.”
That’s when he laughs, a long hearty laugh, that has his head tipping back, hand clutching onto his stomach and he knows he should feel bad for laughing so much but he just hadnt expected those words to come out your mouth
When he finally manages to gather himself you’re looking absolutely flustered, hands fisting your clothes and looking like you’re about to sprint out of here and he can’t help but want to take you out of your miserry
“don’t worry about it kid, just sit down for me yeah?”He says, nods his head over to his worn out blue couch: the one he usually sits in to drink his morning tea, the one he usually falls asleep in while watching reruns of some forgotten tv series , the one that is now adorned with a pretty boy with sugary sweet lips, cock hard and weeping between your legs, just patiently waiting for someone like him to come sit on it.
The thought itself is enough to kick him into gear and as he proceeds to strip the clothes off him he can’t help but notice the way your gaze follows him closely, an observation that stirs something foreign inside of him
It’s been a while since someone looked at him like this -like really looked at him, not with pity in their eyes because they know death’s patiently waiting at his side but with pure hunger, as you trail your gaze over every mark, every scar, every inch of skin he uncovers as he slowly takes his clothes off.
He can only take so much before he feels compelled to speak “Easy there, if you continue on like this you’ll finish before we get to do anything “
That seems enough to snap you out of your trance, looking absolutely flustered and once again he can’t help but be endeared by you (Christ, he really needs to get get it together)
“Still sure about this?” he says, and busies himself with rummaging around for the lube and condom he keeps in a drawer.
He only gets a meek hum in response and when he turns his head to look at you he sees your gaze focused on his lower half, probably eyeing the plug he’s got on.
The realization has his hole twitching in anticipation before he’s walking over to you with lube and a condom.
“Seriously has anyone ever told you it’s rude to stare?” He asks with a small smile on his face.
“‘M sorry-“ you begin to say before he leans down and cuts you off with a kiss, even hears a moan of his own escaping his own lips. He’s kissed many men before, that’s for sure. Some kisses had been snuck in dark bars others have been done in a drunken haze while in cheap motels.
But they’ve never felt like this- hungry, frantic almost leaving him weak at the knees as you thrust your tongue into him, sharp teeth nipping at tender skin , and hands wandering all over his body as if you can’t get enough of him.
It takes everything in him to break the kiss , and he hears a sound of protest escapes your lips, hand desperately clawing at his hips to pull him back in.
“that’s enough,” he says voice all firm but there’s nothing but warmth in his gaze as he peers down at you . “Got to save some of the fun remember ? Gonna let this old man ride your cock?”
“Yes yes yes please I’ll do anything just please-” you cry out, practically choking up on your words, while keeping a vice like grip on him.
“Shh easy there” he says, and gently nudges you back into the chair, before swiftly pulling the plug out of him.
A gasp escapes his lips as the cold air blows on sensitive skin, hungry hole now clenching around nothing. “Christ!”
Despite the strong desire to jump your bones- especially with the way you’re looking at him right now, he knows that he isn’t stretched enough for your cock.
So he tosses the condom your way before he opens the cap to the lube bottle and pours the content into his hand, fingers making quick work of warming it up for him.
It doesn’t take much before he’s got his slick finger pressed up against his rim, pushing it inside without much resistance as a soft exhale escapes his lips “you’re - ah you’re so big kid, can’t ah can’t take you like this”
He only hears a strangled sound escape your mouth as the words roll off of his tongue, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he works a second finger inside.
“Fuck me,” he breathes out, head tipping back, as waves of pleasure start running down his spine, all while you closely watch him the entire time.
And as a third finger joins into the mix he turns his eyes to look at you, noticing the way you’re looking at him all teary eyed, poor neglected cock weeping against your stomach and his voice is all hoarse as he says the words “you can touch yourself son it’s alright ”
You don’t waste a second wrapping a hand around your dick, erratically stroking from rot to tip as you keep your eyes glued to him. “Ah fuck! Feels - feels so good sir please ! Need- ah fuck need to fuck you please sir please”
“God you should see yourself kid, so pretty like this, so eager for an old man like me,” he breathes out, continues moving his fingers in and out, almost matching the pace of your own hand.
He wonders if this is how it would feel being speared onto your dick, fat cockhead nudging against his prostate with every thrust of your hips, his hungry hole taking your size as if it were nothing.
“Sir- going to cum please-“ he hears you cry out and the sound of your words snap him back into the present moment.
“Stop,”
A strangled sob escapes your lips, almost reluctant to pull your hand away from your dick but obedient as you are you listen to him.
Atta boy
He walks over to you on shaky legs, hand cupping your teary soaked face, slick thumb brushing over your cheek as he says “Want you to cum inside me, that alright with ya?”
You furiously nod your head in response looking so ridiculous he can’t help but chuckle before he turns around for you.
And as he stands there caged between your legs he can’t help but notice the warmth radiating from your skin, the smell of your cologne that’s biting at his nostrils, and the sweet sounds you’ve been making all night that are now trickling straight into his ear.
It’s only then he realizes how very real this is and how this isn’t just another dream his lonely mind had conjured up for him.
“Go easy on me alright? Been a while since I did this with someone,” he says, feels your cockhead circling his entrance before you slowly push inside of him.
“Jesus Christ!” He says through gritted teeth, face scrunching up, and nails clamping onto the couch as his body gets accustomed to the feeling of being stretched around your dick.
“Is this ah- is this alright sir?” You say, under a shaky breath, body quaking as you continue to sink inside of him.
“Going to tear me in half kid” he barks out, as the burn persist. Every nerve in his body is practically screaming as you continue to push your way inside of him but despite all of that there’s a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
Eventually he gets used to the stretch, the burning sensation dulling a bit as his body starts to relax “Fuck just like that, going to make me feel so good aren’t you?” He murmurs out, hands loosening their grip on the couch as he shuffles around to get more comfortable.
“Yes yes yes please want to be good for you god please I need-“ you slur out, and he feels your body violently shaking beneath him.
“Shhh easy there,” he coos out, voice a bit wobbly as you finally bottom out.
He makes a point to ignore the way you’re buried so deep he can feel your ballsack kissing his ass, and can practically taste you at the back of his mouth, just so he can help you out “Breathe in for me yeah?”
Without fail you do as he says “now breathe out for me okay?” Just like before you do as he says, body now much less tense and head relaxing in the crook of his neck.
He gives you a couple of moments to catch your breath before he slowly raises his hips and pushes them back down again. “Oh- oh mpfh fuck!”
“Go-god- so- so good sir” he hears you cry out as his hungry hole continues to swallow your cock.
And fuck if he doesn’t agree, feels as if the breath has been punched out of him with every thrust of his hips, knees already screaming in protest but being way too addicted to the feeling of your cockhead continuously jabbing at his prostate.
“Mhp! Feels so good kid, think- ah think I can feel you here” he grunts out, hand blindly searching for your own before placing it on the slick skin of his stomach. “Feel it,”
“Ah fuck! Sir please please want to make you feel good please!” You sob into his neck, unable to do anything but take it as he bounces on your dick.
“But you are,” he says, makes sure to puncture every word with a thrust of his hips “going to make me cum just like this,” and he really means it, doesn’t need a warm palm around his dick with the way heat’s already coiling in the pit of his stomach.
“Going to cum too,” you whine out, hips now meeting his thrust which catches him off guard.
“Fuck! Just like that, keep going,” he says through gritted teeth, the fire in his abdomen growing stronger and overtaking everything in his body as you continue to slam into him.
“Think I’m gonna” you splutter out, hips stuttering.
“Yeah you gonna come inside this old man? Come on then want to feel you,” he manages to say, as the world around him starts to blur out, ears ringing loud and before he knows of it you’re cumming , a loud moan tumbling past your mouth as you clutch onto him for dear life.
It doesn’t take much before he too reaches his orgasm.
“Ah fuck!” He cries out, body quaking in your lap as hot white ropes of cum spurt onto his stomach.
For a moment there are no words exchanged as the two of you take the opportunity to catch your breath but when you finally decide to speak the first thing you say is “so how about round two?”
His eyes widen in surprise before he bursts into laughter “you’re going to kill me you know that kid?”
2K notes · View notes
subbmissivesuccubus · 6 months ago
Text
Rut
Summary: The Hero is in heat thanks to his quirk and you, being a good wife, decide to help him through it. Unfortunately for you, you severely underestimated just how difficult ‘helping’ him would be.
A/N: Another Patreon request! I don't watch MHA but I always loved Hawks design so this was fun to write!
Disclaimer : Hawks X Fem reader. Overstimulation. Marathon sex. Rut.
Tumblr media
“Baby- baby wait- fuck- don’t come closer!”
You froze, your hand stilled on the doorknob, about to open said door before you heard your husband call out to you from behind it.
“Keigo, what’s wrong?” you asked, listening to his wishes for the moment, “Did something happen? Are you hurt?!”
You felt your heartbeat fasten a bit, your mind conjuring up a multitude of scenarios. Being a Hero was no joke and you couldn’t count the many nights where you sat glued to the TV, heart pounding as you wondered if your husband was coming home that night alive.
“I- I’m fine baby. I’m not hurt.” He called out, making you sigh with relief, “but really- I can’t explain it but- I- I need to be alone.”
“Keigo, I love you and I would never do anything to make you uncomfortable.” You said, “but I am not leaving until I see you and make sure you’re ok for myself. I’m opening the door!”
“No- wai-“
But before he could get the word out, you pulled the handle and pushed the door open, eyes widening as you walked into…uh…
A huge mess of a room. The sheets were all pulled out and thrown around, the pillows were ripped up with feathers all over the bed. Your closet doors were thrown open and your clothes were all taken out, including your undergarments. On the bed, in the middle of all of the mess, was your husband, seemingly buried under a giant pile of your clothes. His usually styled hair was all over the place, adding onto the crazed look in his eyes and the flushed face. He was sweating profusely, hair matted onto his forehead, his eyebrows furrowed with an expression on his face that looked like he was in pain. His wings were wrapped around himself, feather shivering underneath the clothes.
“Fuck…” he cursed as he saw you, tossing his head back against the pillow made of your clothes.
“…What’s going on?” you asked, truly confused. You husband groaned loudly from under his cocoon, burying his head farther down the pile until you couldn’t even see him anymore, just his wings.
“…I’m in a rut.” He finally said, his voice muffled.
“What was that?”
“A. Rut.” He repeated louder.
“You mean…like…” you said, having heard the phrase before, “Like mating season?”
Hawks growled even louder, “Yes- fuck- my body is on overdrive and my dick is constantly hard. It sucks! I tried to calm myself down by jerking off and nesting with your clothes but- fuck me- it isn’t working.”
“So that’s what this is…” you said, at least getting an answer about the mess, “I’ve never seen you like this before. Is this the first time it’s happening?”
“…No. It happens every year.”
“What?! How have I never noticed it?”
“Because…I send you away. I buy you vacations to g-get you out of the house. S-Speaking of which- why are you back so early?! Your trip should have ended n-next week!”
“My dad fell sick so we had to cut things short.” You explained, wondering why you never questioned Keigo’s generosity in sending you on trips during the same time every year, “I can’t believe you kept this from me!”
“I’m sorry baby but-“ he hissed as his body shivered for no reason, “The rut can be…a lot to handle. My body just wants to fuck and fuck and fuck until my bones give out! It’s not pretty…”
“Then why do you not want me here?” you asked, still keeping your distance as you didn’t want to overwhelm your man, “I could help!”
That finally got him to push his head out of his wings enough for him to give you a look that said ‘you can’t be serious’. “Baby- you pass out after three rounds. There’s no way you can handle me when I’m like this.”
You gasped, an offended hand on your chest, “That’s not true- I mean- yes maybe- but my husband is in pain! What kind of wife would I be if I didn’t even try?”
Before he could even say anything, you grabbed your coat and shrugged it off of you, making him gasp as the fabric fell to the ground. You were just about to pull your dress off when Keigo broke out of his cocoon and surged forward so fast you could barely process it. He gripped you by the collar and pulled you towards him, the man still kneeling on the bed but even so, his face was in line with yours.
“You really- really don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.” He growled, looking more animalistic than you’ve ever seen him. You gulped as you felt his hot breath fan your face, the look in his eyes making you shiver. You sex life was perfectly fine and quite satisfying but even through your years long relationship, you’d never seen him have this look- this ferocity- this…desperation in his eyes.
You felt your pussy quiver already, Keigo hissing as he saw your pupils dilate.
“I’m serious!” he said, grunting as he could smell the heat off of you, trying his best to not jump you and rip your clothes off, “This won’t be normal. I’ll go round after round- constantly fucking you and cumming inside you- You can beg me to stop but once I start- there’s no stopping.”
You gulped, hands going back to your dress to start unravelling it.
“Baby- take this seriously!” Keigo snapped, frustrated, “I know you think it’s all fun and games but- but-“
His thought trailed off as you managed to push your dress off of your shoulders, the fabric falling in a heap on the floor, leaving you clad in your underwear.
“…Fuck it.”
You squealed as your husband grabbed you by the hips, picking you up enough to turn around and throw you onto the bed, making you crash into your pile of clothing. You licked your lips as he all but pounced on you, the man making work of his pants as he pressed his lips against your, stealing your breath away.
This was going to be a long night~
~~~~~
Slurp “Ah baby-“ Mwah schuck shuck “Just like that- fuck me- keep pumping that cock- mmmph~”
You gasped as Keigo latched onto your nipple mercilessly, suckling on you like a baby as he lied down on the bed, torso supported on your lap, wings and all. Your left hand pumped his hard member as he suckled on you, pre-cum dripping down it like a faucet, making his dick so slick- it was like you had lathered it with lube.
His cock was hot and needy, the tip so red you wondered if it hurt. He was panting against you like a dog in heat- but it was rather a bird in heat. Your nipple was slick with saliva, drool dripping down the curve of your tit. He was sucking on your sensitive bud so hard it took your breath away, you bare pussy gushing at his moans.
Both of you were stark naked, clothes tossed all over the place and in definite need of a wash once this was over. Your spine shivered as Keigo moaned against your nipple, biting down on it gently when your hand paid special attention to the tip of his cock.
“Babe- fuck- gonna cum!”
“Wh- already?” you asked, surprised. It wasn’t even five minutes since you got your hands on him. He groaned in frustration against you, giving your nipple another bite before he simply snuggled his face between your tits, sighing happily as he felt the weight of them against him.
“I’ll cum fast but- mmph- I’ll cum a lot- oh fuck- yes- yes- cumming- cumming!”
With a shout, Hawks arched his back as he climaxed, making you gasp as ropes and ropes of cum shot out of his tip. Your eyes widened at the amount, a seemingly never-ending stream of white ejaculated out of his cock and onto your hands, coating your fingers. Some of his cum spurt out with such force it stained his chest and a bit of his chin. He moaned loudly- shamelessly as he shivered from the pleasure, his balls throbbing from each pump of his cum.
Eventually, he relaxed a bit, taking in deep breaths as he snuggled his face harder against your breasts, a happy grin on his face. You blinked as you pulled you hand away from his cock, gulping at the sheer amount of cum on your fingers. Your whole hand was covered, webs of cum created as your spread your fingers apart. It looked like twice- maybe even thrice the amount of semen your husband would usually let out when he came.
“…The tissues are in the bedside drawer.” Keigo said, smirking at your shocked expression and getting off of you long enough for you to get the box of tissues and wipe your hand clean.
“Let’s go again.” He demanded, his hand groping at his still hard cock, looking at you like you were her prey, “I want to taste that pussy.”
~~~~~
“Ah- Ah- fuck- honey- right there!”
Hawks moaned against you, shaking his head from left to right, tongue dragging across every inch of your sopping cunt, “Here? Yeah?”
He gulped down your juices like he was a man dying of thirst, his hand in between his legs as he jerked off. Suckling on your nipples and getting a handjob was amazing- but he could never deny himself the pleasure of lapping at your cunt while he touched himself. It was one of his favourite hobbies.
“God- I love this pussy- love this pussssy so much~” he groaned, eyes rolling to the back of his head as he sealed his slick lips around your clit and gave it a toe-curling suck, your cries tuned out over the sound of him slobbering all over you. It was messy and sloppy but oh so good! You arched your back, your hands tangled in his hair and you wondered if you wanted to push him away or pull him in even more. The sloppy sound of him sucking you up and drinking your juices made your face turn so red, it reached your ears, the noises and moans leaving your mans mouth making your heart rate increase.
Was he in heat or was it you?
Keigo stuck his tongue out lewdly and started flicking at your clit, pumping his cock in time with every movement, your little bud at his mercy. His feathers shook with the force of his hand, the man moaning against your clit and making your ears ring from the sensation. He once again opened his mouth wide before he took your whole pussy in his mouth, making out with her like he does with you.
“Keigoooo- oh God- s-slow down!” you whined, trembling underneath his merciless actions. He shook his head no against you, once again dragging his tongue all over you. He sucked your pussy lips into his mouth for a second before he said:
“No stopping. No slowing down. Now- cum in my mouth.”
~~~~~
“Fuuuck!” Keigo gasped as he couldn’t control his hips as he started pumping into your mouth, “Take it- take it- take my fucking cock!”
You gagged around your husband’s member, his dick pumping in and out of your throat, fucking it like it was your cunt. Having you lying on your back with your head leaning over the edge, you felt his balls clap against your forehead as Keigo fucked into your face, blood rushing to your head. The position gave you no choice but to take it- saliva and spittle leaving your mouth and dripping upwards. Your pussy quivered from the ghost of your orgasm, the sensation of his tongue on your slit still lingering and the warmth of the semen he splashed over your cunt making you tingle. You were stained with copious amounts of his seed, his second orgasm just as explosive as the first one and your whole pussy was covered in white.
It was only a matter of time before it was pumped inside.
Gawk Gawk gawk- hah- slurp- slurp- gawk
“Fuck baby- I can see my cock- fuuuck- imprint on your throat! It’s so hot!”
You could only imagine the view. Your tits bouncing up and down with the force of his thrusting- your neck stretched to accommodate the position which made it more evident when the bulge of his member showed up. He hissed as his hands went to your chest, squeezing your jugs and using them as leverage to pump faster against you.
“Y-You ok baby?” he asked, mind dizzy from the pleasure, surprised that he was still able to string sentenced together, “You can take it- ah- right?”
You gurgled around his cock, the vibrations making his knees buckle as he picked up the pace. Drool coated his balls, his sack slapping against your face harder as he mercilessly pumped into you, chasing his pleasure. You squealed as he suddenly pushed himself as deep as he could go and stayed there, your nose pressing against his nuts as his hands left your tits to instead reach for your legs. Your back arched off the bed, eyes watering as his cock was pushed impossibly deep, your fingers gripping the sheets below you tightly as he spread your knees apart, baring him your cum stained pussy. You squealed, eyes rolling to the back of your head as his hand slipped between your legs, fingers gliding between your pussy lips as he sought out your dripping hole.
“Ah- fuck baby- let me- mmmph- stretch this cunt out for my cock~”
~~~~~
Plap plap plap plap plap
  Your fingers dug into the skin of Keigos back- well- as much as you could considering the wings sprouting from his back. Said wings were slightly flapping, almost helping him thrust into your cunt with as much force as possible. Legs wrapped around his waist, your moans were swallowed by his tongue down your throat, your husbands’ eyes open and drinking in your fucked out expression even as he pounded you.
His balls clapped against your ass as his fat, throbbing cock pumped in and out of you, the drag of his veiny member against the ribbed texture of your cunt making both of you groan from the pleasure. You gasped as you broke the kiss, turning you head away so you could get a second to catch your breath. You felt him licking your skin to occupy his mouth, grateful that he was giving you a moment to collect yourself even as his tongue dragged over your cheek and upto your ear. You shivered as he ran his tongue along your ear before sticking it inside, the sensation making your whole body shudder.
After swallowing his cum (to the best of your abilities) and cumming around his fingers, Keigo didn’t give you even a second before he changed positions, spreading your legs so he could slide his cock inside your poor, sensitive pussy. His hips moved like a machine, rutting into you like it was the last thing he’d do. You gasped as the curve of his cock constantly hit your special spot each time he thrust in, your eyes rolling to the back of your head at the sensation.
…maybe you did bite off more than you could chew.
~~~~~
“Haa-aa-aawks!” you called out, voice jumping from the force of his thrusting. He simply grunted in response; his cock somehow still rock hard as he took you from behind. The cum he had dumped into your pussy was leaking out and staining the sheets, but he didn’t really care. He was going to pump another load into you afterall.
“B-Break- fuck- I need a b-break!” you pleaded, ass clapping back against his hips, his mouth watering at the ripple of your plush skin.
“No way.” He growled, raising a hand and smacking your ass cheek, loving your squeal as he left a handprint behind, “I warned you. We’re not fucking stopping!”
Your hands couldn’t hold you up anymore, elbows giving in as your torso fell to the mattress, leaving you face down, ass up. You panted against the pillow as the position somehow drove his cock deeper inside you, his cum staining your thighs and his balls. His cock was practically covered in white, Keigo churning up the semen inside of you and it was so filthy, it made your head spin.
“Fuck- gonna cum baby!” he cried out as he felt his balls tighten, the familiar sensation of an oncoming orgasm making his body tingle, “Pump this pussy with my seed- let’s get you pregnant, ok?”
You simply moaned against the pillow; your noises muffled by the fabric as tears left your eyes. Your eyes widened and you shrieked as Keigo leaned over you and slid his hand down to your cunt, his fingers easily finding your clit.
“Ah- ah- Kei- fuck!” you panted against the pillow, your body going into overdrive as he started swiping at your sensitive, swollen bud, “too much- too- ah- fuck!”
The two of you climaxed simultaneously, the familiar sensation of your husband pumping copious amounts of cum inside you pushed you to your orgasm, your pussy squirting and spraying liquid all over the mattress.
You collapsed flat on the bed, eyes rolled to the back of your head as your pussy throbbed, Keigos’ cum seeping out of you like a flood. You didn’t need to look back to know he was still hard and ready to go again.
“…Spread your legs. I need to eat out your asshole.”
“Wh- Keigo- eep!”
You squealed as the man gripped onto your ass cheeks before spreading them apart, exposing your puckered rim to him before he surged forward, planting his face right between your cheeks. You babbled at he started greedily lapping at your hole, shamelessly moaning as he tasted you. You shrieked, body once again getting overstimulated as his ran his tongue over your rim. The two of you dabbled in a bit of anal over the years but never in such a…desperate manner.
He smacked your ass before he shook his head between your cheeks, motorboating you butt as he played with you like a toy, his cock hard and leaking between his legs.
You tried to remember where you kept the lube.
~~~~~
The sun was up.
Fuck.
The sun was rising.
And you two were still having sex.
Well, Hawks was. You passed out during the middle of things and you had given him permission to use you even after you blacked out. Your body really couldn’t take any more orgasms and it shut down at some point.
You awoke with a start, several sensations hitting you all at once, making your head spin. You were lying on top of Keigo, your head nestled against his neck as he pumped his hips up and into you. You gasped as you felt the burn of his cock in your ass, his thick member stretching out your barely used hole. The glide was significantly easier than the first time he fucked your ass tonight thanks to all the cum lubing you up.
“L-Last one baby!” Keigo panted, somehow looking stunning even through the many hours of sex and orgasms, “Ready? Yeah? Want my cum?”
“H-Hurry up…” you groaned, your body still weak and tingly from when you passed out. You had lost count of the number of times you came as well as the number of times Keigo came. You stopped counting after six. Your body was fucked within an inch of its life and you had no more energy and so, you simply lied on top of him like a ragdoll, panting against his neck as he embraced you tightly. His hips bucked up into you, his thighs flexing deliciously as he chased his pleasure.
“Cumming- fuck- cumming!!”
With a final shout, his head tossing back and eyes rolling to the back of his head, Hawks came one more time. You mewled as his seed filled you up but you noted that it was significantly less that what you had endured all night. You felt his chest deflate, like a load was taken off of his shoulders (and his balls), the man finally relaxing.
“Fuuuck…” he said, gently pulling his cock out of you and thankfully, he was now soft, “That was…insane…”.
You nodded against him, grimacing as you finally got a second to note the condition of your body, i.e. covered in sweat and cum and stuffed full of semen that was continuously leaking out of you.
“Y-You ok baby?��� Keigo asked and you couldn’t help but smile. He was clearly trying to fight sleep, his rut having left him and rendering him exhausted yet satisfied, no longer tormented by the heat.
“I’ll be ok.” You said, kissing his neck, “…But no sex for a month. I think I almost died.”
You felt his chuckle rumble in his chest, “I warned you, baby bird.”
“Mmmm. You did.”
“Speaking of baby, you’re probably knocked up, right?”
“…Probably.”
“…Nice.”
1K notes · View notes
wordsinhaled · 14 days ago
Text
thinking of a scenario where when charles was little, his mum used to take care of his injuries and do the kissing-it-better thing, until he got older and his dad got wise to that and she couldn’t anymore. but it’s just something tiny that charles associates with comfort.
and so the first time, early on in the agency, that edwin gets badly hurt on a case and charles is patching him up, he leans in and presses a little kiss to the mostly-bandaged spot. it’s just the whole case gave him a scare, because he hadn’t seen edwin hurt bad before, and he’s just getting used to the fact that edwin’s his person, his to keep safe and he didn’t manage that this time, and in his distress he doesn’t even think twice.
edwin stiffens, and charles realizes he just kissed his best mate’s arm, and that’s not the sort of thing you do, is it, and maybe that’s really the sort of thing that’s going to get him knocked in the jaw. only edwin is just looking at him with curiosity, and edwin isn’t the sort of bloke who knocks people in the jaw but he is the type who could leave, could leave charles behind and... and now charles’s face is burning.
“sorry,” he chokes out, finishing the bandage hurriedly. “um, it’s just—something my mum used to do, y’know, kissing it better. when… um. when i’d get hurt as a kid, yeah? used to make me feel proper better, more than the plasters and all that. i know it’s silly, i didn’t think—”
“i did not mind it,” says edwin—who had never had any injury of his kissed better in his short life, and certainly not any of the damage he sustained over 73 years in hell.
“oh,” says charles. “that’s good, then.”
the next time edwin’s hurt it’s a significantly smaller injury, a really minor iron burn that’s already starting to look better even as charles applies the salve. he bandages it up anyway, though. but he’s surprised when edwin stays where he is once charles is done, still expectantly holding out his injured hand, not pulling away, as he usually does. and then he realizes that edwin is waiting for charles to kiss it better. and so he does—hesitant the whole time, in case he read edwin all wrong, up until edwin finally pulls his hand back seeming satisfied somehow, like charles has fulfilled some unspoken half of a bargain.
and that was twenty-some years ago. by now it’s just ingrained that every time charles tends to an injury of edwin’s, even one as minor as a paper cut from a page in edwin’s notebook, he kisses it better. edwin won’t move away until he does.
after edwin’s confession, things change. charles starts to notice that he feels a bit fluttery, the first time after hell that he leans in to press his lips to edwin’s scraped shoulder through a layer of bandage and the fabric of his shirt. and he tries to think nothing of it, only that then his mouth doesn’t connect with anything; because edwin has moved away, moved out of his reach, neatly risen out of the way of charles’s kiss so that he hovers, lips parted against empty air, feeling off-kilter and confused, something like hurt churning through him.
edwin had said he wanted nothing to change between them, and here edwin goes changing things himself. of course that hurts. but why does it hurt so much? and what was that fluttery feeling? and why can’t charles stop thinking about it?
655 notes · View notes
sukunas-wife · 8 months ago
Note
What about Y/N and reader having a little baby girl. Sukuna was disappointed at first because he wanted another boy. But she becomes so attached to her papa since she was a baby. Like she sees cuts on his hands (she doesn’t realize he can use RCT yet) and tries to treat his wounds 🥺🫶🏽
~🪽
I though tumblr ate your ask when I scrolled 5 times and could find it and I panicked so hard 😭 So cute 🥺 Im pretty sure we’re going with Anya, but I suck at catching her personality so I’m just going to go with general daughter reactions for this 🥹🤍🤍
(Note: I tried, but I feel like I’m always lacking in the daughter area. Maybe I need to borrow my niece ;-; also, its a little short…) finally back into it tho 😎
Tumblr media
Your room fell silent, the cries filling the air were almost piercing. You felt like you knew this was bound to happen. Yuji was a miracle, but your second child was born a girl. You knew Sukuna had only ever cared about having heirs, so in the silence you were on edge of what he would say or do.
It was strange watching him in that moment, she was crying in his arms, he was staring at her with that black expression that always appeared like a frown. He shouldn’t have been so openly disappointed, he knew from the start when your stomach started to swell and he hadn’t noticed until he touched your round belly. The child in your stomach had not an ounce of cursed energy to leave a presence, much less for him to be able to tell what it could be. Yet he held out hope for a boy, even if the lack of his presence was due to a heavenly restriction, he could work with that. But no, the little pink haired girl crying and screaming in his arms was enough to leave him perplexed. He shook his head, handing her over to you, you watched him while you began to breastfeed your daughter.
“Sukuna..” your voice was a whisper followed by a cringe of feeling like your insides were coming out. You wanted to comfort your husband but you didn’t feel right. “Sukuna,” your lower stomach kicked in painful cramps, and everything moved in a rush. Sukuna was pushed out of the room and heard the panic of your caretakers clearly.
—- —- —- —- —-
The day had passed and he sat outside your room, they had persisted he did not pass. So he sat out there waiting until the early hours of sunrise when they brought out his daughter. He took her in his hands, you couldn’t see it past her pink hair and eyes, but to Sukuna she had your face. She was small and round but to him, she looked so similar he was in disbelief you had won over that part of his genes.
He sat there all day, holding her to his chest, while his head leaned back against the wall. His eyes were closed but he couldn’t sleep, he couldn’t rest, he could tell you were alive, but it felt like you were just barely there. He looked down in his arms, the little bundle of clothes moving around slightly as your daughter moved, crying out. He wanted to hand it off to a servant as his hand came up to uncover her face more to look at her, that was until her hand slipped out taking a tight hold of finger. She stopped crying for a moment just sniffling, her little nails falling digging into his skin. “Come, stop your crying.” His free arm came to lightly run over his little wrinkly cheeks, “my child.” He was looking at her with such a soft look, the servants found it endearing. It was then he decided he would take care of her as he did Yuji, his child, his pride.
—- —- —- —- —-
Years passed, and you were outside with Yuji. Watching Anya’s big eyes growing in size as an emperor butterfly slowly fluttered around the garden. It had been a month since Sukuna had left on one of his little excursions, you were curious why his supposed two week trip became a month long trip. But you had your 13 year old Yuji who was laying in your lap passed out from his own Ventures of the day and your 3 year old girl keeping you busy, you didn’t feel as lonely as when it was just yourself. “Mama!” Your hand kept running though Yuji’s hair, “Yes sweetheart?” Your little girl came running up to you, “Papa!” You could see the stars in her eyes as she pointed behind her, past the garden. You looked seeing the all too familiar and burly silhouette in the distance. You faked a gasp, “It is papa! He’s almost home. Do you wanna go get him the sweets you made?” She perked up more, “Yeah!” You watched as she ran off inside the house singing a song as her steps padded on the ground. Yuji slowly sat up, eyes squinty as he looked around “Dad?” You laughed while rubbing his head, “Yes.”
You started to get up, Yuji rushing up and offering to help you as you struggled to get up, “my leg is tired from being in one place too long.” You laughed and Yuji grinned, “Sorry’ was tired.”
You simply rubbed his head, “It’s fine, go get your sister, she’s been away for a while already.”
Yuji ran off to find his sister while you tried to ignore the feeling in your legs. You moved closer to the edge of the garden Sukuna was approaching in fresh blood, the closer he became the more you noticed the minor scrapes and cuts on his body. You rolled your eyes with a smile, he shrugged off the top of his robes once he had realised your eyes were trained on his body. It would be a lie to say you didn’t find him attractive in this form of glory, but for the sake of your kids you wouldn’t touch his chest and give him that look. It was when he stood in front of you that your dominant hand pulled your handkerchief from your obi, your free hand cradling his face before cleaning his face of the foreign contaminant.
“I see my husband is home, sturdy, well and revelling in his victories.” You hummed as you finished cleaning his face, pulling him towards you gently so you could kiss him. As you pulled away from what was going to be a soft kiss he pulled you back in to catch your lips longer, “Mhm.” Was all
He hummed against your lips, aside from the hand on your head, two of his free hands came to your waist to pull you closer. Placing your hands on his chest you pushed yourself back a little to stare up at him, “Your little girl has been asking and crying for you to come back. She even made you a little treat everyday for when you arrived.” He hummed, eyeing you, your hands moving to rest on his biceps, “They should be here. I sent her in to retrieve what she worked so hard on.” Your head turned exposing your neck to him, his last free hand coming up to run his nails over the tender flesh, “I’m sure she’ll be back soon enough, as for now I’m craving the feeling of something else.” His hand angled your head away, teeth and lips running over the plush pulse point on your neck, until he huffed at your resistance, “how impervious.” He pulled away, hands sliding from your waist as he looked away visibly upset. You couldn’t fight the smile, “We should go, it might be a waste waiting longer out here then if we go find them.”
—- —- —- —- —-
That’s how you ended up in this situation. Yuji was sitting by his dad with a big smile listening to the story of how he single-handedly levelled another city. Anya was sitting on his lap bouncing along as his body shook when he’d let out a louder laugh or was jostled around with his movements. That was until she noticed the smallest cut on his stomach and let out a loud gasp making all of you turn to look at her.
”Papa! You’re hurt!” Sukuna looked down, seeing the small surface wound that left a red line of broken skin over his side stomach. “Oh, I suppose I a-PAPA NEEDS BANDAGES” she was rushing off feet pattering over the floor as Yuji mumbled, “But.. can’t dad use reverse cursed technique…” he looked confused as he closed his eyes tilting his head to the side. You looked at your husband who sighed with a faint twitch at his lips and placed a hand on Yuji’s head messing up his already tousled hair. “Interesting, I remember another brat with pink hair who did the exact same thing.” Yuji smiled under the weight of his fathers hand.
Anya came running in with a bowl of water spilling everywhere and other things tucked under her little arm. You watched as Ryomen steadied her after she spilt water onto his lap trying to clean his wounds as she had watched you done when your husband would crave your attention and purposely not heal his own wounds leaving you to tend to him. He cringed as more water spilt onto his lap as she un purposely smacked his stomach with a soaking rag rubbing at the small flesh wound, Yuji tried not to laugh as you laughed quietly behind your hand watching as Sukuna tried to help only for Anya to yell at him “No! I can do it papa! You’re hurt!”
The screen was cute as he cringed more at the cold water, relieved when she stopped only to become stressed when she pulled out the roll of wraps. She had seen you use those wraps on Yuji many times when he would become injured or hurt. What she didn’t see was how her father was much larger in size, those tiny wraps wouldn't circle his waist even once.
When they couldn't, Anya became frantic, rushing to jump off her father and run to get more bandages. This was until Ryomen caught her mid jump, “Lemme go daddy! Need more wraps!” He sat her back on his lap, “No you don’t brat, I'll show you something better.”
Anya looked up at her dad with glossy eyes and a wobbly lip, “Press your hands here.” You watched as he guided her small hands to his stomach over the wrap, “Put all your force behind it.” She forced her eyes closed, pressing both her hands against his stomach with all her little muscle. Using the slightest bit of his reversed cursed technique he pulled her hands away, “See.” Her eyes opened slowly and the red mark on his stomach was gone. Her eyes lit up as she looked up at him, “I DID IT!” Ryomen couldn’t fight back the twitch of his lips that pulled into a smile, “You did.” Her hands clasped together with starry eyes, her stare locked on Yuji, “I can fix you.”
Tumblr media
Tag List: @sakuxxi @mercymccann @certainduckanchor @najiiix @bakugou-katsukis-wife @amitiel-truth @souyasplushie @mylovelessnightmare @ynjimenez @dolliira @princessluvz @furiousblacktiger @anyaswlrd @shytastemakerthing @alialucille @sad-darksoul @satorisgirl @bontensbabygirl @sakunawifey @queen-luna-007 @venus-seeks
@bofadeezs
2K notes · View notes
mysunshinetemptress · 1 month ago
Text
Tumblr media
Glitter in the Air
Grace Clinton x Albert!Reader
Warnings: Internalised homophobia, homophobia
A/n thank you @silentwolfsstuff for proofreading it for me.
You can still remember the first time you felt different, felt different from your family, from Korbin.
You’re ten when you and Korbin sit up all night as she talks about Shawn, a boy in your class that she’s currently crushing on, you listen like you always have and smile as her cheeks redden as she talks about holding his hand in the yard.
Your cheeks redden a short while later but for different reasons, the conversation moves to what boy you have a crush on.
It’s not a boy, it hasn’t been a boy since you kissed Dylan behind the tree in his backyard, You haven’t liked a boy since Aaliyah held your hand at the last school dance, since she kissed your cheek in the girls bathroom.
You’re sick you think,a short while after it happens, that’s why you have these funny feelings, maybe Aaliyah made you sick by holding your hand and kissing your cheek and that’s why your stomach feels funny, you feel this sinking feeling in your stomach as you think of it more, you’re sick now, you can’t hold anyone’s hand anymore you can’t kiss your mom good night because you’re sick, Aaliyah made you sick and you don’t want to give to anyone especially not your family, especially not Korbin and Teagan and Kylar and your Dad. So you stop, no one else can be sick like you, you’ll keep it to yourself and that way everyone will be safe.
But you can’t tell Korbin this, she doesn’t seem to have these types of feelings for girls, she’s not sick, no one seems to have these types of feeling for girls except your Dad and Kyler, but they're boys, they are supposed to feel that way, they aren’t sick like you, it what your mom says, it’s what the pastor says, it’s what the bible says.
You try to stop having these feelings as you get older you really do, you try to pray away your sickness, you pour holy water over your hands daily and you bless yourself extra going to mass but still nothing works.
You get a boyfriend when you turn fifteen a couple of months after Korbin starts dating Ethan you find Will.
He’s nice and you parents love him the same way his parents love you but you never feel what Korbin and Teagan say they feel with their boyfriends.
They aren’t sick like you.
You do however feel it with Kayla, you don’t mean to, you never meant to but she’s soft and nice to talk to not that Will isn’t but when you talk with her on the bus ride home from your match and you swear your hearts going to beat out of your chest.
Kayla tries to kiss you a couple of weeks later but you panic “what are you doing.” Kayla’s still has her hands on your face your cheeks slightly squished together “I just thought that…well you know since…” you pull fully back “I have a boyfriend Kay, Will he’s nice and I can’t do this to him.”
Kayla’s eyes widen “wait does…are you saying that if you weren’t with Will you would.” You panic at the pulling away stepping back trying to create distance. “I’m not gay.” You state harshly “I’m not sick.” You spit harsher again. Kayla tried to but she really couldn’t be mad you looked so heartbroken and so conflicted “ok my mistake.”
You avoid her on the bus from then on, and you find yourself sitting alone, she’s the only other sophomore on the varsity team, if you don’t talk to her, sit with her then you’ll be alone. You are alone. You’re the only one who’s sick.
You’ve been getting called to play for the US since you were thirteen, Korbin following a year later at fourteen. You move along the ranks of football better and your parents can’t help but show how happy they are for you, how happy your sisters and brother are for you, but still you feel lost. You still feel sick.
You travel to France in the summer of 2019 it’s a gift from your parents for getting baptised and giving your life to god, you don’t do it cause you want to, you do it in hopes it will rid you of this sickness you do it in hopes of being normal.
But it also makes your parents happy it makes Korbin happy as she bounces in the water beside you.
You sit anxiously as the US win the World Cup again. A funny feeling fills you as you watch Kelly O’Hara run to the crowd and kiss a girl, sure you knew most of the senior squad players were gay but to actually see one in real life kissing a girl, it felt weird.
But that feeling faded quickly as Korbin let out a small ew at the sight instead your body now felt heavy like you were being pulled down, “I mean I know she’s a girl kisser but can’t she do that in private.” Teagan nods “it’s sick honestly it’s like they are trying to force us into accepting it.”
You and Will are still together, even when Korbin’s gone and had three other boyfriends, but you still don’t have those feelings your friends and sisters talk about, maybe you just have to stick with him a little longer.
Maybe you just need to sleep with him and the feelings will start then, maybe the sickness will go away then.
It’s what you tell yourself leading up to the varsity teams dance, it’s what you tell yourself as you dance with him through the night, it’s what you tell yourself when your kissing in the corner of the hall and it’s what you tell yourself as your lying on the bed Will pressed up against you. But it never happens.
You break up with him just before summer that year. “I….I’m sorry Will I just, I don’t…they all have these feelings and I don’t have them and…you deserve someone who has them cause your a really great guy and I don’t…you would just be left waiting for me to get feelings I don’t think will ever come.”
He takes it relatively well, you’re just happy that you can still be friends, Korbin takes it worse than both of you combined.
“Oh my god I just heard, are you ok…stupid question sorry come on let’s go get ice cream.” You don’t know what else to do but you can’t indulge in the bad things she’s saying about him “He’s not a bad guy Korbin I broke up with him, he…I don’t have these feelings you and Teagan talk about for him and it’s not fair on him so I broke up with him.” I’m sick and he’s not and I don’t want to put that on him you think.
Korbin takes that as you fancy someone else and the heart to heart you thought you were having turns into gossip about who it could be that you like.
You're seventeen still when it’s time to make a decision about your football career. College is the best option but it’s not the only one for you like it is for Korbin.
The decision hangs heavy in the air, a stark contrast to the sunlit afternoon. Notre Dame, a prestigious institution, beckoned with its ivy-covered walls and storied tradition. It's where Korbin will be but it wasn't the dream. The dream was painted in Carolina blue, a vision of playing for UNC, a place where legends like Tobin Heath and Lucy Bronze had once graced the field.
The phone call from Manchester United shattered the familiar. A senior contract, not a youth academy invite. A chance to step onto the world stage, to play in the WSL not some college league, not the NCAA. It was a dream come true, but a dream that Korbin was still a few years off reaching.
You couldn't help but feel guilty, you were twins you did everything together, but for many years you had been charging ahead in soccer, you just had to hope she'd catch up eventually.
You don't expect it to make major news, your still only seventeen but your mom sends a clip of an ESPN headline stating your signing to Manchester United.
Y/n Albert is on her way to the WSL signing with Manchester United, Albert’s twin sister Korbin commits to Notre Dame.
You move a short while later, your parents coming with you to help you settle into your new apartment, you feel happy, content even until your mom states her worries for you living in the English city.
"I worry about you baby, you know there are so many...gays here and well i don't want any of them trying to force themselves on you, their sick individuals and your my baby."
You feel as though you might throw up then and there at the reminder of your sickness.
"Mom" you whine "No ones going to do anything, I....I'll be fine."
They leave a few days later, with the promise of geting on a flight and coming to rescue you if needed, you brush them off stepping back as your mom moves in for a hug and instead simply waving goodbye.
United finish fourth on the table, but you have a dream first season, so much so you get your first call up to the USWNT, you cry on the phone to Korbin as she cries back about how proud she is, your parents are proud to but your moms also busy wondering if you've met any nice english boys, again the moment is ruined and you feel sick again.
Y/n Albert receives her first call up for the USWNT after a dream first season with the Red Devils, making an appearance in every match this season and starting in nineteen games, assisting Untied star striker Alessia Russo with six of her eleven goals.
It's true you've assisted the majority of Alessia's goals but you haven't celebrated a single one, not on or off the pitch, in fact your team have copped on pretty quickly that you don't want to be hugged, to be touched.
You want nothing more, but the girls are to good to get sick from you, Alessia who you can't help but admit you've got a slight crush for is to good to get this awful sickness from you, its safer if you don't hug...don't touch your teammates.
Y/n Albert receives first cap for the USWNT against Costa Rica in the CONCAF semi-finals which saw the USWNT advancing to the finals after a 3-0 score.
You return back to Manchester, a winner with two senior national team caps under your belt, after facing Canda in the final, your english teamates have won the euros and while they are all showing off their medal standing around hugging your teamates, you stand far back in the corner of your dressing room.
Your medal gets passed around too, you've scrubbed it clean making sure none of your germs are on it so the girls don't get sick, its been in your bag ever since and you simply wave at Less to grab it from there when she asks about it.
It's a big deal, a real medal but you can't cause a fuss over it because then people want to congratulate you, touch you, so you wave it all off.
You wave it off. until a girl around the same age as you with a funny accent hands it back "That's proper cool mate." You look between her and the medal, three maybe four times.
She steps forward her arms open, open for a hug but they swiftly close as you step back and her face falls slightly.
She sticks her hand out "Sorry" and now your eyes flash between her outstretched hand, your medal and her face. "Less says you're not a hugger I forgot, but its really great to meet you mate, I'm Grace."
You don't move, your mind is blank, in fact all you can think about is how she says her Gs a weird way, and as her face falls slightly at your lack of response to her open hand your brain kicks in.
"Y/n." you say shakily, but still don't move. Grace drops her hand smiling and all you can think about is how your stomach erupts into butterflies.
But it only lasts a moment, only a moment until you feel your stomach drop, your blood to go cold and the heavy feeling to fall back on to you.
Your sickness is back, and you can't give it to Grace, not now not ever.
Grace and her funny little way of saying Gs.
532 notes · View notes
pandapetals · 2 months ago
Text
The Whispers at Howlett Manor
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Your parents are forcing you to marry Lord Howlett in hopes of securing the future of Langley House. However, there is more at play than you realize.
lord logan howlett x fem!reader - no use of y/n, light reader description, reader has a last name - langley for story purposes, angst, forced marriage, regency era stuff, brooding logan, reader is stubborn, reader has sisters and a family, some fluff towards the end, sexual tension, light enemies to lovers, logan is a softie
a/n: Okay, so i love pride and prejudice/bridgerton (anything like that) so it was only a matter of time before i wrote something like that for logan. Anyway, this was going to be inspired by bridgerton but ended up being more inspired by logan’s comic book childhood mixed with just regency typical era stuff. 
Also, i literally didn’t think this would be this long (i will admit the ending isn’t the best, i got tired of writing/kinda got writers block so sorry). also sorry it took so long to post but it's long af.
word count: 28k
divider credit: @pommecita
Tumblr media
“Must you always be so difficult?” Lady Langley’s voice carried across the room like the crack of a whip, sharp enough to pierce through the layers of the emerald chiffon being draped over your shoulders. The maid fumbled with the fabric, her hands trembling as she tried to secure the delicate buttons along your back.
You drew a long breath, pressing your lips together to steady your voice. “Mama, I have done everything you asked,” you said, your tone strained but calm. You waved the maid away, your impatience slipping out in the motion.
“Everything?” your mother scoffed, her fingers coming up to massage her temple in a familiar gesture of frustration. “Dearest, you have done the opposite of everything. That dreadful scene at dinner the other night—do you even realize how close you came to ruining us? Lord Howlett was barely polite by the end of it.” She turned, her skirts sweeping across the polished floor as she began to pace, the rhythmic click of her heels only adding to the mounting tension.
You spun away from the mirror, the sight of your own reflection—eyes dark with resentment, cheeks flushed with the heat of suppressed anger—was too much to bear. 
“Why must it all fall to me?” you burst out, meeting her gaze with a defiance that startled even you. “Why must I be the one to endure it all, to wear the fine dresses and force a smile, as though I am some precious porcelain doll to be displayed? Did you and Father not bring us to the brink with your own decisions?”
Lady Langley’s eyes widened at your boldness, though whether with indignation or a glimmer of guilt, you couldn’t say. “We did what we had to do for this family,” she replied, her voice low and tremulous. “And now, you must do your part. Marrying Lord Howlett will restore everything. His wealth is our salvation—our only chance to keep Langley House from crumbling.”
You turned back toward the mirror, but not to admire your appearance. The gown was exquisite—deep green with gold stitching along the neckline, chosen for the way it complemented your hair and hinted at your mother’s hope that it might catch Lord Howlett's eye once more. 
All you saw was a stranger trapped in silks, her future bound to a man she hardly knew. A man whose stern gaze and gruff manners at the dinner table had left her with a vague sense of unease.
A man who seemed old enough to be your father, though still handsomely rugged, with a strength in his bearing that spoke of battles fought far from the comforts of an English drawing-room. Lord James Logan Howlett—his name alone seemed to carry a weight that threatened to crush you beneath it.
“I will not be sold off like cattle,” you said quietly, almost as if testing the words. The defiance wavered in your chest, but it was there—small and growing. “You cannot force me, Mama.”
Lady Langley’s gaze softened, if only for a moment, and her hand reached out but stopped just short of your shoulder. “My dear, there is no force. Only necessity,” she whispered. “Think of your sisters. Think of your father’s health. We cannot afford a scandal.” 
The room seemed to close in, the walls heavy with expectations that clung like dust to every surface. You felt the weight of it pressing down, smothering that flicker of defiance before it could truly catch fire. There would be no escape from the duty laid upon your shoulders—not without dragging the entire family down with you.
As the maid returned to finish securing the gown, your gaze drifted back to the mirror, catching a glimpse of your own reflection. You tilted your chin up and straightened your spine, forcing yourself to appear composed. You would have to play the part—at least for tonight.
The question lingered in the back of your mind: Who would Lord Howlett be, once the doors closed and the pretense fell away? It scared you more than you cared to admit. 
Without another word, your mother swept out of the room, leaving behind only the faintest rustle of silk in her wake. You exhaled, shoulders drooping as the maid finished pinning the last curl into place. Downstairs, the murmur of your sisters' voices drifted up, accompanied by the distant sound of your father’s halting footsteps.
As you descended the grand staircase, your sisters gathered at the foot, their eyes bright with excitement and curiosity. “Oh, look at you!” one exclaimed, reaching out to brush the delicate fabric of your gown. “Such a beautiful color,” another said, her fingers tracing the lace trim with envy.
Your father stood at the end of the stairwell, leaning heavily on his cane. His smile was gentle but tinged with a quiet weariness. “You look lovely, my dear,” he said, extending a hand toward you. His voice had lost some of its usual strength, but there was still warmth in his gaze as he squeezed your fingers. “I am sure you will have a splendid time at the play.”
You returned his smile, though it felt stiff, as though someone had drawn it onto your face with a trembling hand. “Thank you, Papa,” you replied softly. “Though I—”
Your mother’s sharp voice cut across the hallway, shattering the moment. “You shall behave tonight,” she declared, appearing around the corner with a frown etched so deeply into her face that you wondered if it had been permanently carved there. “Do you understand?”
You sighed, dropping your father's hand as your sisters scattered like birds startled by a hawk. “Yes, Mama. I understand.”
“I am serious, girl.” Lady Langley stepped closer, her eyes narrowing as though she could will obedience into you through sheer force of will. “The Dowager Lady Elizabeth Howlett is to be your chaperone, and I have heard she is not a woman inclined to kindness. This is your last chance to make a favorable impression on Lord Howlett.”
Before you could reply, your father interjected, his tone soothing, yet strained. “My love, she will be fine. There’s no need to fret.” He reached for his cane again, wobbling slightly, and one of your sisters, who had been listening around the corner, darted forward to steady him.
You took a step toward him to help, but a knock echoed from the front door, interrupting you. The butler promptly moved to answer it, revealing Lord James Howlett and his mother standing on the threshold.
Lord Howlett’s dark, brooding eyes swept over the entryway, landing on you with an unreadable expression. His face was set in its usual stern lines, the strong jaw rigid as though it had forgotten how to soften. Beside him, Dowager Lady Elizabeth Howlett stood with her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her thin lips pressed into a line of disapproval as if the very air of Langley House was beneath her.
“Good evening, Miss Langley,” Lord Howlett said, inclining his head slightly. “I trust you are ready?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be, my lord,” you replied with a polite curtsy, though your tone carried a hint of edge. “It is, after all, only a play.”
The faintest glimmer of something—was it irritation?—flickered in his eyes. “Indeed. Perhaps you might endeavor to watch this one instead of glancing longingly toward the exit.”
You arched a brow, a small, mirthless smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “I assure you, my lord, I shall be entirely captivated—provided, of course, that the performance is not as stiff as some of the company I keep.”
The Dowager’s eyes snapped to you, sharp as a hawk’s. “Mind your tongue, girl,” she said in a low voice that dripped with condescension. “A lady ought not to jest so carelessly.”
“Oh, but I am quite in earnest, Lady Elizabeth,” you replied, meeting the older woman’s gaze with a practiced sweetness. “I would not dare make light of such an important evening.”
Lord Howlett’s lips twitched, not quite forming a smile. “Let us hope, then, that your enthusiasm lasts until the final act,” he said, offering his arm. “Shall we?”
You hesitated a moment before taking his arm, the rough fabric of his sleeve brushing against your skin as you settled beside him. His posture was rigid, as though every step was calculated to maintain the distance between you, and there was a tension in the air that crackled like static.
“Tell me, my lord,” you said as you descended the steps together, “do you always bring your mother along when courting?”
His gaze slid sideways to meet yours, a dark brow arching slightly. “Perhaps I thought you might benefit from a proper example of decorum,” he replied, his voice as dry as autumn leaves.
You tilted your head, your lips curving into a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. “How considerate of you,” you said. “Though I should warn you—I’ve never been easily subdued. Even with a watchful eye upon me.”
“Then let us hope,” he said quietly, “that you find something worth behaving for this evening.”
Together, you descended the steps with Lady Elizabeth two steps behind. You climbed into the carriage and the weight of the Dowager’s gaze bore down on you like a cold hand gripping your shoulder. Lord Howlett settled opposite you, his expression veiled in shadow, and for a moment, you wondered if there was more beneath that brooding exterior—something other than duty and disdain.
The thought was fleeting, and as the carriage lurched forward, you turned your attention to the dimly lit streets outside, wondering if the play would prove to be the most engaging performance of the evening, or if the true drama lay in the careful dance of words between you and the man who might soon be your husband.
────୨ৎ────
The play had begun with a flurry of activity on the stage, enough to momentarily capture your interest. But as the actors’ exaggerated gestures dragged on and the dialogue grew stale, your thoughts drifted elsewhere. By the halfway point, you were tapping your finger impatiently against the gilded armrest of your seat, biting back a yawn.
Lord Howlett sat beside you, his posture rigid, gaze fixed on the performers as if he were determined to will some life into the lackluster production. Behind you, two rows up, his mother, the Dowager Lady Elizabeth Howlett, sat in conversation with Lady Drummond, her sharp whispers cutting through the quiet like a needle through cloth.
“Must you do that?” Lord Howlett murmured, his voice low and taut, though he didn’t look your way.
You arched an eyebrow, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. “If you mean by ‘that,’ not falling asleep in my seat, then yes, I must. This play is dreadful.”
His jaw tightened, the muscles working beneath the skin as though he was grinding down the words he truly wished to say. “It is hardly the fault of the actors if your attention span is as short as your temper,” he muttered.
You bristled, half-turning toward him. “Or perhaps, my lord, it is because I find greater amusement in watching the dust settle on these velvet curtains than in enduring one more moment of this drivel.”
Without waiting for a reply, you stood and swept out of the aisle, the swish of your gown echoing in the hushed theater as you made your way down the dimly lit hallway. The air was cooler out here, and you took a deep breath, feeling a mixture of relief and defiance coursing through you. Surely, there must be something more engaging than sitting like a doll, pretending to be enthralled by dreadful theatrics.
“Miss Langley.”
The clipped voice was unmistakable, and you rolled your eyes before turning. Lord Howlett had followed you, pushing the theater door open with a firm hand, his expression shadowed and irritated as he stepped into the corridor. “You cannot simply leave in the middle of a play,” he said, his tone laced with exasperation. “It is beyond improper.”
You let out a dry laugh and crossed your arms. “I can do as I please, my lord. If I find myself losing the will to live through another act, I shall not sit there and suffer just to uphold some antiquated notion of propriety.”
He took a step closer, his brow furrowing as though you were some curious creature he was trying to decipher. “Why must you always defy what is expected of a lady?” His voice dropped lower, edged with something like genuine bewilderment. “It seems you take a particular delight in making a spectacle of yourself.”
“It seems you take particular delight in brooding and casting judgment,” you shot back, narrowing your eyes at him. “Is that not a spectacle in its own right? Or is it simply the pastime of a man who finds fault in everything and amusement in nothing?”
For a moment, you thought you saw a flicker of something else in his gaze—amusement, perhaps, or even admiration. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by the same stony look he always wore. “You think this is a jest?” he said, his voice low and rough. “You have no idea what is at stake.”
You scoffed, turning away from him and pacing a few steps down the corridor. “Oh, I am well aware. My family’s reputation, our fortune—such as it is—dangles by a thread. You are meant to be our savior, are you not?” You whirled back to face him, your eyes flashing. “I am to marry you and secure my family’s future, regardless of my feelings on the matter.”
He stepped closer still, his eyes hardening as he looked down at you. “You do have a choice, Miss Langley,” he said, his voice almost a growl. “You may refuse me, of course. You may tear up the marriage contract and walk away. But do not pretend you are unaware of what will follow if you do.”
You felt the sting of his words, the cold truth in them. “You mean the ruin of my family, the loss of our home, our dignity?” you replied, bitterness curling in your voice. “You think I do not know what is at stake? I know it better than anyone.”
“Then why do you resist so stubbornly?” His tone was quieter now, the anger ebbing into something else, perhaps even a touch of weariness. “Do you truly wish to see Langley House crumble? Your sisters scattered to find their fortunes, your father’s health worsening under the strain of financial ruin?”
Your breath hitched, and for a moment, the bravado slipped. “Of course not,” you said softly, the fight draining from your voice. “But that does not mean I wish to spend my life bound to a man who sees me as a duty—a burden, even.”
His expression shifted something unspoken passing through his gaze. “I do not see you as a burden,” he said, though the words sounded as though they cost him something to admit. “But I will not pretend this arrangement is anything other than what it is: a necessity.” He took a step back, his jaw tightening once more. “However, necessity does not mean cruelty. I would not make your life a misery, Miss Langley. I may not be the husband you would choose, but I would see to it that you do not suffer.”
You searched his face, looking for some hint of insincerity, but found none. “You speak as though you would do me a favor,” you said, your voice quiet but edged with defiance. “But I cannot help but wonder if you say this only because you, too, have no other choice.”
He inclined his head, a faint, humorless smile curling at the corner of his lips. “You are selfish,” he said, his voice low and edged with disdain. “You would let your family slip into ruin simply because you find me... unlikable? Is your pride worth so much, Miss Langley? Why can’t you be an obedient lady and do what is required of you?”
“Obedient?” You scoffed, the word scraping against your throat like gravel. “Oh, I see. I am a dog to be trained, then? A creature to sit and stay at your command?” You stepped closer, defiance burning in your gaze as you met his eyes without flinching. “That is where we differ, my lord. You would have a wife who falls meekly at your side, a pretty ornament to nod and smile on cue. But I would rather have a husband who doesn’t haunt brothels while demanding loyalty in return.”
 His expression hardened, a flash of something dangerous igniting in his eyes. The silence between you was like a blade drawn taut, ready to cut. “You do not know me, Miss Langley,” he said quietly, the words seething between clenched teeth. “You presume to judge, but your knowledge is nothing but rumor and spite.”
“Then enlighten me, my lord,” you shot back, your voice rising despite yourself. “Tell me why the other ladies of the ton avoid you like a blight. Explain why a man of your wealth and standing must settle for a bride who has no choice in the matter. It seems to me that you are as desperate as the family you claim to save.”
His jaw tightened, and for a moment, it seemed as though he might reach for you—whether to silence your insolence or pull you closer, you could not say. But he kept his hands at his sides, though they were balled into fists. “Watch your tongue, Miss Langley,” he said in a voice so low it was nearly a growl. “You speak of things you cannot understand.”
“Then perhaps you should make me understand,” you replied, refusing to back down. “Because what I see before me is not a savior but a man grasping at the last thread of respectability. If you think marrying me will somehow restore your standing, then you are the one who is mistaken.”
He exhaled sharply, a bitter laugh escaping his throat. “You truly believe you have the upper hand here, don’t you?” His gaze flicked over you, as though appraising something less than worthy. “But let me make this clear, Miss Langley. It is not just your family’s name that hangs in the balance—it is your sisters' futures and your father’s health. Or do you not care about that, either?”
The words stung, and for a moment, the fight drained from your voice. “Of course, I care,” you whispered, the anger giving way to something more vulnerable. “But do not expect me to be grateful for a fate I did not choose, nor for a man who believes he can command my respect by demanding it.”
He took a step closer, and you felt the warmth of his breath as he spoke. “And do not expect me to offer comfort where there is no gratitude,” he said, his voice a rough murmur. “I do not need your approval, Miss Langley, only your cooperation. Your disdain matters little in the grand scheme of things.”
“Then you shall have my cooperation,” you said, your voice steady even as a knot tightened in your chest. “But make no mistake, my lord—cooperation is all you will ever have. If you are hoping for an obedient wife to dote on you, you shall find yourself sorely disappointed.”
“Obedience is not what I seek,” he replied, his gaze unwavering. “But I will have a wife who understands duty. That, at least, I can count on from you.”
You turned your face away, refusing to let him see the flicker of uncertainty that stirred behind your anger. “Then you shall have what you wish, Lord Howlett,” you said, your voice barely more than a whisper. “But do not mistake duty for affection. You may secure this marriage, but my heart is another matter entirely.”
For a moment, his expression softened like a cloud breaking to reveal the faintest glimmer of light behind it. Then it was gone, replaced by that same stern resolve. “Affection,” he repeated, as though the word itself were a foreign concept. “I think we both know that sentiment has little place in arrangements such as these.”
With that, he turned and strode back toward the theater, leaving you standing in the dim corridor, your breath coming a little too fast, your pulse thrumming with a mix of fury and something unsettling that you could not quite name. The door closed behind him, muffling the distant applause from the stage and the dull murmur of voices, leaving you to wonder whether this confrontation had left either of you any closer to understanding the other—or if it had merely drawn a deeper line in the sand.
The carriage had barely rolled to a stop outside Langley House when you flung open the door and stepped out, your movements quick and agitated, as if you could outrun the suffocating weight of the evening. The cool night air bit at your cheeks, but it did nothing to soothe the roiling in your chest. All you wanted was the solace of solitude, to shed the layers of pretense like a stifling gown.
Your steps had scarcely touched the gravel drive before you heard the heavy thud of boots behind you.
"Miss Langley." Lord Howlett’s voice cut through the quiet, steady, and unyielding as ever. His mother, the Dowager Lady Elizabeth, called after him with an impatient huff, but he paid her no mind.
You quickened your pace, the glow from the house’s lanterns casting long shadows along the steps ahead. "I wish to be alone, Lord Howlett," you said sharply, your voice fraying at the edges. The marble step was slick with evening dew, and your foot slipped, your balance faltering.
In an instant, his hand was at your elbow, steadying you before you could tumble forward. The grip was firm, strong enough to remind you of his presence but not rough. Still, the warmth of his touch burned like an affront, and you wrenched your arm free, glaring up at him. "Do not touch me," you hissed, taking a step back.
His jaw tightened, but he did not retreat. "We need to speak about the marriage," he said, his tone low and even, though there was a trace of something gentler beneath it—a reluctant concern, perhaps, that seemed to soften the hard line of his brow.
"There is nothing to discuss," you scoffed, folding your arms tightly across your chest as if to barricade yourself against him. "The terms are clear—I have no choice in the matter, so let me have at least this one freedom." You gestured toward the door behind you, your voice trembling with anger. "Allow me to go inside and be alone before I am forever bound to you."
For a moment, he said nothing, merely studied you in the dim light, his gaze searching yours as if he could see the truth buried beneath your defiance. He exhaled a soft, reluctant sound. "You think I wish to force this upon you?" he asked quietly. "You think I delight in binding myself to a woman who loathes the very sight of me?"
"Then why follow me out here?" you retorted, your voice rising despite yourself. "If you do not wish to force my hand, then why not leave me be?"
"Because," he said, his voice firming again, "if there is even the slightest chance that we could find some common ground—some understanding—then we owe it to ourselves to try." He took a cautious step closer, his expression gentling just a fraction. "I do not want a wife who feels trapped," he murmured, as though the admission cost him something. "But I cannot simply walk away from this marriage without condemning your family to ruin. Nor can you."
You hesitated, caught off guard by the faint softness in his tone. It was the first time he had spoken of the marriage as something other than a grim obligation, the first time you glimpsed a hint of vulnerability in him—like a crack in a fortress wall, small but real. "And you truly believe that 'understanding' will change anything?" you asked, skepticism thick in your voice.
"I believe it could make the difference between a life of misery and a life of endurance," he replied, his eyes never leaving yours. "Or perhaps even... something more." The words were spoken so quietly you almost doubted you’d heard them right, but there was a sincerity in his gaze that made your pulse quicken in an unfamiliar way.
You swallowed, the chill of the night air seeping into your skin as the anger ebbed, replaced by a cautious unease. "And what would you have me do, my lord?" you said, your tone softer now, though no less guarded. "Pretend to be content? To play the obedient wife you seem to think I should be?"
"No," he answered, his voice rough with honesty. "I would not ask you to pretend. I would ask you to give us a chance to learn who we truly are, beyond what is expected of us." He hesitated, then added, almost hesitantly, "You may find that I am not the monster you imagine me to be."
A bitter laugh escaped you despite yourself, and you shook your head. "You ask much of me, Lord Howlett," you said, taking a step back toward the door, your hand finding the cold brass of the doorknob. "But I shall consider your... proposal, if only because it seems I have little choice in the matter."
He inclined his head, accepting your words with a solemnity that surprised you. "That is all I ask," he said quietly. "For now."
Without another word, you turned and slipped inside the house, the door closing behind you with a soft click. As you leaned back against the cool wood, you pressed a hand to your chest, where your heart still raced with the remnants of anger and something unsettling. 
It was a small concession, what he had asked for—a chance. Whether it would lead to any true understanding between you was as uncertain as the flickering candlelight in the dim entryway.
────୨ৎ────
For the past few days, you had managed, almost miraculously, to forget the looming specter of your engagement to Lord Howlett. The bustle of your sisters’ chatter and the endless duties of tending to your father’s needs kept your thoughts mercifully occupied. It wasn’t until afternoon tea, in the quiet stillness of the drawing room, that reality began to creep back in.
"Dearest, you should be getting ready," your mother said, her tone as clipped as the neat pour of tea into her porcelain cup. She glanced at you over the rim, the same expectant look in her eyes that always made your stomach twist.
"Getting ready?" you echoed, glancing up from the delicate pastry you had just bitten into. "Whatever for?"
She set the teapot down with a soft clink. "Lord Howlett is calling upon you this afternoon. I told you several times already—he said it was urgent."
You paused, your brows knitting together in confusion. "I don’t recall—"
"Of course, you don’t," she cut in, already turning her attention back to the list she kept by her saucer. "But mark my words, he’s coming to make his proposal official. It is time you finally accepted your future, dear. There are matters to be arranged, details to prepare for the wedding. You should be grateful he’s being so… proper."
The word grateful sat uneasily on your tongue, and you swallowed it down along with your annoyance. Pushing back your chair, you rose hastily, a flutter of unease stirring in your chest as you rushed toward your room. The idea of marrying Lord Howlett had begun to seem less daunting—he had not been altogether unkind, and there was a certain steadiness about him that could be called reassuring. The thought of him proposing, of that moment when he would slide a ring onto your finger and the arrangement would become irrevocably real, sent a jolt of panic through you.
When you entered your chambers, you found your maid already laying out a gown of ivory muslin—a gesture of assumption that made your cheeks burn with resentment. Still, you let her help you into the dress, her fingers quick as they tied the ribbons and smoothed the fabric. You wore your hair loose, allowing it to tumble down your back in soft waves; an act of small rebellion, for you knew your mother would have preferred it neatly pinned.
By the time you descended the stairs, Lord Howlett was already waiting in the drawing room, standing near the window where the afternoon light softened the harsher lines of his features. He turned as you entered, his gaze sweeping over you with a measured look that betrayed nothing.
"Miss Langley," he greeted, inclining his head with that familiar formality. "Thank you for receiving me on such short notice."
You curtsied, your movements practiced and restrained. "I was told you had something urgent to discuss, my lord. I must confess, I am curious as to what could not wait."
His lips twitched, not quite a smile but something close. "Then I shall not keep you in suspense." He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a small, velvet box, opening it with a quiet snap. Inside, nestled against the dark lining, was a ring—a delicate band of gold set with a single emerald, flanked by two smaller diamonds. The green stone gleamed in the light, as deep and rich as the forests of Howlett Manor.
You were surprised by the quick stab of pleasure that rose in your chest. "The ring… it is beautiful," you admitted before you could think better of it. You caught his eye and saw something flicker there, a brief, almost imperceptible softening.
"I hoped you would like it," he said quietly, and for a moment, the tension that always seemed to hang between you loosened ever so slightly. "The emerald reminded me of—" He stopped, glancing away as though he had already said too much. "Well, I thought it would suit you."
A silence stretched between you, more thoughtful than awkward, before he cleared his throat and closed the box, slipping it back into his pocket. "There is also another matter," he said, his tone returning to its usual steadiness. "My mother is hosting a ball in our honor tomorrow evening. She insists it will be a grand affair, and I—" He hesitated, as though weighing his next words. "I would be honored if you would accompany me, Miss Langley."
"A ball?" you repeated, and though you meant for your tone to sound disinterested, you couldn’t quite keep the hint of dread from creeping in. "So soon? I would have thought we might… wait, given the circumstances."
"Lady Elizabeth is not a woman inclined to wait," he replied, a wry twist in his voice that was not without sympathy. "She wishes to make our engagement known to society without delay. It will be… expected, of course, that we present a united front."
"Naturally," you said, though the word felt bitter on your tongue. You looked away, toward the gilded clock ticking away on the mantel. "And what, precisely, would that united front entail, my lord? Do you expect me to pretend to be a willing bride, eager to embrace my future with you?"
He was silent for a moment, and when he spoke, his voice was low, almost kind. "I expect only what you can give, Miss Langley. If all you can manage is civility, then that will suffice."
You glanced at him, taken aback by the gentleness in his tone. "You surprise me, Lord Howlett," you said, your voice softer than before. "I did not think you capable of such… understanding."
"I am not as devoid of feeling as you seem to believe," he replied, a faint, rueful smile tugging at his lips. "But I would not have you think I am resigned to a marriage without hope of something more than mere obligation." His gaze met yours, steady and unyielding. "If there is any chance at all that we might find some semblance of happiness, I would take it."
The words lingered in the air, as fragile and uncertain as a new leaf on a winter branch. You hesitated, and a small part of you were reluctant to dismiss him entirely. "Very well, my lord," you said at last. "I shall attend this ball, and we shall play our parts for society. But do not mistake my agreement for acceptance."
"I would not dare," he murmured, and there was the faintest hint of relief in his voice. He pulled the velvet box from his pocket handing it to you before taking his leave. 
You found yourself opening the box, glancing at the ring once more, that emerald stone glinting like a tiny spark of hope. It was a beautiful ring, you thought, though whether it would come to signify a promise or a prison remained yet to be seen.
────୨ৎ────
"My, my. Howlett Manor is even more magnificent than I imagined," Lady Langley breathed, her voice hushed with awe as the two of you stepped into the grand entryway. 
The butler bowed with a practiced grace, and the quiet echo of your footsteps on the marble floor seemed to emphasize the vastness of the space. "This is to be your home, dear," she added, her gaze drifting upward to the vaulted ceiling, where intricate plasterwork and painted frescoes caught the morning light.
You huffed softly, resisting the tug at your heart. The manor—no, the estate, as it ought to be called—was indeed more splendid than you cared to admit, though you had steeled yourself not to show it. Even from the approach, its beauty had been undeniable: the sprawling gardens with their perfectly trimmed hedges, the marble fountain in the circular drive, its water sparkling like diamonds, and the lush oak trees lining the path like silent sentinels. Yet the sight of the interior, with its polished wood paneling and gilt-framed paintings, stirred something inside you that you could not quite name—a feeling somewhere between wonder and resentment.
"It is... pleasant," you said at last, the word falling flat even to your ears. Your tone was deliberately blasé, a feeble attempt to veil the fact that the grandeur of Howlett Manor made Langley House seem almost shabby by comparison. You watched your mother drift toward a painting—a portrait of some long-dead Howlett ancestor, his expression as stern as the current lord's.
"Pleasant?" She shot you a disapproving look over her shoulder, one brow arching in that way that always made you feel like a child again. "Do not be coy, dearest. This estate could rival a palace, and you know it." Her voice took on a lilting quality as she turned back to admire the ornate chandelier suspended above you, its crystals glittering like a thousand tiny stars. "It will be quite the step up from Langley House."
You bit the inside of your cheek, turning away from her. "If only that were the most important consideration in a marriage," you murmured, more to yourself than to her. As if marble floors and gold leaf could ease the unease that settled in your chest. The manor may be exquisite, but it was still a cage, albeit a gilded one, with walls that seemed to close in the moment you stepped inside.
Just then, a door on the far side of the hall opened, and Lord Howlett emerged, his dark gaze sweeping over you and your mother with a hint of appraisal. His expression softened—though only slightly—as his eyes settled on you. "Miss Langley, Lady Langley. I trust the journey was not too taxing?" His voice was low and measured, as though politeness was a formality he had long since mastered but did not particularly enjoy.
"It was quite manageable, thank you," your mother replied, flashing him a practiced smile. "And I must say, Lord Howlett, your home is truly breathtaking. I believe my daughter finds it to her liking as well, though she is being rather modest about it."
You bristled at the suggestion and shot Lord Howlett a look that was equal parts defiance and wariness. "It is certainly... impressive," you said, your tone more guarded than before. "Though I would imagine it feels rather empty at times, with all this space."
A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "It is certainly quieter than the bustling atmosphere at Langley House, I imagine," he said, with a slight lift of his brow. "But I assure you, it is far from lonely."
His words hung in the air, and you wondered if there was an unspoken meaning hidden in them, something deeper than mere pleasantries. For a moment, you allowed your gaze to wander over the grand staircase that swept upward, the dark wood banisters gleaming under the chandelier's light, and the tall windows that overlooked the grounds, where sunlight poured in, bright and unforgiving. It was a beautiful place, undeniably, but it wasn’t yours.
"Well, I suppose I shall have to grow accustomed to all this… splendor," you said, your voice softer now, almost resigned. "After all, it will soon be my duty to see that Howlett Manor is properly kept." The words felt strange on your tongue, as though you were speaking of another woman’s life.
Lord Howlett’s expression shifted, just a touch. "It will be more than a duty, Miss Langley," he said quietly, his gaze steady on you. "I would have you feel at home here. In time." There was a note of sincerity in his voice that gave you pause, and for a fleeting moment, you wondered if he truly meant it—or if he was simply trying to soothe you like one would a skittish horse.
You nodded, though you did not entirely trust yourself to reply. The weight of the ring on your finger suddenly seemed heavier, its emerald catching the light with a glint that reminded you of promises yet to be fulfilled, and choices that had been made for you long before you ever set foot in this grand house.
"Come, dearest," your mother interrupted, her voice bright with forced cheer as she swept back over to you. "Lord Howlett’s mother is expecting us for tea. We wouldn’t want to keep the Dowager waiting, now would we?"
You inclined your head in reluctant agreement and began to follow her, but just before you reached the door, you glanced back at Lord Howlett. His gaze met yours, and for a brief, disquieting moment, you thought you saw a flicker of something genuine there—a glimmer of hope or perhaps doubt. Then he turned away, and you were left wondering if you had imagined it altogether.
────୨ৎ────
"I am pleased you accepted my invitation for tea," Lady Elizabeth said, her tone as cool and crisp as the fine china from which she sipped. 
The butler moved gracefully between the three of you, filling cups with practiced precision. "I am a very busy woman, as you can imagine, but I thought it prudent to speak with you before the ball this evening." Her gaze slid over you and your mother with an assessing look that felt more like judgment than welcome. 
Your mother offered a polite smile, though you could see the strain in it. "We are honored, Lady Elizabeth. I have heard so much about your journeys. You must have seen some remarkable places. I do envy such a fulfilling life… though, of course, my duties keep me at home with my family."
Lady Elizabeth’s lips tightened as if your mother's words had struck the wrong chord. Her eyes—cold and calculating—rested on you, and you could feel the weight of her scrutiny. It was clear she did not much care for the Langleys, despite the upcoming union. Perhaps she tolerated this match because it served her son’s purposes, but not out of any fondness for you or your family.
Sensing the chill in the room, you made an effort to soften the atmosphere. "You must have had some wonderful experiences. Where do your travels take you, Lady Elizabeth?" you asked, attempting a pleasant tone.
The older woman waved the butler away, her movements sharp as she took up her teacup once more. "All over England, and occasionally the Continent. I have been fortunate enough to travel extensively," she said, though there was a faint trace of bitterness in her voice. "Of course, it was never meant to be a solitary pursuit. My late husband and I had always dreamed of seeing the world together." She paused, her expression hardening. "Alas, we do not always get the lives we wish for."
Your mother nodded sympathetically, though Lady Elizabeth seemed to pay her little attention. "How dreadful, losing one's partner," your mother said softly. "It must be some comfort to have your son by your side."
Lady Elizabeth gave a faint, humorless chuckle, setting her cup down with a little too much force. "Logan?" she said, as though the name itself tasted sour on her tongue. "He is a dutiful son, I suppose, though I always did wish..." Her voice trailed off, and she pressed her lips together in a thin line before continuing, "Well, it does not matter. One cannot change what is already done."
You felt a jolt of surprise at her words. There was no warmth when she spoke of Lord Howlett—only a veiled disappointment that seemed to cut deeper than mere disapproval. The realization unsettled you, and against your better judgment, a small pang of sympathy stirred in your chest. What must it be like, you wondered, to be judged so harshly by one’s mother? To be seen as little more than a reminder of unfulfilled dreams?
"Lord Howlett has been… kind," you offered, your voice gentler than before. "He has made efforts to make me feel welcome."
Lady Elizabeth’s sharp gaze flicked to you, her eyes narrowing as though she could sense the faintest hint of defense in your tone. "He is a man who understands his duty," she said curtly. "Nothing more, nothing less. But you would do well not to mistake that for kindness, Miss Langley. He has his father’s temperament—stubborn and unyielding. It will not be an easy life for you, no matter how pretty the ring on your finger."
Her words were like a slap, though you weren’t entirely certain if they were meant for you or her son. The way she spoke of him, as though he were a disappointment, made your chest tighten with an emotion you hadn’t expected—pity. It was a curious thing to feel toward a man you’d only just begun to know, but it was there all the same, lingering at the edges of your thoughts like a stubborn shadow.
Your mother quickly changed the subject, her voice a touch too bright. "Well, Lady Elizabeth, I must say, your home is simply splendid. The ball will surely be the event of the season." She turned to you with a pointed look, the silent reminder clear: Remember why we’re here. Play your part.
"Yes, I’m sure it will be… lovely," you murmured, though you felt none of the enthusiasm your mother’s words suggested. The idea of the ball—a grand spectacle where you and Lord Howlett would be displayed like fine wares, a symbol of union that felt far from heartfelt—made you want to retreat even further into yourself. But retreating was not an option, not when duty beckoned.
Lady Elizabeth's expression softened, though only slightly. "I expect nothing less," she said, her gaze sweeping over you both. "We must present a united front, after all. Appearances matter, even when the heart is not engaged."
The words hung in the air, heavy with implications. You glanced at your mother, who was nodding as though everything Lady Elizabeth said was perfectly reasonable. Yet you couldn’t help but wonder if there was a warning hidden in her tone—a reminder of what this marriage was truly about.
"Well, then," your mother said, setting her empty teacup aside, "we should go upstairs and prepare. There is much to be done before this evening."
Lady Elizabeth waved a dismissive hand. "Yes, yes. I have given instructions to the maids. They will see that everything is in order."
With that, you rose from your seat, grateful for the excuse to leave the stifling parlor. As you and your mother made your way up the grand staircase, you cast one last glance at Lady Elizabeth, who was staring into the distance, her expression as cold and remote as the marble statues that lined the hall.
At that moment, you thought of Lord Howlett again and wondered what it would be like to grow up under the shadow of such an unforgiving woman—one who seemed to see nothing but what could have been, rather than what was. It didn’t excuse his sternness, his brooding demeanor, but it offered some small insight into why he might be the way he was.
────୨ৎ────
The ball was a spectacle of shimmering lights and lavish décor, each detail carefully orchestrated to impress. The chandeliers above cast a warm, golden glow over the guests, who moved in graceful circles across the marble floor like figures in a painting. 
Your gown—an opulent creation of deep sapphire silk embroidered with silver thread—caught the light with every turn, the fabric glinting like starlight and drawing the eyes of those around you. You felt their stares lingering, appraising, but it was as if they were looking at a finely dressed doll rather than a flesh-and-blood woman.
Your mother had drifted off, eager to mingle and sing the praises of this grand match. It left you standing alone in a sea of unfamiliar faces, the polite chatter around you blurring into a single, indistinct hum. Though the event had ostensibly been arranged in your honor, it felt more like you were a prize on display, set out for the approval of society rather than for any true celebration.
Determined not to appear lost, you moved to the edge of the ballroom, your gloved fingers trailing over the polished surface of a side table laden with flowers. You caught snatches of conversation as you passed by small clusters of guests, their voices rising and falling like the strings of an orchestra.
"Well, I must say, it's quite the surprise that Lady Elizabeth managed to secure such a match for her son," a woman's voice murmured, low and conspiratorial. You glanced to your left and saw a pair of elegantly dressed women in their middle years, their fans fluttering as they spoke. "I had begun to think poor James would never find a bride. His temperament is not exactly… charming."
Another voice chimed in, this one with an edge of mischief. "And his mother hardly helps matters, does she? Lady Elizabeth has been a terror for years, ever since her husband died. I can't imagine growing up under such a cold hand."
"Well," the first woman continued with a sigh, "he was always the dutiful son. But duty is hardly enough to make one pleasant company, is it?"
Their words settled over you like a damp mist, uncomfortable and cloying. You were still learning who Lord Howlett—or James, as they called him—truly was, but you had already sensed that the relationship between him and his mother was strained. Hearing it discussed so openly, with such dismissiveness, only added to the unease you had felt since the start of the evening. It was as though you were intruding on a story that was not yours, but in which you had unwillingly become a central character.
Feeling a knot tighten in your chest, you turned abruptly and made your way toward the terrace doors. You needed air—something to clear the suffocating sense of being scrutinized, and judged, even before the real marriage had begun. 
Pushing through the doors, you stepped out into the cool night, grateful for the brisk wind that carried the scent of autumn leaves and distant rain.
The garden stretched out before you, illuminated by lanterns that flickered in the dark like tiny fireflies. You had barely taken a few steps when you saw a figure leaning against the stone balustrade at the far end of the terrace. His silhouette was unmistakable, broad-shouldered, and tense, with the light of the nearest lantern casting half his face in shadow.
"Lord Howlett," you said, your voice carrying a trace of surprise despite yourself. "I didn’t expect to find you out here, avoiding your ball."
He turned at the sound of your voice, his dark gaze finding yours in the dim light. "And I didn’t expect to find you fleeing the festivities," he replied, his tone dry but not unkind. "Is the grand occasion not to your liking, Miss Langley?"
You moved closer, folding your arms against the chill, though it was not entirely the cold that made you shiver. "It is grand, yes," you said, the words feeling hollow even as you spoke them. "But it is also… overwhelming. It seems everyone here has something to say about you and your family."
His expression tightened, a shadow passing over his features. "Let me guess," he said, his voice dropping to a rough murmur. "They’ve been speaking of my mother and me, as though we are some tragic figures to be pitied or criticized." He gave a short, humorless laugh. "People always do."
You hesitated, uncertain whether to reveal what you had overheard. Something in the darkness of his gaze, in the way his shoulders seemed to carry a weight that had nothing to do with the fine tailoring of his coat, made you speak. "They said… that your mother is difficult, and that you…" You trailed off, suddenly unsure. "That you have always been dutiful, but that it does not make you pleasant company."
His jaw tightened, and for a moment you thought he might turn away from you and retreat into the silence of the garden. But then he sighed, the sound heavy with resignation. "My mother is a difficult woman," he admitted, his tone devoid of any attempt at pretense. "She was not always so, but after my father died… she became colder. As though his death froze something in her. She has never quite forgiven me for not being the son she imagined I should be."
The raw honesty in his voice startled you. It was the first time you had heard him speak so openly, and the words cut through your resentment like a knife through silk, leaving you with an unexpected ache. "I'm sorry," you said softly, though you knew the words were inadequate. "It must be… difficult, to carry that."
His gaze shifted back to you, his expression softening just a fraction. "It is," he said quietly, "but I do not seek pity, Miss Langley. I am only telling you this because—" He hesitated as if weighing the significance of what he was about to say. "Because I would have you understand that I do not wish to marry out of obligation any more than you do. But life is rarely kind enough to allow us our preferences."
You took a slow breath, feeling the tension in the air between you, taut and humming. "Then what do you wish for, my lord?" you asked, the question coming out softer than you intended. "If not obligation, then what?"
He was silent for a long moment, his gaze steady on you as though searching for something in your eyes. "If we must go through with this," he said at last, "then perhaps we might find some way to make it bearable. To be… companions, at the very least." He gave a small, rueful smile, one that barely reached his eyes. "And you needn’t call me 'Lord Howlett' anymore. It sounds as though we are forever strangers. You may call me Logan if you wish."
The use of his given name felt strange on your tongue, but not unpleasantly so. "Logan," you repeated, testing the feel of it. The intimacy of the gesture surprised you, and for the first time, you wondered if perhaps there was more to this man than the stern exterior he showed the world. "Very well. But only if you call me by my name as well. I would prefer not to feel like a stranger in my marriage."
"Agreed," he said, the faintest trace of warmth returning to his voice. "Then we shall start there, at least."
You nodded, a small, reluctant smile curling your lips. The path ahead was still fraught with uncertainty, but for the first time, the weight on your chest seemed to lift just a little, as though you had found a foothold on a steep climb. The night air no longer felt quite so cold, and the lights of the ballroom behind you seemed a world away, as though the two of you were the only people in existence.
"Perhaps…" you began hesitantly, your voice almost lost in the cool night air. "Perhaps you like to dance?" The suggestion came out more tentative than you intended, as though you were testing the ground beneath you for cracks. "I—I don't know if you are a dancer, but—"
"I am not," Logan interrupted, his tone blunt as ever. His gaze flicked to the ballroom beyond the terrace, where the strains of a lively waltz floated out through the open doors.
You nodded quickly, heat rising to your cheeks as awkwardness settled over you like a heavy cloak. "I see. Well, then," you said, already beginning to turn away, "I should probably—"
"Wait," he said, his voice softer now, almost as if he regretted his abruptness. "I may not be a dancer by nature, but…" He extended his hand, gloved and steady, toward you. "I suppose I could make an exception. For tonight."
You hesitated, glancing between his outstretched hand and his eyes, which held a flicker of something unexpected—perhaps even a hint of apology. It seemed as though he was offering more than just a dance; he was offering a moment of truce, a chance to find common ground, if only for the span of a waltz. 
Slowly, you placed your hand in his, the warmth of his touch seeping through the thin fabric of your glove.
He led you back through the terrace doors and onto the polished floor of the ballroom. The light was softer here, the shadows of the grand chandeliers dancing across the marble in tandem with the swirling couples. 
Logan's hand found its place at your waist, and you felt the light pressure of his fingers against your back as he drew you closer. His other hand held yours gently, as though he were wary of holding on too tightly.
"You may find I am somewhat clumsy," he said, his voice low and edged with a reluctant humor. "I am better suited to riding or fencing than to this… delicate footwork."
"Then I shall tread lightly," you replied, a small, teasing smile touching your lips as you met his gaze. "It wouldn't do to embarrass you in front of your guests."
A wry glint sparked in his eyes. "I'd wager you would enjoy that far more than you should," he murmured, his tone laced with dry amusement.
The music swelled around you, and as you began to move, you could feel the tension in Logan's posture. His steps were careful at first, almost hesitant, as though he were measuring each movement to ensure he did not misstep. Yet, as the dance went on, a certain ease began to creep in. There was a surprising steadiness in the way he guided you, his hold neither too firm nor too tentative, as though he were learning how to match your pace.
"You're not a terrible dancer, you know," you said after a moment, allowing yourself to relax into the rhythm. "I think you may have misled me."
He gave a soft chuckle, the sound rumbling low in his chest. "If you say so. Though I still feel like an imposter among these graceful sorts." His gaze swept briefly over the other dancers, his expression thoughtful. "I imagine this isn’t exactly the kind of evening you dreamt of when you thought of marriage."
You glanced up at him, surprised by the note of genuine curiosity in his voice. "No," you admitted, your tone candid. "But I’m not certain I ever dreamt of marriage at all. Not in the way young girls often do. I always thought… well, that I might have a choice in the matter. That I would marry someone of my choosing." The words slipped out before you could weigh them, and you immediately wondered if you had said too much.
Logan’s grip on your hand tightened ever so slightly. "And yet here you are," he said quietly, his gaze locking onto yours, "dancing with a man you did not choose."
"Here I am," you echoed, unable to disguise the faint edge of resignation in your voice. "But you should know, Logan—I have not resigned myself to being simply dutiful." There was a challenge in your eyes as you met his, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to blur, leaving just the two of you moving in time with the music. "I do not intend to be a wife in name only, nor a woman without her mind."
The corner of his mouth lifted, though the expression was not quite a smile. "Good," he said, the word a murmur. "I would not want a wife who could be so easily subdued." There was a pause, and then he added, as if it cost him something to say it, "You have a strength about you, a fire. It… suits you."
His words, spoken so plainly, sent a shiver down your spine from the strange thrill of being seen, even if only for a moment. "Logan?" you asked, your voice almost a whisper. "What do you want from this… arrangement?"
The dance slowed, and he guided you to a stop at the edge of the ballroom, where the light was softer and the music faded into the background. His gaze never wavered from yours, and for an instant, you could see the layers of guardedness in his eyes, the uncertainty mingled with something deeper.
"I suppose I want what anyone wants," he said at last, the honesty in his tone startlingly raw. "A life that is… bearable, at the very least. Perhaps, in time, something more than just duty." His hand lingered on your waist, as though he was reluctant to let you go. "But I will not force affection where it does not exist. I would rather we find some common ground, even if that is all we ever share."
The tension between you hung in the air like a breath unspent, and you found yourself nodding, your throat tight. "I suppose that is a start," you said, a hint of a smile pulling at your lips. "But I will warn you, Logan—I have little talent for settling for 'bearable.' If I am to find contentment, it will be on my terms."
"Then let it be on your terms," he replied, his voice soft but resolute. "As long as you allow me to learn them."
The music swelled once more, the moment passed, but something unspoken lingered between you, fragile and tentative. As you moved away from the dance floor, you could not help but feel that you had glimpsed the man behind the title—neither a brooding lord nor a reluctant suitor, but someone trying, just as you were, to make sense of the path that lay ahead.
────୨ৎ────
The days before the wedding passed in a blur of preparations, each one more elaborate than the last. Your mother seemed determined to outdo herself in every detail, from the arrangements of the flowers to the grandness of the banquet, as though an opulent ceremony could distract from the quiet desperation behind it. 
The Langleys were teetering on the brink of ruin, yet she had no qualms about spending lavishly, especially since it was Lord Howlett’s money footing the bill. It only pressed your nerves further, making you feel as though you were hurtling toward an unknown fate with no time to catch your breath.
Your sisters were surprisingly calm about it all, their usual youthful chatter subdued by a vague, uneasy acceptance. One of them, the youngest, had even confessed her concern as you helped her brush out her hair the night before. “Do you have to marry him?” she whispered, her wide eyes full of worry. “People say he’s… odd. They say his temper is frightful, and he spends too much time away from society.”
You forced a reassuring smile, though you could not quite summon the words to soothe her fears—when your own still lingered in the corners of your mind.
Yet, if there was any solace to be found in those frantic days, it was in the quiet hours you spent by your father's side. His health had declined steadily over the past year, leaving him confined to his bed more often than not, and you took every opportunity to care for him, fetching his tea, sitting with him in the evenings, and reading aloud from his favorite books. He was the one constant in your world, and though you tried to keep the worry from your voice, he seemed to sense the storm that raged beneath your calm facade.
One evening, you sat beside him in the dim glow of the bedside candlelight, the murmur of the household carrying faintly through the closed door. Your father’s eyes, though weary, still held a spark of the warmth that had always comforted you. He reached for your hand, his grip gentle but steady. "You seem troubled, my dear," he said softly. "I imagine it is not just the bustle of the preparations weighing on you."
You hesitated, but then sighed, letting some of your defenses fall. "I suppose I am… uncertain," you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. "There is so much talk—about Lord Howlett’s character, about his reputation. I hardly know him at all, and yet I am to marry him."
Your father’s expression softened, a faint smile touching his lips. "You’re right to have your doubts, but there is more to James than society sees," he said, his voice low and earnest. "He is a good man, despite what people may say. I have known him for some time."
You looked at him with surprise. "You have?"
He nodded, a faraway look in his eyes as if recalling something from long ago. "I once had the chance to see the measure of his character firsthand," he began. "It was a few years back before his father passed. There was an incident in the village—a fire broke out in one of the cottages. I had gone down to see if I could offer any assistance, and there was James, knee-deep in the smoke and chaos, helping to pull a family from the burning house. He didn’t wait for anyone else to act—he just did what had to be done." He paused, his gaze meeting yours with quiet intensity. "Afterwards, when the villagers tried to thank him, he brushed it off as though it were nothing."
You listened, the image of Logan emerging from the smoke—a man of action rather than words—forming in your mind. It didn’t fit the stories whispered about him at all, the rumors of a cold, temperamental lord who preferred his solitude to society. 
"He doesn’t wear his virtues for others to see," your father continued, his tone tender. "But they are there, and I would not have agreed to this marriage if I didn’t believe he was worthy of you." His voice dipped, softening. "In fact, it was I who insisted upon it."
The admission struck you like a sudden breeze, and you blinked in surprise. "You insisted?" 
A faint chuckle escaped him, though it was tinged with sadness. "Your mother had other plans," he confessed. "She wanted you to marry Viscount Ashcombe. But I knew that man for what he was—a charming rake with a smile that hid his vices. He would have squandered what little we had left and treated you as nothing more than a pretty ornament for his arm. I could not allow that."
A shudder of relief ran through you. Viscount Ashcombe had indeed been a frequent guest at Langley House, his charming demeanor masking a calculating gaze you had never quite trusted. That your father had shielded you from such a fate filled you with a new, deep gratitude, but also a touch of guilt. "And… Lord Howlett?" you asked, your voice hesitant. "You truly believe he is a better choice?"
"I do," your father said simply, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. "James may not be the gentleman of society’s dreams, but he is honorable, and he would not see you come to harm. I have seen how he looks at you, even if you have not noticed it yourself. There is a kindness there, though it is buried deep. I only ask that you give him a chance to prove himself to you."
You felt the sting of tears behind your eyes, not out of sadness, but from the overwhelming tenderness in your father’s words. He had always been a voice of reason and quiet strength, and if he believed Logan was a good man, perhaps there was something more to this arrangement than mere obligation. "I shall try, Papa," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "If you think it right, I shall try."
A soft smile curved his lips, and he reached up to tuck a stray curl behind your ear. "That is all I could ever ask of you, my dear," he said gently. "And remember, marriage is not defined by society's expectations or even by the beginnings it is built upon. It is shaped by the choices you make together, by how you face the world as one."
You stayed with him a while longer, resting your head on the pillow beside his as he spoke of simpler things—memories of your childhood, stories of when he and your mother first met. Yet, as his voice grew softer and the evening deepened, your thoughts drifted to Logan, and you wondered if this marriage could truly be more than just duty.
────୨ৎ────
"Stop squirming, dear. You'll ruin the lace," your mother chided, her tone sharp with impatience. The maid's fingers fumbled with the last of the tiny pearl buttons running down the back of your gown. You tried to stand still, though your nerves thrummed beneath your skin like the tension of a tightly wound string.
"But it's itchy," you complained, wincing as the delicate lace sleeves brushed against your arms again, the fine fabric more irritating than luxurious at that moment. The dress, an ivory satin creation with lace overlay, clung to your frame like a beautiful prison, its layers heavy and constricting. You stared at your reflection in the looking glass—the bride-to-be staring back at you was almost unrecognizable, her cheeks pale and eyes wide with the uncertainty she couldn’t quite mask. 
"Beauty is not meant to be comfortable," your mother said briskly, stepping forward to adjust your veil with quick, efficient movements. "Today of all days, you must endure a little discomfort." She pressed a kiss to your forehead, though there was no true tenderness in the gesture—only the determination of a woman who would see her daughter wed, no matter what doubts might linger in the air.
You glanced toward the window where the light spilled in, illuminating the fine dust motes that danced in the air. Beyond the glass, the sprawling grounds of Howlett Manor stretched out, perfectly manicured and bedecked with white roses for the occasion. Guests were beginning to arrive, their carriages forming a neat line along the drive, and you felt a fresh wave of apprehension as the realization settled in by the end of this day, you would be Lady Howlett. No longer just yourself, but part of something larger and more daunting than you had ever imagined.
"Come, dear. It is time," your mother said, her voice taking on a softened tone that still carried an edge of insistence. She took your hand and led you down the grand staircase, the train of your gown trailing like a whisper behind you. As you reached the bottom step, a footman opened the doors, and the warm summer air rushed in, carrying with it the faint strains of music and the murmurs of assembled guests.
The ceremony itself was to take place in the garden, beneath a canopy of white silk, with roses entwined in the trellis above. You took your place at the entrance of the aisle, your breath catching in your throat as the music swelled.
Ahead of you, the guests rose to their feet, their eyes upon you like a sea of expectations. You felt as though you were walking into a story already written, where every step was a line you could not change.
Then you saw him.
Logan stood at the end of the aisle, his back straight and his face composed, but there was a different look about him today—something more open in his expression as if the stern lines of his features had softened slightly in the golden light. He was dressed in a dark coat and waistcoat, his cravat a crisp white, and for the first time, you thought he looked less like the brooding lord and more like any other man, perhaps even a little… nervous. The thought was oddly comforting, to see that he too might be feeling the weight of this moment.
What truly caught your attention was the sight of him speaking with a young woman—his cousin, Marie, whom you had met briefly the night before. She stood close to him, her dark curls bouncing as she laughed softly at something he said. Logan’s face, usually so guarded, was uncharacteristically warm. He reached out to gently touch her arm, a small smile playing on his lips. There was an ease in his manner that you had not seen before. It was a different side of him—a side that seemed capable of tenderness.
As if sensing your gaze, Logan looked up and met your eyes. The warmth did not fade from his expression; if anything, it deepened, and he gave you a small, reassuring nod. It was a subtle gesture, but there was something in it that steadied your breath—a silent acknowledgment that whatever lay ahead, you did not have to face it alone.
The music began again, and you took a step forward, then another, your heartbeat loud in your ears as you moved down the aisle. Your gaze remained fixed on Logan, his presence grounding you as you drew nearer. When you finally reached him, he extended his hand, and you placed yours in it, the warmth of his touch radiating through your glove.
His fingers squeezed yours gently, a subtle comfort. “Breathe,” he whispered, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “You’re doing fine.”
You exhaled, a shaky breath escaping you, and for a moment, the knot in your chest loosened. “You seem remarkably calm,” you replied quietly, glancing up at him. “Are you not nervous at all?”
His lips curved into a faint smile, one that was almost playful. “Terrified, if you must know,” he admitted, his eyes holding yours. “But I’ve been told I hide it well.”
A surprised laugh slipped out before you could stop it, the sound quiet and breathless. You hadn’t expected him to share such a candid confession, and somehow, it made everything feel a little less daunting. 
The priest began to speak, the familiar words of the ceremony flowing around you, and though your mind still buzzed with nerves, you found yourself clinging to that moment of shared honesty, to the knowledge that beneath Logan’s composed exterior, a man was grappling with uncertainty, just as you were.
As the vows were exchanged, Logan’s voice was steady, but there was a sincerity in his tone that made you look up at him again, your pulse quickening. He held your gaze as he spoke, and at that moment, it felt as though the rest of the world had faded away—leaving only the two of you standing there, joined in a promise neither of you had fully chosen but both were willing to see through.
When it came time to place the ring on your finger, his hand lingered over yours, his touch careful, almost reverent. “You’re not alone in this,” he said softly, just for you to hear, his breath warm against your ear. “And you never will be.”
The words settled in your chest, bringing with them a quiet sense of resolve. As the priest declared you husband and wife, you felt a strange mix of relief and anticipation, as though you were standing at the edge of something new and uncertain, but not entirely unwelcome. 
You glanced at Logan once more, catching a glimpse of that same warmth in his eyes, and for the first time, you wondered if perhaps there might be room, however small, for something real to grow.
When he leaned in to kiss you, you hesitated for a moment. He was gentle, almost tentative as though he were offering you not just a gesture of the ceremony but a promise of something more. The guests cheered and the music swelled pulling you back. 
────୨ৎ────
The reception was in full swing by the time you made your way downstairs. The lively hum of conversation and clinking of glasses echoed through the grand hall, but the merriment seemed to blur at the edges of your awareness. Your mind was still reeling from the conversation you’d had with your mother moments before—her not-so-subtle suggestions about "wifely duties" and the inevitability of sharing a bed with your husband tonight. 
The thought made your stomach twist, and your cheeks were still warm with embarrassment. You had hoped to delay that particular aspect of marriage, at least for a while, but there was no denying the weight of expectation pressing down on you.
As you rounded a corner into one of the quieter wings of the manor, you slowed your steps, grateful for a moment of reprieve from the noise and the prying eyes. 
It was then that you caught sight of Lady Elizabeth, standing near the far end of the corridor with another woman you vaguely recognized—a guest, perhaps, or a distant relation whose name escaped you. They were somewhat obscured by the shadows, their heads bowed close together as they spoke in low, urgent voices.
You stopped short, instinctively stepping back to avoid being seen, but their conversation drifted toward you in hushed but distinct whispers.
"…it was the only way to ensure his claim to the manor," Lady Elizabeth said, her voice cold and matter-of-fact. "You understand, don’t you? A bastard child cannot inherit Howlett Manor unless certain… conditions are met."
The other woman gasped softly, her fan fluttering nervously at her throat. "Are you saying James is—"
"A bastard," Lady Elizabeth cut in, the word sharp and unyielding. "Yes. He is the son of a groundskeeper we had. I had an affair—brief, foolish—and yet, here we are. The late Lord Howlett agreed to raise him as his own, but only if Logan did what was necessary to preserve the family name and secure the estate. That meant marrying, producing an heir… appearing respectable." Her tone held a trace of bitterness, as though the situation was a distasteful chore she had no choice but to accept.
The truth struck you like a blow to the chest, knocking the breath from your lungs. You gripped the edge of the doorway, your fingers digging into the wood as the world seemed to tilt around you. Logan is not truly the heir to Howlett Manor? He is… illegitimate?
The whispers continued, their voices fading in and out. "…must keep it quiet, of course," Lady Elizabeth was saying. "If anyone found out the truth, it would cause a scandal. All the wealth, the manor—gone. That is why this marriage was so important. He needs a legitimate heir, and quickly."
You could hardly process what you were hearing. The weight of the revelation pressed down on you, filling your chest with a mixture of shock and betrayal. You had known there were expectations upon this marriage, pressures you had not fully understood, but this… this was an entirely different kind of entanglement. It wasn’t just a matter of appearances or duty—it was a lie. A lie that Logan had kept from you, that his mother had kept from society, a lie that now entangled you as well.
Forcing yourself to remain calm, you stepped back quietly, retreating before they could notice you. Your heart pounded in your ears as you made your way to one of the smaller parlors, where you sank into a chair, your mind spinning. 
The scandal this could cause—if the truth were to come out, it would ruin not just Logan, but your family as well. The very thing you had married to avoid—the loss of Langley House, the disgrace—would become inevitable. I cannot tell anyone, you thought, a tremor running through you. No one can know.
Later, you found yourself drifting through the reception, the laughter and music around you feeling like a distant, disjointed melody. You did your best to play your part—the smiling bride, the gracious hostess—but every time you caught sight of Logan across the room, a fresh wave of unease washed over you. 
You wondered how long he had known, how long he had kept this secret hidden from you. Had he intended to tell you eventually, or had he planned to let you live in ignorance, a pawn in his efforts to secure a future for himself?
As if summoned by your thoughts, Logan approached you near the edge of the ballroom, where you had retreated once more to catch your breath. His expression was softer than usual, and there was an unexpected warmth in his eyes as he came to stand beside you. "You look… radiant," he said quietly, his voice low and gentle. He reached out to brush a stray curl from your cheek, his fingers lingering near your temple. "I was looking for you earlier. I was hoping to steal a dance."
You stiffened at his touch, the tenderness in his tone feeling almost like a mockery in light of what you now knew. You forced a smile, though it felt brittle, and nodded. "A dance? Yes, of course. It is… our wedding day, after all."
His brow furrowed slightly, as though sensing that something was amiss. "Is everything all right?" he asked, his voice dipping with concern. "You seem… distant."
How could I possibly tell you? The question burned at the back of your throat, but you swallowed it down. "I'm just… overwhelmed," you replied, letting out a small, shaky breath. "It’s all been so… sudden." It wasn’t entirely a lie, and you hoped he would accept it.
His hand found yours, and he gave your fingers a reassuring squeeze. "I understand," he said softly. "It’s a great deal to take in. But you’re not alone in this." There was a genuine kindness in his eyes, a sincerity that should have comforted you, but instead only deepened your sense of betrayal. You knew that while he spoke these words of reassurance, there was a secret between you—one that threatened to unravel everything if it ever came to light.
You allowed him to lead you onto the dance floor, you couldn’t help but feel like you were playing a role, just as much as he was. The music swelled, and you fell into step with him, your hand resting lightly on his shoulder, his arm firm around your waist. He looked down at you with an intensity that made your pulse quicken, but instead of feeling warmth, you felt a chill.
"I’m glad you’re here," Logan murmured as you danced, his voice low enough for only you to hear. "I know we didn’t choose this, but… I’d like to think we could find some measure of happiness, even if it’s not the kind we once imagined."
You met his gaze, your heart twisting painfully at the sincerity in his expression. He looked at you as though you were the only person in the world, and yet… you could not forget the conversation you had overheard, the truth that hung like a shadow between you. "Yes," you replied, forcing the words out even as they tasted bitter. "I suppose we could try."
He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your cheek. "We’ll figure it out," he whispered. "Together."
The word together stung, and as you looked up at him, you wondered if he was truly offering you a partnership—or simply playing a part in a carefully crafted lie.
────୨ৎ────
The wedding celebration had stretched late into the night, and when it was finally over, you felt an overwhelming sense of relief. The laughter, music, and endless well-wishers had been exhausting, and you had longed to retreat somewhere quiet and familiar. 
But Langley House was no longer your sanctuary; Howlett Manor was now your home, and the realization settled heavily on your shoulders as the last guests departed, and the manor returned to its usual stillness.
The early morning air was cool and damp, the dew clinging to your skin as you stood on the grand steps of Howlett Manor, watching your family prepare to leave. The sight of their carriage waiting at the end of the gravel drive stirred a longing in your chest, a longing to climb inside and return with them to the warmth and comfort of your childhood home, to the place where you still knew who you were.
Your father embraced you gently, his kiss a soft brush against your cheek. "You’ll be fine, my dear," he murmured, his voice both reassuring and tinged with sadness. "Remember, if ever you need anything, we are only a letter away."
You nodded, managing a small, tight smile. "I know, Papa." But as you pulled back, a knot formed in your throat, and you had to bite your lip to keep it from trembling.
Your sisters crowded around you, their eyes bright with mischief and concern. "Now you're a proper lady, a married woman!" one teased, nudging your arm. "We expect to see you behaving with all the decorum of a countess." Another giggled, adding, "Try not to be too miserable without us."
You forced a laugh, waving them off as they climbed into the carriage, and you watched it roll away, the wheels crunching over the gravel until the sound faded into the distance. As the carriage disappeared from view, the sense of loneliness settled in, a cold, creeping sensation that sank into your bones. 
Howlett Manor was vast, with its sprawling halls and echoing chambers, but it felt impossibly empty, like a hollow shell. The servants bustled about with quiet efficiency, their footsteps barely audible on the polished floors, but their presence did little to fill the silence. There was no life here, none of the warm chaos you were used to—just endless rooms and corridors that all seemed to lead nowhere.
You wandered, your slippers brushing over the ornate rugs, your fingers trailing along the smooth banisters. At Langley House, there had always been some comfort in the small, familiar things: the chipped vase on the mantelpiece, the faded armchair your father favored, the distant sound of your sisters' laughter drifting through the halls. 
But here, everything was pristine and grand, untouched by time or sentiment. It was as though the very walls resisted your presence, like an indifferent host merely tolerating a guest.
Eventually, you found yourself in a small library tucked away on the eastern side of the manor. It was far more modest than the grand, formal library you had glimpsed earlier—this room seemed a bit forgotten, its shelves crammed to the brim with books of every kind. The air smelled faintly of dust and leather, and a few stray beams of sunlight spilled through the narrow window, illuminating particles that danced lazily in the air.
You sank into a worn armchair by the window, its upholstery faded from years of sunlight. It wasn’t a particularly inviting chair, but it was the first place you had found that didn’t seem to insist upon its grandeur, that didn’t make you feel quite so out of place. 
Your fingers traced the spines of the books nearby—collections of poetry, histories, and old novels whose covers were cracked with age. You pulled a volume at random from the shelf and settled back, trying to lose yourself in the words, but the text seemed to blur before your eyes, and you couldn’t shake the emptiness that gnawed at the edges of your thoughts.
The loneliness here was different from what you had expected. It wasn’t the sharp sting of missing your family, nor was it the cold silence of being truly alone. 
Rather, it was a kind of isolation that seeped into you even when surrounded by people—people who knew their place here, who moved about the manor with the easy familiarity you lacked. Even Logan, who you’d scarcely seen since the wedding day, seemed a stranger to this place at times. You had caught glimpses of him in passing, his brow furrowed in thought or his expression distant, and you wondered if he too felt as though he did not entirely belong.
You had just begun to drift off into an uneasy doze when the sound of voices outside the library door roused you. You started, closing the book and setting it aside as the door opened and Logan stepped in, speaking quietly with his cousin, Marie. There was a lightness to his tone, a warmth you had rarely heard in his voice. He laughed at something she said, the sound deep and genuine, and there was a soft smile on his lips as he reached out to ruffle her hair in an affectionate, brotherly gesture.
You felt a pang of something you could not quite name—jealousy, perhaps, or simply longing. It was strange to see him this way, unguarded and almost joyful. 
As if sensing your gaze, Logan looked up and saw you seated there, half-hidden behind the armchair. His smile faded slightly, but a flicker of that warmth remained as he inclined his head toward you. "I didn’t realize anyone else was in here," he said, his voice carrying a faint note of surprise. "I hope we didn’t disturb you."
"Not at all," you replied, rising to your feet, though the sudden movement made you feel unsteady. "I was just… trying to pass the time."
Marie gave you a friendly nod before excusing herself, leaving the two of you alone in the quiet library. Logan's gaze followed her for a moment, then returned to you, and you felt the weight of his attention, his curiosity.
"Have you found everything to your liking?" he asked, his tone polite, though there was a hint of something else in it as if he was searching for reassurance himself. "I know it must be quite an adjustment…"
"Yes," you answered, forcing a smile that felt strained. "It is… different, certainly." The understatement felt almost laughable, but you could not bring yourself to confess the depth of your unease. Not to him. Not yet.
Logan’s expression softened, and he took a step closer, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone. "If there’s anything you need—anything at all—please let me know," he said. "I would not have you feel like a stranger here."
The kindness in his voice unsettled you, for you could not help but wonder if it was merely an act, part of the role he was expected to play as a new husband. After all, how could he speak of not wanting you to feel like a stranger when he had kept the most significant part of his life hidden from you? When the very foundation of this marriage was built on secrets and necessity?
"Thank you, my lord, but I fear I will always be a stranger here," you blurted before you could stop yourself. The moment they left your lips, a flicker of regret curled in your chest, but it was too late to take them back.
Logan's brows furrowed, a shadow of concern crossing his features. "I had hoped to make you comfortable," he said, his voice measured, as though he was choosing each word with care. "If there is something amiss… Is your chamber not to your liking, or—"
"It is not the chamber," you interrupted, shaking your head. "Everything here is grand. Perhaps that is the problem." You gestured vaguely around the room, where the dark wood paneling gleamed in the afternoon light, where the velvet drapes hung heavy and untouched. "Nothing feels… homey. It is as though I am trapped within these walls, surrounded by all this grandeur, but with nothing of substance to occupy me. There is an emptiness here and I…" Your voice trailed off, uncertain how to convey the rest without sounding ungrateful or childish.
He took a step back, the distance between you widening, though his gaze remained fixed on you, unwavering. "How can you be so unhappy when it has only been hours since our wedding?" There was a hint of frustration in his tone, barely concealed. "I know this is all new, but I thought—" He broke off, his jaw tightening. "I thought you were willing to give this a chance."
A dry laugh escaped you, tinged with a bitterness you hadn’t meant to reveal. "Willing, yes," you replied, a tremor in your voice. "But happiness? That is another matter entirely. I was not happy to begin with, and though I did promise I would try to make this marriage work, I don’t know if I can." You paused, your throat tightening around the words. "I am alone here, without my family, without my father. He has no one by his side."
Logan’s expression softened slightly, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction. "I know it is difficult," he said quietly. "But I would not have you feel this way. If there is anything I can—"
"I do not need reassurances, my lord," you snapped, the sharpness of your tone surprising you. You took a step toward him, the frustration and fear that had been simmering since the wedding rising to the surface. "I need honesty. I need to know that I am not merely here to serve as the solution to a problem that was never mine to begin with."
He blinked, a flicker of confusion crossing his features. "What are you talking about?"
You opened your mouth to respond, the words balanced precariously on the tip of your tongue. I know the truth. I know what your mother said—that you are not truly the heir, that you are a— You swallowed, the weight of the secret pressing against your chest like a stone. But as you met his gaze, you saw a rawness there, a genuine concern that made you falter. The words died in your throat, and you looked away, unable to bring yourself to shatter whatever fragile understanding existed between you.
"Nothing," you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. "It is nothing."
"Is it?" he pressed, his tone gentling. He took a tentative step closer, his hand lifting as though to touch your arm, then falling back to his side. "I know this marriage did not begin as a love match, but that does not mean we cannot build something worthwhile from it. I am trying to give you a place here, but you must meet me halfway."
A bitter retort hovered on your lips, but you swallowed it back. "Halfway?" you echoed, a faint tremor in your voice. "And what would that look like? Me sitting in silence while you attend to your duties, while your mother watches over me like a hawk to ensure I fulfill my role as your wife and nothing more?"
Logan's jaw tightened, and there was a flicker of something in his eyes—anger, perhaps, or hurt, or some mixture of the two. "My mother does not dictate our marriage," he said, his tone firm. "Nor does she have a say in how I treat you."
"But does she have a say in why you married me?" The question slipped out before you could think better of it, and as soon as the words hung in the air between you, you wished you could take them back. You saw the way his expression changed, the guarded look that closed off whatever warmth had been there moments before.
"What are you trying to say?" His voice was low, his gaze piercing as though searching your face for answers you were unwilling to give.
You took a step back, wrapping your arms around yourself as though to ward off the sudden chill that seemed to fill the room. "Forget I said anything," you murmured, turning away from him. "I am simply tired. It has been a long day."
You walked away, the tension hung between you, a taut string threatening to snap at any moment. You could feel Logan's eyes on your back, his unspoken questions pressing against you like a weight. You had come so close to revealing what you knew, and now the secret lay thick and unspoken between you. Its presence impossible to ignore.
However, the damage was done. The words you hadn’t said had already begun to build a wall between you, one that grew higher with every passing silence.
────୨ৎ────
It was days later, in the quiet hours of the late afternoon, when Logan found you curled up in the worn armchair with a book in hand, nestled in the small, tucked-away library. It was far removed from the grand and imposing main library, which you had visited only once and found too vast, too cold for your liking.
This library felt different. It had a lived-in quality, as though it were a place where someone came to retreat from the weight of duty, a place where time seemed to slow. You had claimed it as a sanctuary of sorts, a space where you could be alone with your thoughts and the company of the old novels that lined the shelves.
You didn’t notice Logan’s presence at first, not until the faint creak of the door announced him, and you looked up, startled. Rising to your feet, you brushed a stray lock of hair behind your ear, your loose curls tumbling over your shoulders. 
"My lord, I did not notice you there," you said, your voice betraying a hint of the nerves that still stirred whenever you found yourself alone in his company.
Logan’s lips quirked in a faint smile, his gaze sweeping over the room before resting on you. "You don’t need to stand on ceremony here," he said, his tone softer than you had expected. "And you certainly don’t need to call me ‘my lord’—not in this place." He glanced around at the cluttered bookshelves as if reacquainting himself with the space. "I always thought of this library as a refuge, of sorts. It seems you have found it, too."
You relaxed slightly, though you still felt a touch self-conscious. "I did not realize this was… your library. It felt less formal than the others—more… welcoming," you admitted, a hint of a smile playing on your lips. "I hope I did not intrude."
"Not at all," he replied, stepping closer, his hands clasped casually behind his back. "In truth, I’m glad to see someone making use of it. I’ve always preferred this room over the larger one. There’s a kind of comfort here, wouldn’t you agree?"
You nodded, glancing back at the book you had set down—a collection of poetry. "I suppose I’ve always preferred smaller spaces. They feel less like… museums, more like places meant to be lived in."
Logan’s gaze drifted to the book resting on the armchair. "Byron," he noted, recognizing the gold lettering on the spine. "A man who made his life as dramatic as his verses. Are you fond of his work?"
"I am," you said, your eyes brightening at the familiar subject. "There is something about the way he captures longing and melancholy… It feels so human, so true."
Logan’s expression softened, a glimmer of shared understanding in his eyes. "Yes, there is a kind of honesty in his verses, even when they’re full of exaggeration. It’s as though he’s trying to make sense of his own heart."
He reached out, pulling a slim volume from the shelf beside him. "But I’ve always been more inclined toward Wordsworth," he confessed, turning the book over in his hands. "His love of nature, the way he finds solace in it… There’s a quietness to his poetry that I find calming."
You tilted your head, a touch of curiosity lighting your gaze. "That’s surprising. I didn’t take you for the type to seek out… calm."
Logan let out a chuckle, his thumb brushing over the book’s worn cover. "I suppose that’s why I do seek it. A man doesn’t have to look very far to find chaos, but peace… that’s something worth searching for." He glanced at you, and the lightness in his expression gave way to something more thoughtful. "You know, my father always called me James. I suppose it was the name he preferred—more dignified, I think, in his mind. But my mother… She always called me Logan, from the time I was a boy."
He hesitated, a shadow crossing his features. "I suppose I never stopped thinking of myself that way. James feels like… a stranger, a name for the person I am supposed to be, rather than the person I am."
The confession surprised you, and you found yourself searching his face, trying to understand the layers of the man standing before you. "Is that why you asked me to call you Logan?" you asked softly, as though the gesture could bridge the distance that still lay between you. 
He nodded revealing a small smile, and for a moment, the tension seemed to ease. 
“Then I shall call you Logan if that is who you truly are.” You said after a moment before sitting back down in the armchair, gesturing for him to take the one across from you, and after a moment’s hesitation, he did, setting the Wordsworth volume on his knee.
"You’ve made quite a collection here," you remarked, glancing around at the overflowing shelves. "I didn’t realize you read so much."
Logan’s expression warmed, and he shrugged slightly. "There was always more to learn, more to understand," he said. "I suppose books were the one constant when everything else seemed uncertain."
You understood that sentiment all too well, and it struck you how much you had underestimated him. He was not just the reserved and sometimes brooding man society saw, nor merely the heir struggling to uphold his family's expectations. There was a depth to him, a yearning for something beyond duty. You wondered if you had misjudged him—or at least, not truly seen him.
"You mentioned your father," Logan said gently, breaking the silence. "I know you miss him. I… I would not want to keep you from seeing him. Once I’ve attended to some business here, I shall take you to Langley House. You can stay as long as you like."
The offer came so unexpectedly that you stared at him, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. "You would do that?" you asked, a faint tremor in your tone.
"Of course," he replied, his gaze steady on yours. "It is your home, after all. I promised I would not have you feel like a stranger here." His lips curved in a small, earnest smile. "Besides, I would not wish to be the kind of husband who denies his wife the comfort of her family."
A warmth blossomed in your chest mingled with a pang of guilt at the secret you still kept from him. For now, you allowed yourself to accept his kindness, to believe that perhaps there was something to be built between you, some foundation upon which to steady the uncertain future that lay ahead.
You returned his smile, a tentative hope stirring within you. "Thank you, Logan," you said quietly, and as the light faded from the window, the two of you sat in the small library, the silence between you no longer quite so empty.
────୨ৎ────
The sun was sinking behind the trees, casting long shadows across the entryway of Howlett Manor, as you paced back and forth, your arms crossed tightly over your chest. The hours had dragged on, each one heavier than the last, filled with the monotonous duties of running the household—duties that had felt all the more tedious with your mind fixed elsewhere. 
Your father was ill, and the news had struck like a blow to the chest, leaving you restless and frantic.
You had received the message from your mother just after midday, her handwriting trembling across the page as she described your father’s sudden fever. The thought of him alone, struggling for breath while you remained stuck here, had been gnawing at you ever since. You had been prepared to leave immediately, but propriety demanded you wait for Logan’s return; a lady did not travel alone, no matter the urgency. Yet the minutes had crawled by, and still, he had not come.
Finally, as the last light of day began to fade, the front door swung open, and there he stood. Logan’s hair was damp with sweat, and his coat was dusted with the evidence of his travels, but he seemed unharmed—unlike your father, whose condition you had only grown more desperate to reach with each passing moment.
"There you are," you exclaimed, your voice sharp and edged with impatience. "I’ve been waiting all day for you to return. I need to leave for Langley House at once."
Logan blinked, taken aback by your tone. "I’m sorry, I—"
"My father is ill," you cut him off, your pacing quickening as you spoke. "He’s taken a sudden fever, and I will not wait here a moment longer. I must go to him." The words tumbled out in a frantic rush, your chest tightening with every breath.
Logan frowned, concern flashing in his eyes, but his tone remained calm. "It’s already late. The roads are dark, and it would be dangerous to travel now. We should wait until morning—"
"Morning?" You spun to face him, incredulous. "You promised, Logan. You said as soon as your business was done, you would take me to Langley House. But now you ask me to wait even longer? My father could be—" Your voice broke, and you swallowed hard, fighting the tears that threatened to spill over.
He stepped forward, his brow furrowing. "I know you're worried, but traveling in the dark—"
"I don’t care about the dark!" you shouted, your hands clenching into fists at your sides. "My father needs me, now, not when it’s convenient for you." The frustration and fear you had kept bottled up surged forward, and before you could think better of it, the words you had been holding back escaped in a rush. "I know why you married me, Logan," you said, your voice trembling with the force of your emotions. "I know the truth about you—about who you are. A bastard son, trying to secure his inheritance through this marriage."
His expression froze, a flicker of confusion crossing his features. "What… what are you talking about?" he asked, his voice low and uncertain, as if the ground beneath him had just shifted. "Who told you—"
"It doesn’t matter who told me," you snapped, your heart pounding as you took a step back. "What matters is that you only married me to secure your fortune, and now you would have me wait while my father suffers? You are no better than a liar, Logan." The name felt bitter on your tongue, as though it belonged to a stranger.
He reached for you, his voice urgent. "Please, just listen to me. I don’t—"
You shook your head, unwilling to hear whatever explanations he might have. "I’ve heard enough," you said coldly, turning on your heel and marching toward the door. "I’m going to Langley House, with or without you."
Without waiting for his response, you stormed out of the entryway and hurried to the stables, your pulse thundering in your ears. A stable hand gaped at you as you demanded a carriage be readied at once, and you hardly noticed the incredulous look the servants exchanged as you climbed inside, your hands trembling with anger and fear.
The carriage lurched forward, and you stole one last glance at the manor as it receded into the distance. You half expected Logan to follow, to call out and demand you stay, but there was nothing—only the growing darkness and the sound of the wheels on the gravel.
As the night swallowed the road ahead, the magnitude of what you had done began to sink in. You had left without hearing his side of the story, and though part of you felt justified, another part—a quieter, more uncertain part—wondered if you had made a terrible mistake.
────୨ৎ────
A few days had passed since you arrived at Langley House, and you had barely left your father's side. His fever had not yet broken, and though he sometimes seemed to drift into a peaceful sleep, there were moments when his breathing grew labored, his skin pale and damp. 
You clung to his bedside, your hand wrapped around his frail fingers, fighting the exhaustion that pressed against your eyelids. The hours blurred together, and you lost track of time; all that mattered was being there, willing him to recover with every silent plea.
"You should rest, dear," your mother had said, her brow creased with worry as she hovered by the door. But you waved her off with a weary shake of your head, and after a moment’s hesitation, she left you be. It was the first time in days she had not insisted on something, and you were grateful for the silence.
At last, when even your determination could not keep your eyes open, you retreated to your old room. It felt strange to be there again—the space was exactly as you had left it, a time capsule of your girlhood, yet you felt like an intruder. 
The familiar lace curtains, the faded wallpaper, the worn quilt at the foot of the bed… all reminders of a past life, one that seemed distant now that you were a wife with different burdens to bear. You lay down, but sleep remained elusive, your thoughts tangled and restless.
A soft knock interrupted the quiet, rousing you from your half-conscious state. You sat up slowly, rubbing your eyes as a servant peeked hesitantly through the door. "My lady," she murmured, "there is a gentleman here to see you."
Your chest tightened, a familiar dread curling in your stomach. "If it is Lord Howlett, tell him I am busy," you said, your voice sharper than you intended. You had not spoken to Logan since you left Howlett Manor in a fit of anger and hurt, and you were not sure you were ready to face him yet.
The servant hesitated, her eyes shifting toward the hall. "He was quite insistent, my lady." Before you could respond, the door creaked open wider, and there stood Logan, looking unlike you had ever seen him.
He was pale, his hair unruly as if he had run his hands through it too many times, and there were dark circles under his eyes, as though he had not slept in days. For a moment, he seemed almost a stranger, stripped of the composed exterior you had grown used to. There was a rawness about him that made your heart twist despite the anger you still felt.
"May I come in?" he asked, his voice rough, and there was a vulnerability in his expression that gave you pause.
You hesitated, your grip tightening on the edge of the quilt. "If you’ve come to offer more excuses, Logan, I’m not interested," you said, but the words lacked the conviction they had held days ago. His appearance, so disheveled and hollow, had already chipped away at your resolve.
He stepped inside without waiting for permission, closing the door gently behind him. "I don’t have excuses," he said quietly, his gaze meeting yours with an intensity that left you breathless. "Only the truth."
You folded your arms across your chest, trying to steady yourself. "The truth?" you echoed bitterly. "And what truth would that be? That you married me only to secure your claim to Howlett Manor? That your mother’s schemes made a fool of me?"
A muscle tightened in his jaw, and he took a slow breath before answering. "I did not know," he said, the words almost a whisper, as though admitting them pained him. "I didn’t know… until you left." He took a step closer, his voice thick with raw honesty. "After you stormed off, I confronted my mother. She… she told me everything. That I am not the true heir, that my father was not my father, and that the marriage was her way of ensuring my claim remained undisputed."
You stared at him, the floor seeming to shift beneath you. "You didn’t know?" you repeated, scarcely able to believe it. "You expect me to believe that you were kept in the dark about something so… so consequential?"
"I swear to you," Logan said, his voice hoarse, "I had no idea. All my life, I believed what I was told—that I was the legitimate son of the late Lord Howlett. I never had reason to question it." His expression tightened, a shadow passing over his eyes. "But now… now I know the truth. And my mother—" He let out a bitter, broken laugh. "She’s furious with me for confronting her. She won’t speak to me. I’ve lost… I’ve lost the only family I thought I had."
The anger you had been holding onto slipped through your fingers, replaced by an ache you had not expected. You saw the hurt in his eyes, the way he struggled to keep his voice steady, and for the first time, you felt a flicker of sympathy, even guilt. Slowly, you let your arms fall to your sides. 
"Why did you come here?" you asked softly, your voice wavering. "Why now?"
"Because I needed you to know," he said, his gaze searching yours for something—understanding, forgiveness, perhaps even solace. "I needed you to know that I did not deceive you, not intentionally. And… because I hoped…" His voice trailed off, and he swallowed, his eyes dark with uncertainty. "I hoped you might still be willing to come back. If not for the marriage, then… at least to speak with me. To try to understand."
You hesitated, your heart tugging in two directions. You had been so sure of his betrayal, so certain that he had used you, and yet now, seeing him so undone, so lost… It stirred something within you, a reluctant compassion that you could not quite suppress. 
You slipped out of your bed and took a step toward him, your hand lifting slightly before you let it fall again. "Logan," you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath. "I don’t know what to say."
He looked down, his shoulders slumping as though he had been carrying a weight too heavy to bear. "Then don’t say anything," he replied, his tone quiet and strained. "Just… let me stay. Just for a moment."
Before you knew what you were doing, you reached out, your fingers gently touching his arm. He looked up at you, surprise flickering in his eyes, and you saw how deeply this had wounded him—this revelation that had shattered the foundation of his life. Slowly, tentatively, you let your hand rest on his shoulder, feeling the tension beneath your touch.
"It’s not your fault," you murmured, the words coming unbidden but somehow feeling right. "You didn’t ask for any of this."
His breath hitched, and he took a step closer, as though drawn to your warmth, his hand coming up to cover yours where it rested on his shoulder. "I don’t know what I am now," he confessed, his voice raw. "I don’t know who I’m supposed to be."
"Well," you said softly, offering a small, tentative smile, "I suppose that's the one good thing about something so tragic. You now have the freedom to be whoever you want." Your voice carried a note of gentleness, an unspoken reassurance that you hoped might reach him.
Logan’s expression softened, though the lines of exhaustion remained etched in his face. He glanced away, as if considering your words, his hand still resting over yours. For a moment, you both stood in the quiet room, the only sound the distant ticking of a clock. The air was fragile, a sense that this moment was a truce, however brief.
You drew in a breath, your hand slipping away from his shoulder. "You look exhausted," you said, your voice just above a whisper. "You should rest."
His gaze met yours, and though he hesitated, he gave a slight nod. "If… if you don’t mind, I could stay," he murmured, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. "Just for a while."
You didn’t know why you agreed so readily—perhaps it was the rawness in his voice or the way his shoulders sagged as though the weight of the world had settled there. "You can stay," you said, and then, after a beat, you added, "There is a chair by the window."
He took the offer quietly, walking over to the armchair and sinking into it as though his legs had finally given out. You climbed back into your bed, your movements slow and unsteady, and pulled the covers up to your chin, still half-aware of his presence. It was strange to think that just days ago, you had left him in a storm of anger and hurt, and now here he was—wounded, vulnerable, and seeking comfort under the same roof as you.
Your eyes grew heavy with exhaustion, the events of the past few days catching up with you all at once. You hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but the weariness seeped into your bones, and soon, you drifted off, the soft rustling of Logan shifting in the chair the last sound you heard before darkness claimed you.
────୨ৎ────
You awoke with a start some hours later, the room dimly lit by the pale glow of moonlight filtering through the lace curtains. You turned over, expecting to see Logan still sitting in the armchair, but the chair was empty, a faint indentation on the cushion the only sign he had been there at all. For a moment, confusion clouded your thoughts, and you sat up, rubbing your eyes. Where could he have gone?
Rising from the bed, you wrapped your robe around yourself and padded into the hallway. The house was silent, the kind of deep stillness that only comes in the middle of the night. 
You wandered from room to room, your footsteps echoing softly against the polished wooden floors. The familiar sights of Langley House brought a pang of nostalgia, and for a moment, you could almost imagine you were a young girl again, tiptoeing through the halls after bedtime. But the gravity of your situation quickly pulled you back to the present, and your thoughts turned to Logan.
At last, you reached your father's room and saw the door was slightly ajar, a sliver of warm light spilling into the hallway. You pushed it open gently and paused in the doorway, your breath catching at the sight before you.
Logan was seated by your father’s bedside, his head bowed and his hands clasped together as if in prayer. His voice was a low murmur, almost inaudible, and though you could not make out the words, you could hear the raw emotion in them. Your father lay still, his breaths steady but faint, and you noticed the way Logan reached out to touch the old man’s hand, his fingers brushing gently over the wrinkled skin as though offering a silent promise.
You took a step inside, the floorboard creaking beneath your weight. Logan’s head snapped up, his eyes meeting yours in the dim light. For a heartbeat, you both remained still, the air between you thick with unspoken words.
"I didn’t mean to intrude," he said quietly, his voice rough with fatigue. "I… I woke and found myself unable to sleep. I thought I might… check on him." There was a tenderness in his tone and it sent a strange warmth coursing through you.
You walked slowly to your father's bedside, your gaze shifting between the frail figure in the bed and the man sitting beside him. "You didn’t have to come here," you murmured, though there was no reproach in your voice, only a quiet gratitude you had not expected to feel. "But thank you."
Logan shook his head, a faint, tired smile pulling at his lips. "I wanted to," he replied, his hand still resting on your father's. "I thought… if I my father were like this, I would have wanted someone to be there with him. Even if it wasn’t me."
The words touched something deep within you, and you found yourself sitting down in the chair across from him. The silence settled over the room again, but it no longer felt oppressive. It was a silence of shared understanding, of finding comfort in the presence of another even when there was nothing more to be said.
"Why did you come here, Logan?" you asked softly, the question escaping before you could stop it. "Why did you follow me to Langley House after everything that happened? I know you said it was to tell me the truth but—" 
His gaze lifted to meet yours, and for a moment, you thought you saw a flicker of something vulnerable in his eyes. "Because I made a promise," he said, his voice steady but low. "And because… I didn’t want you to face this alone."
A lump formed in your throat, and you looked down at your father, his breathing steady and rhythmic, as if reminding you that time was still on your side. "You didn’t have to keep that promise," you whispered. "Not after—"
"But I wanted to," Logan interrupted, his tone firmer now. "I wanted to because… because I care." The last words came out in a hushed tone, as though they were fragile and needed to be handled with care. "And because, despite everything, I hoped that… maybe we could still find a way to make this work."
You inhaled slowly, your gaze still fixed on your father's frail form. The sincerity in Logan's voice stirred something in you that you had tried to bury beneath anger and hurt. You reached out, your hand finding Logan's where it rested on the edge of the bed. His skin was cool beneath your touch, and you felt him tense for a moment before his fingers curled gently around yours.
"I don’t know what will happen," you murmured, your voice barely audible in the hushed stillness of the room. Your gaze remained fixed on your father's frail form, his breaths slow and steady. "My feelings… they’re complicated. All I can think about right now is him—nothing else." The words came out in a strained whisper, the weight of them pressing heavily on your chest.
Logan's eyes never left you, his expression open yet laced with concern. "I’m not asking for anything more than for you to trust me," he said, his voice steady but soft, as though he knew this was fragile ground you stood upon. "That’s all, I promise."
The sincerity in his tone unsettled you more than any declaration of love or grand gesture might have. You stood, shaking your head, unable to shake the feeling that this conversation was too much for your father’s ears—even if he was too weak to hear a single word. "Not here," you said, your voice barely above a whisper as you walked toward the door. "This… it’s too much."
Logan followed you into the dimly lit hallway, pulling the door closed behind him with a quiet click. The air between you felt charged and tense, and as you turned to walk away, you felt his hand catch yours, his fingers curling around yours in a tentative hold.
"I can’t make promises," you said quickly, pulling your hand free with a frustrated shake. "You say things like that, and my mind begins to spin. What if it’s all just another lie? Another way to keep me obedient and… and compliant." The words tumbled out, each one weighted with the uncertainty and fear that had been building inside you. "You would lose everything if we fail to produce an heir. Did your mother tell you that? Did she tell you what’s at stake?"
Logan’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, there was a flash of something in his eyes—hurt, perhaps, or frustration. 
When he spoke, his tone was calm, edged with a quiet determination. "She told me… enough," he admitted, his voice low. "Enough to know what is expected of us." He took a step closer, his gaze holding yours with an intensity that made your heart quicken. "But I am not my mother, and I did not marry you to force you into anything. I won’t make promises I can’t keep, but the one thing I can swear to is this: I have no intention of deceiving you."
You swallowed hard, your breath catching in your throat. "You say that now, but… what happens when time passes and there is still no heir? Will you still be so understanding then?" The doubt laced through your voice, but beneath it was a flicker of hope that you desperately tried to suppress.
His eyes softened, a mixture of sadness and resolve glinting in the depths. "I don’t care about titles, or legacies, or any of the things my mother obsesses over," he said, his voice roughened by an emotion you could not name. "I care about you. I care about the truth between us, even if it’s a tangled mess right now." He reached for your hand again, his touch gentler this time, as if he were asking rather than taking. "I know I’m not perfect, and I know you don’t owe me anything. But I’m asking you to give me a chance to prove that I can be the man you deserve, and not just the husband you ended up with because of circumstance."
You stared at his hand over yours, the warmth of his touch seeping into your skin, and for a moment, you couldn’t speak. The walls you had built up since leaving Howlett Manor felt as though they were crumbling, brick by brick, under the weight of his words. There was still a voice inside you, one that whispered caution.
"I don’t know if I can trust that," you whispered, your voice breaking. "How do I know this isn’t just a way to secure what you need? How do I know you’re not saying what I want to hear just to keep me from running?"
Logan’s grip tightened slightly, his fingers lacing through yours as if to anchor you. "Because I’m not asking you to stay for obligation’s sake," he said, the rawness in his tone sending a shiver down your spine. "I’m asking because I want to try and build something real with you—something beyond what anyone else expects of us." His other hand rose to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear you hadn’t realized had fallen. "If you walk away now, I won’t stop you. But if you give me a chance… we can start by just… finding a way to be ourselves again. Not lord and lady, not husband and wife, but just… us."
The tenderness in his touch, the way his eyes searched yours for any sign of hope, struck you deeply. You felt a swell of emotions rising within you—fear, longing, confusion—all tangled together and impossible to untangle.
Slowly, hesitantly, you let out a breath, your chest tightening as you took a step closer, feeling the warmth radiating from Logan’s skin. "All right," you said, your voice trembling slightly despite your best efforts to steady it. "We can try… but only if we’re honest with each other. Completely honest." The words felt like both a promise and a challenge, an unspoken plea for something real in a world that often felt like a tangle of duty and deceit.
Logan nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. There was an intensity there, a quiet determination that made your pulse quicken. His gaze flickered from your eyes down to your lips as they parted, and the faintest smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, as though he were allowing himself, for the first time, to believe that there could be more between you than obligation. 
"That’s all I’m asking for," he murmured, his voice low and rough. His hand fell away from your cheek, lingering in the space between you as if he wasn’t quite ready to let go entirely.
The silence seemed to thrum with possibilities, the air thick with an unspoken question that neither of you dared to voice. You were close enough to feel the warmth of his breath, to see the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes—the same uncertainty that you felt rising within you. 
The memory of your first kiss drifted to the forefront of your mind: a soft, quick exchange during the wedding ceremony, one that had felt more like a formality than a true connection. This time, though, would it feel different? Would it feel real, tangible? The air itself was urging you to close the gap, to explore what lay beyond the roles you had both been playing.
Just as you took a breath as if to bridge the final inches, a soft voice interrupted the charged stillness. "Am I interrupting something?"
You and Logan sprang apart, the moment shattering like glass. Your head snapped toward the doorway where your father stood, his frame leaning slightly against the doorframe for support. His color was better, his cheeks no longer pale and hollow, and there was a hint of mischief in his eyes as they flicked between you and Logan. It was the most life you had seen in him since your arrival, and despite the awkwardness of the moment, a wave of relief washed over you.
"Papa," you said, your voice coming out higher than intended as you quickly brushed a hand over your hair, as if smoothing away any trace of what had almost happened. "I didn’t realize you were awake."
"I woke a short while ago," he replied, a slight grin tugging at his lips. "Though I can see I’ve walked in at a… delicate moment." He shifted his gaze to Logan, giving him a nod that was both acknowledging and appraising. "I suppose I should thank you, Lord Howlett, for keeping my daughter company while I recovered. I understand it must be rather difficult, managing a wife as stubborn as she is." His tone was light, teasing, but there was a glint of approval in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.
Logan dipped his head in a slight bow. "It is an honor, sir," he replied, his voice soft. "And I would say it’s rather a privilege to have a wife with such spirit. It keeps a man on his toes."
Your father chuckled softly, his laughter a welcome sound in the room. "Well spoken, my boy. Well-spoken." He glanced at you, his gaze warm with affection. "And you, my dear—you look as though you haven’t slept in days. You mustn’t worry so much over an old man like me. I’m feeling quite a bit better now, thanks to your constant vigilance." His voice softened. "I could hear you, you know… sitting by my bed, speaking to me even when I couldn’t respond."
A knot formed in your throat, and you quickly turned your head away, blinking back the sudden prick of tears. "I only did what any daughter would do," you murmured, the words catching slightly as you tried to compose yourself. "I’m just relieved you’re on the mend."
"Indeed I am," he said with a faint smile. "And I will continue to be, especially if I can trust that you’ll both refrain from causing a scandal in the middle of my convalescence." His gaze drifted pointedly back to Logan, a hint of fatherly protectiveness in his tone.
Logan met his eyes with a quiet assurance. "You needn’t worry, sir. I intend to take care of her," he said, his voice steady, but then he glanced toward you, the corner of his mouth curling up. "If she’ll allow me to."
There was something in his expression, something earnest and unguarded that sent a flutter through your chest. You felt a blush creep up your cheeks and quickly turned back to your father. "You should rest more," you said, avoiding Logan’s gaze as you walked into the room, busying yourself with adjusting your father’s pillows. "You’re still recovering, and I don’t want you overexerting yourself."
Your father gave you a knowing smile, then settled back into the bed with a sigh. "I suppose you’re right, my dear. But I expect to be up and about soon. And perhaps…" he glanced meaningfully between you and Logan, "if all goes well, I shall see some progress between the two of you by then."
"Father," you chided, though the blush on your cheeks deepened.
Logan only smiled, his eyes meeting yours with a quiet promise. "I think that’s a fair expectation, sir," he said, his voice softening as he held your gaze a moment longer than necessary.
You turned to leave the room and the feeling of his eyes on you lingered like a gentle warmth, as though the moment you had shared wasn’t entirely lost—just postponed, waiting to be resumed in the stillness of a future yet to be written.
────୨ৎ────
It felt oddly intimate, sitting outside for afternoon tea with the whole family, including Logan. The air was warm, softened by a gentle breeze that stirred the leaves of the nearby oak tree and rustled the delicate lace on your sleeves. You were seated at the white metal table beneath the shade of a parasol, idly fanning yourself as you watched the scene unfolding on the lawn.
Your father, who had recovered remarkably well, stood with his cane in hand, his posture straighter than it had been in weeks. Beside him was Logan, who looked unusually relaxed in his shirtsleeves, his coat draped over the back of a nearby chair. They were both attempting to teach your youngest sister the finer points of pallmall, though judging by her shrieks of laughter and exaggerated swings, it was clear she was more interested in chaos than in any true mastery of the game.
Your father pointed toward the wooden ball with his cane, giving some encouragement, while Logan crouched down to demonstrate the correct stance, his deep voice carrying across the garden. 
You could see the way your sister's eyes sparkled as she looked at him, her cheeks flushed with excitement. There was a natural ease to Logan’s movements, a gentleness in his manner that you had not always seen. It stirred something unfamiliar and unsettling in you.
"He is rather easy on the eyes, isn’t he?"
You blinked and turned sharply toward your mother, who sat beside you, a faint smile curling at the corners of her lips.
"Oh, please, do not speak about Father that way," you quipped, rolling your eyes. But when you saw the mischievous arch of your mother’s brow, you realized with a jolt that she had not been referring to your father at all. "Mama!" you hissed, heat rising to your cheeks.
"What?" She gave an innocent shrug, though the sparkle in her eyes betrayed her amusement. "I may be an old woman, but I am not blind. And you’d do well to notice the way he looks at you." She glanced pointedly in Logan’s direction, and when you followed her gaze, you caught him watching you, his expression softening as your eyes met.
Quickly, you turned your attention back to your teacup, lifting it to your lips to hide the sudden flutter in your chest. "You’re imagining things, Mama," you murmured, keeping your tone dismissive, but there was no mistaking the warmth that crept into your voice.
"Am I?" your mother replied with a knowing smile. "Well, if I am, then perhaps I should get my eyes checked." She sipped her tea, her gaze lingering on Logan for a moment longer before turning to engage one of your sisters in conversation.
You chanced another glance across the lawn. Logan had returned to coaching your sister, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder as he corrected her stance. His hair fell untidily over his forehead, the sunlight catching in the strands, and there was an easy grace to him that seemed to draw you in against your will. It was as if you were seeing him anew. Someone who had begun to carve out a space in your thoughts, even when you hadn’t wanted him to.
As the game concluded and your sister raced off in pursuit of a butterfly, Logan strolled back toward the table, his gaze finding yours as if pulled there by some unseen force. He stopped beside your chair, a playful glint in his eye. "Would you care to join the game?" he asked, his tone light. "Your sister claims she is now the undisputed champion and says you would be no match for her."
You couldn’t help but smile at that. "Is that so?" you replied, arching a brow. "And did you encourage this confidence of hers, my lord?"
"Only a little," he admitted, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a faint smile. "But I believe it’s warranted. She has quite the swing."
"Then perhaps I ought to prove her wrong," you said, setting your teacup aside and rising from your chair. There was a flutter of anticipation in your chest as you stepped onto the lawn, and Logan offered you his arm, which you accepted, feeling a jolt of warmth spread from the point of contact. It was a small, ordinary gesture, yet it seemed to speak volumes—an unspoken acknowledgment that something was shifting between you.
He guided you to where the mallet lay on the grass, his hand lingering at the small of your back for just a moment. "Shall I show you the proper stance, or do you already consider yourself an expert?" he asked, his voice laced with a playful challenge.
You couldn’t resist the faint smile that tugged at your lips. "I think I can manage," you said, taking up the mallet and positioning yourself with as much grace as you could muster. But as you prepared to take the swing, you felt Logan step closer, his presence a comforting heat at your back.
"Here," he murmured, reaching around you to adjust your grip. His hand closed over yours, his touch firm but gentle, and you could feel the warmth of his breath against your temple. "You’ll get a better aim if you angle the mallet just slightly…" His voice trailed off as his gaze met yours, his eyes dark and intent, as though he had forgotten entirely about pallmall.
You held your breath, aware of the inches that separated you—of how easy it would be to turn, to close that distance, to see if his lips were as warm and steady as his hands. The thought sent a shiver down your spine, and for a moment, you wondered if he felt it too. If he, too, was resisting the pull.
Just as you were about to speak, to say something—anything—your sister called out from across the lawn, breaking the spell. The moment shattered, and you quickly stepped forward, your cheeks warm with something that felt dangerously close to longing.
"Thank you," you said, your voice steadier than you felt. "For the… instruction."
Logan’s lips curved in a faint smile, though there was a hint of something unspoken in his eyes as he stepped back. "Anytime," he replied, his tone gentle. "Though I think you hardly needed my help."
You turned away as your pulse quickened. You looked back toward the table where your mother sat, her expression unreadable, and you couldn’t help but feel as though something definitely between you and Logan had shifted, even if you weren’t quite sure what it was.
────୨ৎ────
The journey back to Howlett Manor was marked by a heavy, simmering silence. The wheels of the carriage rumbled over the uneven road, but it did little to distract you from the charged tension that hung between you and Logan. 
He had spoken only a few words since leaving Langley House, his voice low and hesitant, while you had responded with polite nods, unwilling to break the quiet. It was as if something taut and brittle was between you, ready to snap at the slightest provocation.
When the carriage finally rolled to a halt, you glanced out the window and saw Lady Elizabeth waiting on the manor steps, her expression as sharp as a blade. She stood rigidly, her arms crossed over her chest, her eyes narrowing as she spotted the carriage. The sight of her sent a chill through you, and even before she spoke, you could sense the confrontation that awaited.
Logan let out a weary sigh, his hand already on the door handle. "Stay here," he murmured, his tone edged with frustration. "I’ll deal with her."
But you were already reaching for the door, refusing to remain hidden like some guilty secret. "I will not," you said, your voice firm as you stepped out into the cool evening air. 
The weight of his gaze was palpable as you moved past him, and you heard him mutter under his breath, a resigned, "Of course, you wouldn’t."
Lady Elizabeth descended the steps as you approached, her dark eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made your skin prickle. There was no warmth in her expression—only a cold, calculated disdain that spoke volumes before she even opened her mouth. 
"So," she said, her voice cutting through the air like a blade, "you’ve come back. And after the disgraceful way you left, no less." Her gaze flicked to Logan, as though seeking confirmation of your audacity. "I expect an apology, from both of you."
Logan's jaw tightened as he stepped beside you, his voice low and steady. "An apology?" he echoed, his brow furrowing. "For what, exactly?"
"For trying to bring scandal upon this family," Lady Elizabeth snapped, her eyes flashing as she turned her glare fully on you. "Leaving without a word, abandoning your duties as my son's wife. It was irresponsible, childish—"
"Enough," Logan interrupted, his tone sharp and edged with something you hadn’t heard before—a warning. He took a step forward, positioning himself slightly in front of you, as though shielding you from his mother’s words. "This is not her fault."
Lady Elizabeth’s mouth tightened into a thin line. "She left this manor in a fit of temper, and I will not stand by and have my family's reputation dragged through the mud by some—"
"She left because of the lies," Logan cut in, his voice rising. "Because of your lies." His eyes darkened, and he held his mother’s gaze without flinching. "She knows, Mother. About me. About the truth of my birth."
The silence that followed was like the calm before a storm, and for a moment, you thought you saw a flicker of something—fear, perhaps, or anger—in Lady Elizabeth's eyes. But it vanished as quickly as it had come, replaced by a cold, imperious stare. "And did you think it was wise to reveal such a thing?" she spat, her tone laced with venom. "To her?" Her gaze darted to you, filled with contempt. "What does she know of the sacrifices that were made to keep this family’s legacy intact?"
Your heart pounded in your chest, a surge of indignation rising in you. "I know that whatever sacrifices were made, they were not mine to make," you said, your voice trembling with a mixture of anger and defiance. "I was used as a pawn in a game I didn’t even know I was playing."
Lady Elizabeth’s lips curled into a sneer. "A pawn, indeed. It is you who stands to gain from this marriage, my dear. Or did you think your family's situation was not known to us?"
Logan took another step forward, his hand clenching at his side. "That’s enough," he said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "I won’t let you speak to her like that."
His mother’s eyes widened, a flicker of shock breaking through her composure. "You would take her side over mine?" she asked, incredulity dripping from each word. "I did what was necessary to secure your future, to ensure that you would not be cast aside. Now you turn on me for the sake of—"
"Leave," Logan said abruptly, his voice hardening to steel. "Leave now, before you say something you cannot take back."
For a moment, it seemed as though she might argue, but then she straightened, drawing herself up with all the dignity she could muster. "Very well," she said icily, her gaze flicking to you one last time, as though etching you into her memory with distaste. "But do not think this matter is settled." She turned sharply on her heel and strode back up the steps, disappearing into the manor with a swish of her skirts, leaving a chill in her wake.
The silence descended once more, you let out a breath. The encounter had left you shaken, and yet… there was a strange sense of relief, too. You glanced at Logan, who was still standing rigidly, his eyes fixed on the place where his mother had just vanished. There was a tightness in his jaw, an unspoken conflict that lingered in the lines of his face.
"You didn’t have to do that," you said quietly, your voice softening. "She’s your mother."
He shook his head slowly, his expression unreadable. "That doesn’t give her the right to speak to you that way," he murmured, his gaze finally shifting to meet yours. There was a flicker of something in his eyes—like longing, or perhaps relief, as though in defending you, he had also taken a step toward freeing himself from his mother’s expectations. "I promised to be honest with you," he continued. "And I meant it. Whatever else happens, I will not let her dictate our lives."
You felt a rush of warmth, not just from his words but from the quiet intensity with which he spoke them. It wasn’t just a defense; it was a declaration—a small but significant act of loyalty that stirred something deep within you. You took a step closer, your fingers brushing against his hand in a tentative gesture of gratitude, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.
The silence stretched between you, almost as a shared understanding—a bond that had begun to form amid secrets and betrayals, and was slowly becoming something more solid. Logan’s fingers curled around yours, and the touch felt like a promise in itself.
"Come," he said softly, his voice almost a whisper. "Let’s go inside.”
You nodded, allowing him to lead you back into the manor, your hand still clasped in his. As you crossed the threshold together, you couldn’t help but feel that, despite everything, there was a glimmer of hope despite the uncertainty of the future.
Later that night, you found yourself pacing the length of your chamber, your footsteps muffled by the thick rug beneath your bare feet. 
Sleep had become a rare visitor since the wedding; Howlett Manor held a kind of darkness that seemed to linger in the very walls, keeping you on edge. The vast, silent corridors, the draughts that whispered through the halls, the way the night settled heavily over the estate. It was as though the manor itself was unsettled, restless, and it had passed that restlessness on to you.
Then there were the sounds. Soft, distant groaning that seemed to rise and fall on the air. You had dismissed it before, convincing yourself it was nothing more than the old bones of the house shifting or the wind rattling the shutters. But tonight, as you stood in the shadows of your room, the sound came again, louder this time, and unmistakably human. It clawed at your nerves, tugging at your curiosity and, despite the unease prickling along your spine, you felt compelled to find out what—or who—was behind it.
Drawing in a breath to steady yourself, you reached for the door handle and slipped out into the dimly lit corridor. The candles along the walls flickered as you passed, casting long, wavering shadows that danced on the stone. You followed the noise, the low groaning growing clearer, guiding you down the hallway and toward one of the rooms.
As you drew closer, the sound sharpened into muffled cries, pained and desperate. You hesitated at the door, your hand hovering over the handle. It was Logan’s voice, unmistakable even in its anguish. A shudder ran through you as you pressed your ear to the wood, your pulse quickening. Was he hurt? Was someone in there with him?
You turned the handle and pushed the door open gently, peering into the darkness of the room. Logan lay sprawled on the bed, the sheets twisted around his limbs, his chest rising and falling rapidly as though he were struggling for breath. His face was contorted in agony, beads of sweat glistening on his brow. The groans came again, low and tortured, escaping his lips as he writhed in the grip of some unseen terror.
Without thinking, you hurried to his side, your heart pounding. "Logan," you whispered, reaching out to touch his shoulder. "Logan, wake up. It’s just a dream—"
The moment your fingers brushed against his skin, his eyes flew open, wide and unfocused. Before you could react, his hand shot out, grasping your wrist in a vice-like grip and yanking you closer. The suddenness of the movement sent you stumbling forward, and you cried out as his other arm came around, knocking you off balance. You fell against the bed, your wrist pinned painfully beneath his hand.
"Logan, stop!" you gasped, your voice high and trembling. "It’s me—"
His eyes were wild, unseeing, and for a terrifying moment, you weren’t sure he recognized you at all. His grip tightened, and you winced, a sharp pain shooting through your wrist. But then his gaze seemed to clear, the dark confusion lifting as he blinked and released you as though burned.
The room fell into a tense silence as you pulled your arm back, rubbing your sore wrist and staring at him, your breath coming fast. Logan's eyes widened with horror as he took in the scene, his chest still heaving with the remnants of his nightmare. 
"I—I didn’t mean to—" His voice cracked, and he sat up abruptly, his hand trembling as he reached toward you. "Are you all right?"
You nodded shakily, though your heart still raced. "I’m fine," you said, though your voice came out quieter than you intended. "It’s just… you were having a nightmare. I tried to wake you, but you…" You swallowed, the words trailing off as you looked down at your wrist, where faint red marks were already starting to form.
His gaze followed yours, and his expression crumpled with guilt. "God, I’m sorry," he whispered, his voice rough with shame. "I—I've never meant to hurt you. I didn’t even know it was you. I thought—" He broke off, running a hand through his disheveled hair, his fingers tangling in the damp strands. "I thought I was still… there."
You hesitated, the pain in your wrist already ebbing, replaced by a different kind of ache—one that came from seeing the despair in his eyes, the way his shoulders slumped as though he carried the weight of a lifetime’s worth of regrets. "Still where?" you asked softly, your gaze searching his face. "Logan, what did you dream about?"
He swallowed hard, his jaw tightening as he stared down at his hands, which lay open in his lap as though he were afraid of what they might do. "I have the same nightmare every night," he admitted, his voice low and unsteady. "It’s always the same. I see my father… the man who raised me. He’s lying there, lifeless, and it’s my fault. I’m the one who…" His voice broke, and he looked away, his breath shuddering. "I’m the one who killed him."
The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. You stared at him, your pulse thrumming in your ears as the full weight of his confession settled over you. "Logan…" you breathed, not knowing what else to say. There was a rawness in his voice that tore at you, a grief and self-loathing that seemed to spill out in waves. You found yourself reaching for him, hesitantly resting your hand on his arm, your touch light and tentative.
"He died years ago," Logan continued his voice barely above a whisper. "It was an accident, but… I was there. I could have stopped it. I should have stopped it." He let out a harsh, bitter laugh that made your heart clench. "I suppose that’s why the nightmares won’t leave. They remind me of what I could never make right."
You tightened your grip on his arm, drawing his gaze back to yours. "It wasn’t your fault," you said gently, the words spilling out even though you knew they might not bring him any comfort. "You can’t blame yourself for something you couldn’t control."
His eyes searched yours, a flicker of something glinting in the depths. "You shouldn’t be here," he said quietly, though he made no move to pull away from you. "You should have left me to my demons. It’s safer that way."
"Perhaps," you replied, your voice barely more than a breath as you looked down at where your hand rested on his arm. "But if I left, who would keep you from them?"
For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Then, without fully understanding why, you leaned in closer, your touch sliding from his arm to his hand, your fingers threading through his. The silence between you was heavy. It was as though you were sharing the same breath, the same pain. Somehow, that made it a little more bearable for him.
Logan’s hand tightened around yours, and when he exhaled, it was as though some of the weight had lifted from his chest. "Stay," he murmured, his voice roughened by exhaustion. "Just for tonight."
You nodded, not trusting your voice to speak. As you settled back against the pillows, Logan lay down beside you, his body still tense but his grip on your hand unwavering. The darkness seemed to close in around you both, but this time, it felt less like a threat and more like a shared refuge.
Eventually, the rhythm of his breathing steadied, and you felt yourself slipping into sleep, lulled by the quiet comfort of his presence.
When the early morning light peeked through the curtains, its soft glow casting pale golden streaks across the bed, you were certain you were alone. The events of last night already seemed like a distant dream—the nightmare, Logan’s confession, the way you had fallen asleep side by side. The sheets felt cool where you lay, and for a moment, you wondered if he had left before dawn, quietly slipping away to avoid the awkwardness of the morning after.
You let out a small sigh and reached out tentatively, your hand roaming across the mattress, half-expecting to find only the emptiness where he had been. But then, your fingertips brushed against something warm. Your eyelids fluttered open, and you turned your head to see Logan lying there, his back to you, balanced precariously near the edge of the bed as if he had tried to keep as much distance between you as possible. It was almost comical—this broad-shouldered man, practically dangling off the side, as though the mere thought of sharing space with you was a dangerous line he dared not cross.
A small, unbidden smile tugged at your lips as you took in the sight. It was… endearing, in a way, how he seemed so out of place there, awkwardly trying to respect a boundary that neither of you had defined. The tension of the night had faded into something softer and sweet. You hadn’t meant to wake him, but you couldn’t help it—the sight of him like this, so different from his usual composed self, made you want to tease him, just a little.
"Are you planning on falling out of the bed, or are you just trying to escape?" you whispered, your voice still husky with sleep.
Logan stirred, a faint groan escaping him as he rolled over slowly, blinking against the morning light. His hair was tousled, falling into his eyes, and there was a faint crease on his cheek where it had pressed against the pillow. He looked at you, still half-asleep, and it took a moment for your words to register. Then a sheepish smile curved his lips, and he rubbed a hand over his face.
"I didn’t want to crowd you," he murmured, his voice rough and low. "You were asleep, and I… wasn’t sure if you’d…" He trailed off, his cheeks coloring slightly as if realizing how ridiculous he must have looked, hanging onto the edge for dear life.
A small laugh bubbled out of you, the sound light and unexpected. "I think the bed is big enough for the both of us," you teased gently, unable to hide the warmth in your tone. "You didn’t have to keep such a dramatic distance."
Logan’s smile grew, a flicker of amusement in his eyes now. "Well, I didn’t want you to wake up and think I’d taken advantage of your kindness," he said, his tone softening. "I didn’t want to… presume."
The sincerity in his voice made your heart squeeze, and for a moment, the awkwardness settled into something that made your pulse quicken. You hadn’t even realized until now just how much his presence comforted you, how safe you had felt lying beside him last night. The realization came with a rush of something warm and unfamiliar, and it took you by surprise.
"Well," you said, your gaze drifting to where his hand rested on the sheets between you, "if you’re so worried about my comfort, perhaps next time you can stay closer… so you don’t fall off the bed." The words left your lips before you could fully think them through, and as they hung in the air, you felt a blush creep up your neck, your cheeks warming with the boldness of your suggestion.
Logan’s eyes widened slightly, a mixture of surprise and something like hope shimmering in their depths. He glanced down at your hand, which had somehow drifted closer to his, and a crooked, endearing smile touched his lips. "Next time?" he repeated, his voice laced with a hint of playful curiosity. "So you’re already planning on sharing a bed with me again?"
You bit your lip, a nervous laugh escaping as you quickly shook your head. "That’s not what I meant," you stammered, though the smile pulling at your mouth betrayed you. "I just—well, I meant if… circumstances were to, you know… happen again." The words felt clumsy and inadequate, but there was no taking them back now.
Logan chuckled softly, his gaze warm and lingering on your face. "I see," he said, his voice dropping to a tender murmur. "If circumstances… happen."
You nodded, feeling a sudden wave of self-consciousness wash over you. The room seemed too bright, too intimate in the morning light, and you reached for the edge of the blanket, pulling it higher as if it could shield you from the vulnerability of the moment. Logan cleared his throat, the sound breaking the silence in a way that felt almost painfully loud.
"I should… I have matters to attend to with my mother," he said, his voice sounding rougher than usual. "I’m positive she’s still fuming." There was a faint hint of a wry smile on his lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
You nodded again, quickly, unsure if you could trust your voice not to betray the odd mixture of emotions swirling inside you. Relief, embarrassment, something like disappointment—it all tangled together, making it hard to breathe. Logan took your silence as agreement and turned away, slipping out of the bed with a fluid, quiet movement.
You found yourself glancing over at him before you could stop yourself, and then quickly averted your gaze when you noticed the way his nightshirt clung to his back, the fabric outlining the curve of his shoulders and the lean muscles beneath. You swallowed hard, focusing intently on a spot on the floor, as though it were suddenly the most interesting thing in the world.
Logan’s bare feet padded softly on the rug as he gathered his clothes, his movements quick but not hurried, as if he too was acutely aware of the lingering awkwardness in the air. "I… I’ll see you later," he said, his voice low and hesitant, as though he were testing the words before letting them go.
"Yes," you managed to reply, though your voice came out softer than you intended. "Later."
For a brief moment, he hesitated at the door, his hand resting on the frame as if considering saying something more. But then, with a small nod, he slipped out, the door clicking shut behind him.
You exhaled slowly, sinking back into the pillows, the blanket still pulled up close. The room seemed larger now, emptier, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he had felt the same pull that you had—the subtle, magnetic pull that had lingered in the space between you. You pushed the thought away, telling yourself that it was foolish to read too much into a moment shared in the quiet hours of dawn.
────୨ৎ────
The better part of the day had passed in the garden, where the air was thick with the scent of blooming roses and the gentle hum of bees. You had retreated there after hearing the heated voices echoing up from downstairs. Lady Elizabeth’s clipped tones and Logan’s frustrated replies had risen in a crescendo that spilled into the halls, making it clear that whatever rift lay between them was far from being mended. 
It seemed wise to keep your distance, and so you had found a book, tucked yourself into a quiet corner at the far edge of the garden, and tried to lose yourself in the pages while the murmur of nature surrounded you.
The stone bench beneath you was warmed by the sun, and though you kept your eyes trained on the book in your lap, the words seemed to blur together. You had long since given up on following the plot, your thoughts drifting back to the night before—Logan’s haunted confession, the way he had looked at you as if you were the only thing grounding him in the present. The memory of it lingered, unbidden, in the back of your mind, filling you with a confusing mix of tenderness and doubt.
The crunch of footsteps on the gravel path drew your attention, and you glanced up to see Logan approaching. His expression, which had been set in a firm line, softened as his gaze met yours. He looked weary, as though whatever argument he had just endured had drained him of energy, yet there was also a quiet determination in the way he carried himself, his shoulders squared despite the tension in his jaw.
"May I join you?" he asked, his voice carrying a hint of hesitation, as though he were uncertain of his welcome.
You closed the book gently, offering a small nod. "Of course," you said, shifting slightly to make room for him on the bench. "How… how did it go with your mother?"
He sank beside you, his sigh barely audible but weighted with frustration. "As well as can be expected," he replied, running a hand through his hair. "Which is to say, not well at all." He paused, glancing at the neatly trimmed hedges and the flowers that swayed in the breeze. "But I've made a decision." His tone softened, and he turned to look at you. "My mother will be moving out of Howlett Manor."
The statement took you by surprise, and you blinked, unsure if you had heard him correctly. "She’s leaving?"
Logan nodded, his gaze steady. "Yes. I think… it’s for the best. It’s become clear that we cannot live under the same roof without tearing each other apart." He hesitated, his fingers tapping lightly on his knee as though he were working up the nerve to say something more. "With her gone, there will be… a lot of space in the manor. I was thinking… if you’d like, your family could move in. The Langleys could make this place their home too."
The offer hung in the air between you, carrying with it the weight of an unspoken promise. For a moment, you didn’t know what to say, your thoughts tangling in your mind. "That’s… kind of you to suggest," you began slowly, your gaze falling to your hands. "But our marriage… things are still so uncertain." You swallowed your throat tight with the admission. "I don’t know if we should be making decisions like this when we don’t even know what the future holds for us."
Logan's hand reached for yours, his touch gentle yet firm. "I know things are uncertain," he said quietly, his voice raw with sincerity. "But I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make this marriage real—to make us real." His thumb brushed over your knuckles, sending a shiver through you. "I like you. I like the way you challenge me, the way you look at me as though I’m worth trying for. I want this to work, not because we have to, but because I choose to."
His words seemed to reach inside you, stirring something that had been long dormant—something warm and fragile that blossomed with each passing second. You looked up at him, your heart racing, your breath caught somewhere between hope and fear. "You… you mean that?" you whispered, your voice barely audible. "You’d choose this, even if—"
"I would," he interrupted softly, his other hand reaching to cup your cheek, his touch feather-light, as though he were afraid to break whatever spell lay between you. "If you’ll let me."
The moment stretched out, the world around you fading into the background until there was only him, his gaze locked on yours, his breath mingling with the warm air. You leaned in, almost without thinking, your eyes fluttering shut as your lips met his, tentative and searching. The kiss was soft at first, a gentle brush that sent a tremor through you, but as he deepened it, a quiet urgency arose, his hand slipping to the nape of your neck to pull you closer.
The world seemed to tilt, and when you finally pulled back, breathless, you saw a light in Logan’s eyes that you had never seen before—a mixture of relief, hope, and tenderness. That set your heart racing all over again.
"You kissed me back," he murmured, a hint of wonder in his voice as his thumb traced your cheek.
"I suppose I did," you replied, a shy smile tugging at your lips as you felt the warmth of his hand still against your skin. "It seems I’ve made my choice too."
He leaned his forehead against yours, his breath still slightly uneven. "Then let’s make this work," he whispered, the words like a promise carried on the breeze. "Together."
────୨ৎ────
The morning sun spilled through the tall windows of the nursery, casting a golden light over the pale blue walls and the delicate lace curtains that swayed ever so slightly with the summer breeze. The room was filled with the soft sounds of cooing and gentle rocking, and you sat in the cushioned chair near the window, cradling your newborn daughter in your arms. Her tiny fingers curled around your thumb, and you marveled at how something so small could hold your entire heart within her grasp.
The past year had swept by like a dream, and Howlett Manor had become a place of life and laughter in ways you hadn’t imagined when you first arrived. The once lonely halls were now filled with warmth, with family, and with a love that had grown slowly, steadily, and then all at once.
Logan appeared in the doorway, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a streak of dirt smudged on his cheek, evidence of whatever task had drawn him outside earlier. His eyes softened when he saw you, his gaze drifting down to the baby nestled in your arms. "She’s awake," he murmured, his voice low and filled with a quiet wonder that had not diminished since the day she was born.
You looked up at him, your heart swelling with affection as you noticed the way he lingered in the doorway, as though hesitant to disturb the peacefulness of the moment. "Come here," you whispered, tilting your head in invitation. "She’ll be glad to see her father."
He crossed the room in a few strides, his movements careful as though he were still getting used to the idea of this tiny new life you had brought into the world together. As he reached out to take her from you, his fingers brushed against yours, and you shared a quiet smile. The love between you had become something tangible, something that seemed to shimmer in the air every time your eyes met.
Logan cradled his daughter with a tenderness that belied his strong, rugged exterior. She blinked up at him, her wide eyes reflecting the light as she reached for his nose, her tiny hand waving in the air. "There you are, little one," he murmured, his voice dropping to a gentle murmur that was only for her. "You’re going to be causing all sorts of trouble before we know it, aren’t you?"
You laughed softly, leaning your head back against the chair as you watched them together. "If she’s anything like her father, she’ll be climbing out of windows and sneaking into the stables before she can even walk," you teased.
He glanced at you, his mouth curving into a playful smile. "And if she’s anything like her mother," he countered, "she’ll have a stubborn streak a mile wide and won’t take no for an answer."
The joy in his eyes was undeniable, and it was a joy that had become commonplace at Howlett Manor. The changes were everywhere—in the lively dinners shared around the long oak table, where your father told stories that made your mother laugh like a young girl again; in the afternoons when your sisters played with the dogs in the garden, their laughter carrying on the wind. The Langleys had made the manor their home, and though the arrangement had been born out of necessity, it had grown into something far richer—a tapestry of shared lives and everyday happiness.
The sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway, and your mother appeared at the door, a fond smile on her face as she saw the three of you together. "There you are," she said warmly, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "We were wondering if you planned to join us for the midday meal, or if we should come to you."
"We’ll be down shortly," you replied, glancing at Logan as he swayed gently, his daughter’s eyelids beginning to droop once more. "It seems someone is already ready for her nap, though."
Your mother’s gaze softened as she watched Logan rock the baby in his arms, a look of deep contentment on her face. "She’ll be a strong one," she said quietly, her voice laced with pride. "Just like her parents."
Logan met your eyes, a shared understanding passing between you as your mother slipped back out of the room. You rose from the chair, moving to stand beside him, and as you laid a hand on his arm, he turned slightly to press a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there as though he couldn’t quite pull away.
"I think life has turned out better than either of us could have imagined," he murmured, his breath warm against your skin.
You tilted your head up, your gaze finding his. "I think we made it that way," you said, a quiet pride in your voice. "Together."
The words hung in the air for a moment, a reminder of the path you had walked to get here—of the uncertainty, the struggles, and the slow, steady growth of love that had bloomed between you. You leaned in, your lips brushing against his in a tender kiss that spoke of more than just affection; it was a promise, a celebration, and an unspoken agreement that this—all of this—was just the beginning.
As you drew back, the baby stirred in Logan’s arms, letting out a tiny whimper that brought a smile to both of your faces. "Come on," he said, his voice soft and full of love. "Let’s go downstairs. Your family is waiting."
Together, you walked down the grand staircase, the sunlight streaming in through the windows, bathing the manor in a warm, golden light. The sound of familiar voices drifted up from the dining room, filling the air with the cheerful bustle of family life.
As you reached the bottom of the stairs, your daughter nestled safely in her father’s arms, you couldn’t help but feel that this life—so full of love, laughter, and even its small imperfections—was exactly where you were meant to be.
853 notes · View notes
meracyn · 6 days ago
Text
༘♡⋆ hopeless
Tumblr media Tumblr media
༉ just blue lock boys having a crush on you!
starring yoichi isagi, meguru bachira, seishiro nagi & reo mikage (all separate)! x reader
warnings cursing, implied fem! reader in reo’s part
notes so i forgot how to write..
Tumblr media
YOICHI ISAGI
isagi was like a literal simp.
finding any excuse to talk to you— no matter how ridiculous it seemed, isagi would make it work somehow.
yeah. even if it meant purposely accidentally bumping into you.
“oh sh—i’m so sorry! are you okay? i didn’t mean to bump into you,” he stammered, his face already flushed red at the contact of your shoulders brushing. he offered a water bottle, snack— hell, even doing your homework as an apology.
on the other hand, you only stood there watching in amusement. “yoichi, i’m fine, don’t worry.” you said with a smile, trying to reassure him.
and ever since that day, isagi would suddenly be around you constantly— from simple greetings to walking you to all of your classes (it’s fine if he was a few minutes late, what’s the big deal?)— all while still coming up with the most random conversation starters that left you questioning what really was going on through his head.
“bread or rice for breakfast? bread? awesome, me too! so, what are your plans for this weekend?”
it eventually becomes a cycle that leads to his friends finding out about it, too. while some mostly stay back and watch him stumble over his words with a red face whenever they spot him talking to you, others do the opposite. like bachira, for example, who teases him like hell for it.
“hey, what’s with that smile?”
at his friends’ sudden question, isagi immediately felt his cheeks heat up, trying to think of a believable excuse to escape bachira’s teasing. only to fail and say the first thing that came to his mind, “n-nothing.”
“ohhhh,” bachira replied, drawing out the sound dramatically. “i see, you’re thinking about them, aren’t you?”
isagi stammered out a response in denial, but deep down, knew it was true.
later that night as he laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, his mind was full of thoughts of you. the way your smile made him feel like he was above clouds or whenever you looked at him had his heart skipping a beat.
he groaned softly, turning over to bury his face in his pillow with a pink face. “i’m screwed.” he mumbled to himself, feeling his heart pounding loudly in his chest. despite the swirl of emotions that fogged up his mind, a shy smile tugged at his lips.
isagi couldn’t wait to see you tomorrow.
MEGURU BACHIRA
“meguru, i can’t move if you’re hanging off of my back.”
for the past ten minutes or possibly more, meguru suddenly jumped onto you from behind, his arms and legs locked around you, tightening every time you tried to move.
the hallways were empty except for the both of you, which unfortunately meant for the brown-haired male to keep clinging onto you like a koala, no matter how much you complained and turned to pry him off.
he leaned down to rub his cheek affectionately against yours for a moment. “then don’t.”
“you can’t just cling to me all day,”
“why not? you’re not hard to carry.”
you scoffed, placing your hands on his knees to push them down so he would let go, but to no avail. “what’s that supposed to mean?” you huffed, giving up your attempts to free yourself.
meguru grinned, finally letting go before wrapping an arm around your waist, lifting you off of the ground with ease to hold you bridal style. “you’re really light for someone so short.”
“what the fu— put me down!”
his bright yellow eyes bore into yours. “nope. this is way better!” he replied with a hum, abruptly turning on his heel as he spun you around, his laughter echoing through the hallways.
you felt your cheeks redden at his daring hold on your body, frantically looking around to make sure no one was nearby. gosh, it would be so embarrassing if anyone caught you both in this situation right now.
“why are you even doing this?” you asked, avoiding to look into those warm, honey-colored eyes of his.
meguru paused. “huh..i guess i just like being around you.” he said softly, his tone steering away from playful to sincere.
“oh.” you felt your cheeks redden further, lifting your head once more to face him. “that’s..cute, but—”
“wait,” he interrupted, his eyes widening as if he realized something. “do i..” meguru’s cheeks turned a tad pink as he kept gazing into your eyes intensely, causing you to get nervous.
then he burst out laughing. “ohh, i get it now.”
you raised an eyebrow, still confused by what he was referring to. “of what?”
he grinned at you again, holding you tightly in his arms as he leaned in closer, his face mere inches away from yours. “i think i really like you. a lot.”
SEISHIRO NAGI
you lost.
again.
gripping the controller in frustration, you cursed under your breath, “dammit, why is it so hard?”
you were currently over at nagi’s place, chilling in his room while laying on his bed. your eyes focused on the large television displaying the ‘game over’ screen, then back at nagi, who was sprawled out on his gaming chair and engrossed in his phone, the sounds of gunshots and taps of his fingers being heard.
“sei,” you called out, sitting up as you went over to him, nudging his shoulder gently with the palm of your hand.
no answer.
clicking your tongue in annoyance, you decided to move so you would sit in front of him, noticing how his dark eyes were laser-focused on his phone. you reached out, booping his nose.
nagi flinched slightly, his eyes flickering up to meet yours. “what was that for?”
“to get your attention.”
“huh? what do you need?” he asked, casually pressing the pause button on his phone as if he wasn’t currently in the middle of finishing the last boss.
“i need help on this level,” you grabbed the controller, holding it out for him to see the screen shown on tv.
“oh. sure.”
after a while, you waved him goodbye, going off to walk home. nagi waved back, shutting the door once you were out of sight. he sat down on the couch, phone in hand to resume his match. reo, who was sitting on the other end of the furniture and had heard everything from upstairs, decided to try to do the same.
“can you pause your game again and get me a drink?”
nagi hummed, not bothering to look up from his phone. “get it yourself.” he replied with a deadpanned expression.
“but you did it for y/n—”
“that was different.”
reo’s jaw dropped, a vein mark popping on his forehead. “why them and not me!?”
nagi only shrugged. “maybe i just like them more than you.”
his comment had reo sulking that night.
REO MIKAGE
it was white day— a month after valentine’s, where boys were the ones giving gifts to the girls instead; whether for friendship, admiration, or simply reciprocating the gifts they had received from them.
although it was more like another normal day for you. when valentine’s day rolled around, you had given reo a box of chocolates for the sole purpose of being a great friend, not thinking much of it back then.
what you didn’t know, was that he decided to give you something back.
except ten times more.
as you walked into the classroom, your eyes widened at the sight of your assigned desk being stacked with all sorts of gifts— heart-shaped chocolate boxes, small bags of cookies, flowers, and a small teddy bear in a suit with a white tag above its chest.
oh, don’t forget a single pink card on top of everything.
a group of your classmates surrounded your desk, murmuring who was your admirer to have gifted you so much. how did you manage to get the most gifts on white day out of everyone else in the room?
from what they knew, you didn’t give any guy a whole stack of gifts. so what gives?
meanwhile for you, it didn’t take you that long to figure out who your—possible— secret admirer was.
who else other than reo mikage himself?
once classes were over, you spotted him standing nearby, leaning against the wall while trying to look nonchalant. you headed towards him, carrying the mountain of gifts in your arms.
“hey reo! look at what i got,” you said with a grin, holding everything up for him to see. “i wonder who got me all this. i want to thank them personally, you know?”
reo silently beamed, thinking he pulled it off perfectly— especially you not knowing who it was. he cleared his throat, trying to maintain his innocent act. “oh yeah, i wonder.”
your eyes narrowed as you looked at him, picking up the teddy bear. “it’s obviously you, it literally has your name on it.”
crap. reo’s eyes widened, his face flushing pink in embarrassment. how did he fail to notice that!? “oh—uh..” he trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck while avoiding eye contact.
“..it’s fine, thank you, reo.” you said softly with a smile.
he looked up, his heart racing in his chest once he noticed that sweet smile of yours that never failed to leave him a flustered mess each time.
“really—”
“just don’t send an entire store of chocolates next time.”
629 notes · View notes
kairoot · 8 days ago
Text
𝐻𝐼𝑆 𝒟𝑂𝐿𝐿,𝐻𝐼𝑆 𝓟𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑪𝑬𝑺𝑺 .. ୨୧ 양정원
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
ׂ ִ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬.𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗂𝗇,𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝗈𝗒𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗉𝗈𝗂𝗅𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗈𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗅 𝖽𝖺𝗒 ♡︎. — 𝐩. 𝗃𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗐𝗈𝗇 𝗑 𝑓.𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 — 𝐠. 𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑏𝑙𝑖𝑠ℎ𝑒𝑑 𝑟𝑒𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑝,𝑓𝑙𝑢𝘧𝘧,𝑒𝑡𝑐. — 𝐰. 𝗉𝖾𝗍𝗇𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗌,𝗉𝗁𝗒𝗌𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅 𝗍𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁.
✉️ ──── 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗆𝗒 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾, @ourhees !𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗒 𝖻𝗂𝗋𝗍𝗁𝖽𝖺𝗒 𝗆𝖺𝗆𝖺𝗌,𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝗋𝖾 𝟣𝟪 𝗇𝗈𝗐 !!!(𝗈𝗅𝖽 𝗈𝗆𝗀),𝗂 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗅𝗒 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂 𝗁𝗈𝗉𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖽𝖺𝗒 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 <𝟥.
Tumblr media
the mall was crowded with people and bustling with different noises as you and your boyfriend strolled through. his hand was tightly intertwined with yours, keeping you close and trying to avoid bumping into others along the way.
he insisted on holding your bags for you, as they were filled with items from previous stores you had visited. he didn’t care about what you got, as long as it made you happy.
you stopped walking for a moment, only to find another store that piqued your interest. you walked ahead with jungwon still following close behind, hand still with yours.
the two of you ventured through the shop as you looked at all of the clothing and accessories that hung on the racks. you walked past some of them, eventually stoping to admire a top you liked.
jungwon stood close behind you, his chest against your back as he observed whatever you were looking at. though he wasn’t that into shopping like you were, he always liked to see your face light up when you found something you loved.
“this is cute,” you mumbled out loud, more to yourself than to jungwon.
“yeah? why don’t you try it on?”
you smile, “not a bad idea.”
you and jungwon walk over to the dressing rooms but you had grabbed a few more items to try on just to see your options. one of the employees of the store gave you a key to the dressing room while jungwon waited outside on one of the benches.
the first item you tried was the top that you picked out. it was a simple pink square neck top but to you, it was one of the cutest things in the store.
“what do you think?” you opened the dressing room door, showing off the top to jungwon.
he stared at you lovingly before replying with a soft smile, “it’s so pretty on you.”
you blushed slightly at his comment, stepping back into the stall to try on the pair of jeans you picked out. jungwon liked those and told you that they “fit well”.
you tried on two more items before exiting the area and starting to put the clothes back.
“what are you doing?” he asked.
“i’m putting these back. the price is pretty unreasonable.” you told him. one of the pairs of jeans you wanted was about 35 bucks and you didn’t want jungwon waisting his money on that.
“don’t worry about it, i’ll pay for it.”
“won, no, they’re not even that cute—“
he shook his head, disagreeing with your protests. today was your day and jungwon didn’t care if he went bankrupt trying to spoil you. he just wanted to see you happy and give you all of the things that you deserved.
“c’mon, i’m paying.” he put both of your other bags in one hand and used the other to grab your hand, pulling you to the cash register.
after he made the purchase, you tried to act mad at him but couldn’t stop yourself from smiling.
“i told you that you didn’t have to do that,” you rolled your eyes playfully.
“but i did. happy birthday, princess.” he shrugged before kissing your head, walking next to you as you both ventured off to the next store.
• • •
this is pretty short but im so eepy.. happy birthday sav !! 💌
592 notes · View notes
fanfictionismyaddiction · 3 months ago
Text
Tiny Paws, Big Adventures
Tumblr media
Word count: 773
pairing: Charles Leclerc x reader, ft. Leo
Summary: you and Charles Leclerc enjoy a peaceful day in Monaco with your playful dachshund, Leo, as you talk about expanding your little family and cherish the quiet moments away from the racetrack
______________________________________________________________
You and Charles Leclerc had been dating for a few years now, and your life with him was often fast-paced, filled with race weekends, travel, and the occasional media frenzy. But the quieter moments, especially those spent at home, were your favorite. That’s where Leo, your longhaired dachshund, came in — the tiny, furry heart of your little family.
It was an off weekend, and Charles had promised to spend the day at home with you and Leo. You were sitting on the couch, scrolling through your phone, when you heard the rapid sound of little paws tapping against the wooden floor. Leo darted into the living room, tail wagging furiously, his long, silky fur bouncing as he excitedly scurried around, while Charles followed behind, laughing as he tried to keep up with the energetic dog.
"How is he always faster than me?" Charles chuckled, flopping down on the couch next to you. He leaned over to give you a quick kiss before reaching down to rub Leo's fluffy head.
"Because he’s just as fast as his dad," you teased, smiling at Charles. "Or maybe faster, with those short little legs."
Charles grinned and put an arm around you. "I think he's more aerodynamic."
You laughed, watching as Leo spun around, clearly trying to convince one of you to play with him. "You should take him out for a run. He needs to burn off all this energy."
Charles leaned back, stretching out his arms. "Or maybe he can tire me out," he said, half-joking. "What do you think, Leo? Want to go out?"
At the sound of his name, Leo barked happily, his ears flopping as he danced around in excitement. You couldn’t help but laugh at how much joy a simple walk brought him.
"Alright, alright," you said, standing up to grab Leo’s leash. "Let’s go tire this little guy out."
The three of you headed out for a walk along the quiet streets of Monaco. Leo trotted ahead, his small legs moving quickly as his leash bobbed up and down with every eager step. Charles had one hand loosely holding the leash, while his other hand rested on your shoulder as you walked side by side.
Moments like these were your favorite. When it was just you, Charles, and Leo, away from the cameras and the intensity of race weekends. Charles was always more relaxed at home, and you could see the stress melt away with each step as he walked with you.
"You know," Charles said after a while, looking down at Leo, "I’ve been thinking… maybe we should get him a little friend."
You raised an eyebrow, glancing up at him. "Another dachshund?"
Charles grinned. "Why not? Leo could use some company. Maybe he wouldn’t miss us as much when we’re away."
You laughed softly. "You mean when you’re away. I’m pretty sure he’s happy to have me all to himself when you’re racing."
"Fair enough," Charles chuckled, pulling you a little closer. "But seriously, I think it’d be fun. What do you think?"
You looked at Leo, who was now happily sniffing a patch of grass, his little tail wagging in the breeze. The idea of another longhaired dachshund waddling around the apartment was sweet. "I think it could be nice. But two of them? You’d better be ready for double the trouble."
Charles gave you a cheeky smile. "I can handle it. Besides, you’re the one who always spoils Leo more than me."
"Well, maybe," you admitted with a laugh, playfully nudging him. "But don’t act like you don’t let him sleep on your side of the bed whenever I’m not looking."
Charles feigned innocence. "I would never."
You rolled your eyes, leaning into him as the two of you continued walking, brainstorming names and imagining the chaos of two dachshunds running around the apartment. By the time you made it back home, Leo had finally tired himself out, curling up on the couch the moment you stepped through the door.
Charles flopped down beside him, pulling you onto his lap. You rested your head against his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. "This is nice," he murmured, his voice soft and content.
You smiled, feeling the same sense of calm settle over you. "It is."
Leo snored softly at your feet, and Charles kissed the top of your head, his arms tightening around you. "I love you, you know?"
"I love you too, Charles."
No matter how hectic life became, you knew that these quiet moments, just the three of you — you, Charles, and little Leo — were what made it all worth it.
640 notes · View notes
ditzydoe444 · 9 days ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
MDNI 18+
mechanic jason! smut
older mechanic jason who is always covered in grease and oil whilst working on cars, and either wore a flimsy white tank stained with lil and grease or completely shirtless. though, it was usually the latter.
his large hands could easily grip the tools which looked comically small in his grasp, like children’s toy. the muscles in his bicep would flex and become more pronounced as he worked on the car, and the veins on his hands becoming more prominent.
his garage was old, rusty and dark. the lighting was quite dim with only one main source of overhead light, oil and grease stains on the dark concrete floor and the sound of his occasional grunts and curses when working on a stubborn car.
essentially, this place was not meant for a girl that looked soft, prim and proper. he remained focused as he worked on an old convertible, with the hood popped up. the summer heat and the lack of air ventilation resulted in jason ditching his tank and working shirtless, his bare skin glistening with sweat.
when he heard small footsteps coming closer he spoke up gruffly,
“what can i help you with?” he asked without even looking up, still focused on fixing the car.
“i need an engine repair, i think,” a soft voice responded which resulted in him turning his head.
he tried to suppress the shock that entered him when he first saw you, the juxtaposition couldn’t be more obvious. prim and proper against his rugged dirty state.
“an engine repair?” he questioned, as he wiped his grease stained hands on an old rag before walking to where she had parked outside his garage, the pink convertible couldn’t be more telling of her personality. spoiled, princessy, high maintenance.
he watched as you followed him like a lost puppy, as you nodded. clearly, you didn’t know a thing about cars.
“i can take a look at it now, i just finished up with the other one back there,” he motioned to the black convertible he was working on in the garage.
he tried to turn his gaze away from your exposed legs in the small mini skirt you were wearing, but he just couldn’t. when you were talking about the car’s issues all he could focus on was either your plump pink glossy lips, or your legs. when you had went to grab the lip gloss that you left on the passenger seat, your skirt rose up to a shockingly short length, though he quickly averted his gaze before he could see anymore.
it was inappropriate.
**
though it didn’t stop him from being balls deep in you when the price of the fix was too high, where his mind drifted off into other ways you could repay him. at first, he brushed it off thinking someone as prim and proper as you wouldn’t even think of it and he was just being dirty. however he was wrong, very wrong.
hence why you were sprawled out on the rough work bench on your back, random incoherent mumbles coming out, filling the empty garage with your lewd noises.
the small mini skirt and panties discarded on the dirty concrete floor, it was like a sign of your prim and proper self gone.
his large hands encircled nearly the whole of your waist, gripping the sides tightly as he moved harshly.
“never thought a girl as prim and proper as you would be doin’ somethin’ like this,” he grunted, his large hands roaming, one slid up, going over your breast before sliding higher to grip your throat.
you couldn’t even form proper thoughts, your mind going blank when you saw the small bulge in your stomach as he moved. he was big, too big.
“jay,” you mumbled your hand reaching out but falling back to your side when he continued to hit deeper.
he gave a low tut, almost mean, before a small sly smile formed on his rugged features.
“i know, i know” he cooed, bending to kiss your neck, one of his hand still wrapped around your throat squeezing it slightly.
“you gon’ keep this our lil secret huh?” he whispered as he bit your earlobe softly, “can’t have the word getting out i’m getting dirty with my customers,”
you didn’t even know what he said, but the sensation was too much, his was deep inside, and kissing you senselessly.
you mumbled a response, tears stained your face, mascara running.“glad to know we are on the same page sweet thing,” he whispered before both of his hands went to squeeze your stomach a little, just around where the outline of him was.
“all this for me?” he questioned a little breathless, as he stared at the mess you were making, small damp spots on the rough working bench, and a small white ring around his fat cock.
you nodded, you were too dazed to do anything else as he used you like a rag doll. he slipped two fingers into your mouth, shoving them down, whilst his other hand remained glued to your side, holding you down. you didn’t want his hand there, you wanted it somewhere else and he knew it. he was just being mean.
“jay,” you cried, though it sounded more muffled with his fingers stuffing your mouth as you choked out a response. though he knew exactly what you wanted, his fingers slipping out before going down, to the small sensitive bundle of nerves. he was rough, the sensation was too much, you kicked your legs, attempting to wiggle out but he kept you in your place, bullying your cunt.
he moved more vigorously, his harsh thrusts moving the work bench slightly, the table legs scratching against the concrete floor. “sweet thing, you ok?” he cooed, though you probably looked like anything but ok. your mascara was running down your cheeks, your lipstick and gloss was either smudged or completely gone, and saliva dripping down your chin.
“give me a smile baby, and i’ll give you want you want,” his grip on her was tightening. god you were so desperate for it, you attempted to give him a smile, the immense pleasure making it hard to do anything really. you gave him a soft smile, that lasted quite short when he kept hitting deeper.
“there we go, love that smile,” he grinned before giving you exactly what you wanted.
831 notes · View notes